You want to know where you don’t want to hear that your plane can’t take off because of “mechanical difficulties”? I would imagine that that list is actually rather long, but I was thinking of Belize City for this one example. Call me sheltered, but when your connecting flight’s cockpit looks like this:
and gives out boarding passes that look like this:
“The mechanic will be here in about 35 minutes” isn’t exactly the best news ever.
You know what? I’m throwing in one more photo in case you are calling me sheltered right now:
The gist of the story is that we arrived safely in Houston, but almost certainly too late to make our flight into JFK. That was confirmed when we made it to the check-in desk at 4:50; our flight was at 5:00. Our bags could never make it on board in time, and neither could we. “There’s a flight at 7:00,” the agent simpered.
The flight at 7:00 would get us in at 11:30 local time, and we would still have to collect our bags, pick up the rental car, and drive to Connecticut…and we had just spent the last week cheerfully going to bed around 8:30 or 9:00. Mentally tacking on the early-morning drive to Boston today, it was turning into a really unpleasant trip, and I slumped away from the counter a really pathetically unhappy girl.
“We’ll get you some wine,” Nick declared (I was also demanding ice cream, but I eventually rose above), and we headed to the lounge.
“We only make announcements if a plane is delayed or something, so do keep an eye on the time,” the chipper greeter warned us.
Halfway into my pinot grigio and about four repetitions of the preliminary wedding photos later (they soothe me), we did hear an announcement.
“All passengers on Flight 621 to JFK, please come to your gate immediately; Flight 621 to JFK is now in final boarding.”
I checked my watch. It was 5:15. I didn’t need the boarding passes the agent had ripped up to recognize the flight number, and neither of us had any doubt that what couldn’t be done in ten minutes could certainly have been done in 25. Had anyone bothered to check if the flight was delayed, I mean.
I contemplated acts against the perky desk agent that would most likely land me in jail for an awfully long time, unless I happened to luck into a jury composed entirely of other people who had also been screwed over by Continental. I considered risking it–and after our stupid 7:00 plane sat on the tarmac at JFK for one full hour, the gamble looked like an easy win.
In the end, though, exhaustion won out. So now I am ensconced in Massachusetts with a thrilled and adoring Jolie, safe and felony-free. It’s probably better this way.