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Eric: They give you a *lot* of water when you're in 100 degrees on the tarmac.

The plane may or may not have been broken. That's where the real problems come in, you see.

You see, if you have an honest to God problem with your airplane, you have an honest to God problem with your airplane. If a wing, say, falls off? You know you're not flying in that airplane that day. If fuel is streaming out of bulletholes in the tank? You know better than to start the engines in the first place. That's the nature of flight. The big problems are obvious.

However, the big problems aren't the only reason that a plane can make an unexpected drop out of the sky. There are also little problems. And the little problems don't show up on a visual inspection. As a result, there is a tremendous number of sensors and telltale lights that modern passenger planes have within them, that assess the physical condition of a given aircraft. A warning light means "there's something potentially going on that you humans can't see, and you should check it out."

This is good. This is important. Speaking as a regular air traveller (at least at certain times of year), I like the idea that planes are regularly checked out. Air travel is actually really damn safe, and one of the reasons for that is when something might have gone wrong, most airlines will err on the side of caution.

But the problem is, there aren't infinite airplanes available. So when something might have gone wrong, it's not enough to just say "well, Hell -- we should put them on a different plane and be done with it." No, the answer is to actually try and figure out what might have gone wrong, and do something about it.

So. Here I am, with my supervisor.

In Orlando, Florida, where we have been, all week.

As you know, I was on vacation for a couple of weeks. I have stories to tell of that vacation. People I have met. Baycon. It was one of the best couple of weeks of the last couple of years, all told. But immediately following it, I had EduComm -- an educational conference welded to the monumental InfoComm trade show, down in Florida. Where it is very, very hot.

It was very very hot on Saturday, when we were scheduled to fly out.

Only... there was a sensor somewhere on the plane that gave an alert. An alert that wasn't very specific -- but that indicated something could be wrong with the plane. And, as Continental Airlines doesn't want anyone to... well, die on their planes, they had to do something.

But. Continental isn't made of planes, here. If there was any chance that this plane could be used, safely, they had to take it.

The plane was scheduled to go to Cleveland, arriving at 4:10 or so. Our connecting flight back to New Hampshire was scheduled to take off at 6:30.

We boarded the plane a half hour late, while they checked things. Well, we started to. Then they cancelled boarding, with only the first class cabin and families with children boarded. The rest of us were in the terminal.

My supervisor and I went to the bar next to the gate and had alcohol. I had cognac. Not particularly good cognac, mind, but "good" wasn't my driver, right then. Remember, I can't actually drink carbonated beverages, so I can't just have a beer or a rum and coke or what have you. Their scotches were mostly blends, and I'd had scotch earlier in the week -- a single malt I didn't realize until after I'd ordered it was a "cask strength," which is to say it kicked my sorry ass to the curb. So I was avoiding scotches in general, right then.

We then boarded. They pulled our plane back from the gate.

We then stopped.

And they let us know that light was still on, but they thought they had found the problem.

So we waited, on an unairconditioned aircraft. In hundred degree weather. On the tarmac.

For three hours.

At hour three, they pulled back into the gate. But they didn't let us off the plane. The captain came on the air. "Folks," he said. "They think they might have found the problem. In the meantime, there's a 737 sitting over on Gate 5 we could use. I'm pushing to use that one instead -- it's scheduled to go into the hanger. But they want to absolutely make sure we can't resolve the problem first. We should have an answer in a couple of minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, he came back on. "Folks," he said. "We're going to restart something. We found a panel that was open. It was closed. With luck, that will fix the problem and we can get underway. We appreciate your patience."

Fifteen minutes after that, they had us leave the plane. We were getting the other plane, instead. Of course, we couldn't just leave the broken plane and climb on the new one. The flight crew had to be the last off the old plane and the first on the new one, plus they had to fuel and provision it, and they had to move all our luggage. So this was forty five minutes right there.

My supervisor and I spent them in the bar. I got reacquainted with Mister Johnny Walker. Johnny Walker Red might not be the finest of all scotches, but my God he's a good airport bar companion.

We took off right about when our connecting flight was scheduled to launch, in Cleveland. I asked a representative of Continental why we were going to Cleveland in the first place. "Obviously you need to rebook us," I said. "Why aren't you rebooking us straight from Orlando, say through Newark or the like."

"Logistics," she said. "Your luggage is already checked through this route. Retrieving everyone's luggage and rebooking them doesn't work well. It's better for us to rebook you in the hub city, where your luggage would have to be pulled out and moved to a different plane anyway. And besides, we can't have you fly on a different plane than your suitcase."

Which is true and which is a regulation, in our post 9/11 world. I remember an episode of the Amazing Race where the racers were dumb enough to check their bags. When they found a faster flight from their connection, they tried to abandon their luggage and take it, and were told categorically "no." If you manage to put a bomb in your luggage, despite everything? You get to blow up with it. Period.

So. Long long long after it would do us any good, we flew to Cleveland. We were met at the gate with our new tickets. For 9 am the next morning. Along with our hotel vouchers. We were going to the Marriott overnight.

As we left the airport the following morning, my supervisor's cell phone went off. It was work. There was a massive systems failure, including the mail system.

So, exhausted, overdue, worn through, on Sunday, I found myself at work. Fixing shit.

I went home. And I slept for a while. I slept the glorious sleep of the utterly fucking exhausted, my cat -- desperate and lonely, though she had a sitter -- pressed up against me.

And now? My vacation is over. My business trip is over. My overdue flights and layovers and delays? Are over.

I'm honestly, truly home.

More later. There is much to say.

Posted by Eric Burns-White at June 12, 2006 12:27 AM

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