What is it about flying that sucks the life out of us? At the beginning of the month, our little collective made the seasonal trip to The Promised Land. Due to my wife's Irrational Boss Who Overstates the Importance of Work, we couldn't get tickets at a reasonable price without a stopover at JFK. This is the story of that trip:
I have a theory. When people step into the world of air travel, they typically leave behind any goodwill towards men. It's every dude for hisself here, starting at the check-in lines all the way to the baggage claim at the Final Destination. Perhaps this could be a metaphor. Perhaps not. Anyway, every process along the way seems to decrease our Happiness Meter by a few points. To illustrate, I shall take you through the trip to Utah, giving you some insight into our personal happiness meters. We'll start out at the max of 100, since 100 is "I'm happy that I have a week off of work and am going to see my beloved family" and 0 is "I've watched way too many episodes of 'Handy Manny' to retain any semblance of sanity".
We step into the airport, luggage in hand. We're toting a large suitcase, a duffel bag, a car seat, a largish stroller (which is toting Hendrik), Liesl (kid sister) and a YM, age 15. The YM's name is Samir, and he is going to EFY in Provo, and we are his escorts. I won't list their happiness totals, as I don't really know them as well as my wife and kid.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 100
Mel - 100
Hendrik - 100
We try to check in at JetBlue. The computers are ridiculously slow. Hendrik starts to get impatient. Waiting for 5 seconds for a screen to refresh is like 5 minutes with an impatient toddler, and like 50 minutes with an impatient toddler in an airport. The screen asks us for some sort of Redress Number. Not only do I not know what a Redress Number is, I've never even heard of it, and furthermore, is it even a word? I think JetBlue is making stuff up now. I ignore it and power my way through the screens and print out the boarding passes.
Liesl is not having much luck. They won't allow her to search by destination, only by confirmation number and blood type. We fake a few numbers and power through it, but it's taking forever. Hendrik has had it by now and is demanding a rewrite of his Airport Contract. We are all frazzled, except for Samir, who has a completely blank stare on his face.
I leave Liesl to press the final 2 buttons and get her boarding passes to get in line to check our bags. Mel has taken H out of his prison and is wrestling him near the security gates. Liesl shows up a minute later with her boarding pass. Singular. We are going on 2 flights, and there should be a baggage claim ticket, I tell Liesl. She runs back to get the other documents before some pervert steals them and flies in her spot! Thankfully, there are only 5 other people in the entire airport, and they are in front of us in line.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 85
Mel - 90
Hendrik - 0
Even though the sign says "Baggage Check Only", most people in front of us are occupying the clerk's time with standard check-ins, with no baggage in sight. When we finally approach the bench, I ask the clerk if people try to check in here, and she laughs in my face, meaning "Yes, of COURSE they do!" Melanie requests that they put our car seat in a plastic bag, and the scholarly baggage dude behind her eloquently states "We ain't got no plastic bags." The clerk pretends to find one herself while the baggage dude chucks the car seat with no great care into the mysterious section of the airport that bags disappear into and reappear out of. Melanie is incensed.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 75
Mel - 50
Hendrik - 100
We head over to the little slice of Communist Russia most people call "The Security Check". They strip us down under watch of machine guns and dobermans, loading us onto cattle cars headed for Siberia. We spend days on these cars, urinating in the corner and picking lice out of our neighbor's hair for food. Wait, no, that was the first few chapters of "The Long Walk". But frighteningly similar to the indignation of TSA. We grab 20 bins, putting an individual item in each. I made the rookie mistake of leaving my keys in my pocket as I went through the new-fangled security thingee where you put your arms up like you're frozen in the upward motion of a jumping jack. That little nugget of forgetfulness won me a free lecture from the overweight TSA woman and an intimate pat-down by her man friend, aptly named "Pat". After my "moment" with Pat, I continue my streak of forgetfulness, leaving the keys behind as we hastily redress (maybe this is related to the "redress number"? No?) and escape from Siberia towards our gate.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 55
Mel - 45
Hendrik - 0
On the way to the gate, we see a play area, perfect for Hendrik. Mel and company (Liesl, Samir), continue to the gate while I stay behind with Hendrik. At the play area, there is a small family consisting of a speck of a human mother in her 40's, and 2 adolescents sitting practically on her lap. The male adolescent has a thick Harold Potter book open, rivaling him in thickness, reading aloud as the other 2 listen. He'll read a few pages and then stop, and they discuss in a Slavic language, even though he's reading in English. What appears to be another member of their family is a 3-year-old, possibly 4, blonde girl, running around from toy to toy, pushing Hendrik off of each one. Hendrik takes it pretty well, but I want to give the girl the spanking of her lifetime. I refrain, holding to my feelings of superior parenting as my small victory over the Tiny Slavic Family. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew arrives at the gate and relaxes.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 50
Mel - 50
Hendrik - 1,000,000,000,000
It's time to board on our small flight to NYC. I remember that I forgot my keys, so I run back to security, where they actually have it placed to the side, labeled as to what time it was lost and my description ("white male, 2:30 PM"). I am pleasantly surprised at this. I hustle back to board just in time. The plane is small, only 2 seats on each side. Liesl sits behind us, Samir across from us, and Mel and I have a row to ourselves with Hendrik. H finds the tray enchanting, unlocking it, letting it fall, and then putting it back up. He is running on all cylinders now, nowhere close to a nap. It's 3:30 in the afternoon. The flight goes pretty well, except for the constant wrestling match with Hench. We finally pacify him with his heroin: Toy Story 3. He is calm as a Single Ward's sacrament meeting.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 50
Mel - 50
Hendrik - 100
We land in NYC. It's 5 PM and our flight to Utah isn't until 8:30. We find an overpriced grill in the food area. Hendrik eats almost my entire 7-dollar hamburger, which is ironic considering he barely touches the hamburgers we make for him at home. We take turns chasing him around the terminal. I get a craving for Corn Nuts and look in all the shops for them. No luck. I had to settle for trail mix. 7:30 PM comes around and we're sick of waiting and chasing Hendrik. We put on Toy Story 3, hoping that it will relax him and get him ready for sleep right at 8:30. However, the flight is delayed. We don't end up boarding until 10 PM, and by then, all the passengers have descended into Apocalypse Mode. Allow me to explain, I don't mind. Apocalypse Mode is when people have ceased to care about anyone's survival or well-being except their own. There is no help with strollers or bags. There is the constant grumbling when a little child is around. There is the accusing looks, which pretty much say, "Your kid better be SILENT on this trip or I will KEEL you!" It takes hold of me, too. I start muscling my way to the front of the boarding line, using Hendrik as the reason to board first. "Small child here! We got dibs on boarding!" It doesn't matter, though, since Dibs are not honored in Apocalypse Mode. We only board when we get to the front of the line, and that only happens after I clear out a few Asians.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 20
Mel - 25
Hendrik - 50
We board the plane. Since we are late, the attendants make sure everyone is ready for take-off: no electronics, no trays down, no bathroom breaks, no General Tomfoolery. We are to sit still and prepare for take-off! However, there is one problem. We aren't moving. We sit on the plane, ready to go, but we don't even pull away from the gate. This goes on for 30-45 minutes. It felt like 30 days. I was losing it. Hendrik was losing it. Mel was keeping it together.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 1
Mel - 20
Hendrik - 0
We finally get moving and take-off. We're in the air! Hendrik falls asleep and we're watching TV. Life is slightly better.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 2
Mel - 21
Hendrik - 100
The flight goes okay. I get exactly 3 minutes and 28 seconds of sleep. Melanie appears to get more, and Hendrik still more. Hendrik is out pretty well until about 90 minutes left, when he wakes up super crabby and won't go back to sleep. We put on Toy Story 3 on my computer, since the DVD player ran out of batteries because the plane was delayed. My computer runs out of batteries with 30 minutes left. It's a battle of endurance as we try every trick in the book to keep him still/quiet. He doesn't have a tantrum so it's a small victory, but he does whine a lot, so we get lots of annoyed looks. We're almost there.
Happiness Meter:
Me - negative 5
Mel - 10
Hendrik - negative 1 billion
We land at SLC at 1 AM local time. It's 3 AM in Boston, and we left the house nearly 14 hours ago. My brother Bruce is ready to pick us up and drive us to his house. All that's left is to get our bags. We get to the claim and wait. And wait. Hendrik has had it, he wants to escape to the street and get himself runneth overed. I chase him around the terminal, inside and outside, bringing him back to the baggage claim every few minutes. Still no bags. My inner patience (which already runs pretty low), is completely on "E", so I just hate everything by now. I hate JetBlue, I hate the SLC airport, I hate JFK (both the person and the airport), I hate it all. WHERE ARE MY FREAKING BAGS!?!?!??!
Happiness Meter:
Me - negative infinity
Mel - 1
Hendrik - 0
The bags finally come. We load it all into Bruce's van and escape from the airport. We are all very tired. Forsooth.
Happiness Meter:
Me - 0
Mel - 0
Hendrik - 0
9 comments:
I'd say my happiness meter fluctuated between 45-70 at the Logan Airport, then it reached an all-time low of 10 at the JFK as I stood behind overly happy and attractive BYU hipsters who thought that it'd be absolutely brilliant if they sang "lollipop" together in harmony. I would've pulled a gun on them, had I not packed it in the bag I checked.
Entirely accurate. All of it.
Loved it. I wish I had thought of doing something like this first, but I try to block all air travel experiences out of my mind after they happen. I've hit pretty low on a connecting flight in HI (we didn't connect smoothly) and on several 10 hour plus flights. Air travel is terrible, and especially with kids.
I wonder how different it would be if it weren't for the whole attitude of everyone working on planes and in airports, like they're doing you some huge favor by letting you step onto a plane. It used to be about serving passengers, but now it's about exerting authority over anyone that brings anything that could possibly be or conceal a weapon. (HOW DARE YOU LEAVE YOUR KEYS IN YOUR POCKET, YOU TERRORIST!!!)
Sorry you had to experience that, but it was a pleasure to read your account of it.
My flights this summer were also horrendous. I didn't have to deal with late night flights thank goodness and the flights themselves were short, but my two kids couldn't sit still for one singular moment on the place, especially lukey. Oh yes and I threw up every time we took off and landed. Bonus.
But the highlight of the trip was when Aaron took Will to the bathroom and forgot to pull up his underwear and shorts so Will waddled down the aisle with his pants around his ankles and his little white bum mooning everyone.
I'm very sympathetic. Once we were on a flight that got delayed so they did us the favor of putting us in first class where our very tired baby named Jan proceeded to scream for an hour solid and the rest of the first class passengers were wondering why they paid extra for this privilege.
I have such flight rage/anxiety that reading this made me feel simultaneously satisfied with being validated and full of hate for everything in general. Mostly because we are ALL at the mercy of the airport experience.
This is why my first big purchase after b-school will be a private jet. You can use it.
Now I'm going to beat my children.
3 days left. DON'T CHOKE.
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