Jere-Rigged

Nothing Special In The Air

This is Part One of the California trip...

I write this from seat 13D on America West Airlines flight 38, in the air somewhere between New York’s John F. Kennedy International Airport and Sky Harbor International Airport in Phoenix, en route to Los Angeles. I have no idea when I will be able to post this, but I thought I’d amuse myself by writing.

The rainbow sunset out the right side of this Airbus A319 is quite breathtaking. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple…the wonders of nature never cease to astound me.

As I reflect on my country’s natural wonders, I really must be honest and say this: It’s been one hell of a day so far and it won’t be ending for many hours yet.

I got out of work on-time and had no trouble taking the E train out to the far reaches of Queens where I transferred to the AirTrain to take me to JFK’s Terminal 7. I have a suspicion that I was charged twice at the AirTrain. Since the cost is already an exorbitant $5.00 each way, I am not pleased by the thought. You see, the MetroCard reader at the AirTrain was not happy with the way I wielded my card and, fairly rudely for an inanimate object, told me “No Go. Swipe Again.” The second time I was granted access, but it seemed to tell me that I had only $2.00 left on the card when I should have had $7.00. This will be determined for certain, of course, when I return on Tuesday, and I’m not looking forward to wasting $5.00 that I can ill afford.

The AirTrain ride was lovely though and whisked me to Terminal 7 in good time, where I checked in with America West and was able to get on standby for an earlier flight. My non-stop flight to Los Angeles was scheduled to leave New York at 8.30pm EDT and arrive at 11.42pm PDT. The earlier flight was scheduled to depart at 6.15pm EDT and arrive at 11.10pm PDT. I found it rather amusing that a flight that was departing more than 2 before mine was to arrive only 30 minutes ahead. A layover in Phoenix accounts for the lag.

After checking my bags (something I rarely do, but I was unsure of the proper wardrobe or what would be suitable for Los Angeles, so I most likely overpacked), I called an acquaintance who happens to manage Terminal 4 at this airport and, after ascertaining that I was not disturbing him, met him there and made use of his significant discount to purchase dinner.

Rob gave me a short tour of his terminal, which is as beautiful a public space as one could imagine an airport being. It certainly made Terminal 7 look like an also-ran, something I couldn’t help but remark upon. Several times. Rob doesn’t care for much of the artwork on display in the makeshift gallery at one end of the terminal, but I found much of it quite interesting. It was obvious that the artist, whose name I’ve regrettably forgotten, had gone through several distinct periods of work, as well as several different media. There were oil paintings, sculpture, some that might have been watercolours, as well as pieces constructed out of found objects. The most curious of these was a piece of a girder from the World Trade Center that the artist had painted and stood on end for display. I cannot claim to understand it, but isn’t that half the fun of art?

I left Rob to return to Terminal 7 and await the decision as to whether or not I’d be able to board the earlier flight. Luckily, I was able to snag a seat, and an aisle seat at that. Normally, of course, I prefer window seats, but I’m not complaining since I could have been stuck in a middle one.

Boarding went well and we taxied out onto the tarmac and stopped. And stopped. And continued to sit there until the captain came on the intercom and announced that, due to stormy weather we were temporarily halted and we would have to wait for the storm to pass before we could proceed. On the ground, there was no indication that anything was amiss…just some dark clouds and a few drops of rain.

We sat on the tarmac for over 2 hours.

Yes, the cosmic joke was on me. Our flight took off only a few minutes ahead of my original plane, the one going on straight to Los Angeles with no stops. Assuming that there were no great delays, I’d have been better off sticking. And I’d have had a window. Fuck.

But there was nothing to be done about it, so I’m trying not to brood and curse America West. They cannot control the weather, after all. But if I find out later that they can, indeed, control the weather, I’m going to be ever so pissed.

A gentleman in seat 14D, the window seat of the row behind me, fell asleep at some point during our two hour hiatus and has been snoring away ever since. I can only presume that he hasn’t a clue if we’re in the air or still on the ground.

The in-flight movie was Sahara starring Matthew McConaughey, Steve Zahn, and Penelope Cruz. I looked up at the screen now and then at what appears to be a genuinely fun, action-packed film, but declined to rent headphones to listen to it at the cost of $5.00. In light of our little tarmac vacation, it would have been a smart business move on the part of this airline to give us the headphones for free, but they did not. Boo! Hiss!

You may have noticed that my first (and since they are shortly to be merging with US Airways, only) experience with America West hasn’t been a stellar experience thus far. The seat is sort of uncomfortable with not enough legroom in coach. Of course, I’m not the best judge of legroom. Since I have an aisle seat, I’ve been simply sticking my legs out into the aisle and have made a game of tripping the flight attendants and my fellow passengers. Two points for a crew member, one point for a passenger. With an extra point if the person drops whatever it is that he or she is carrying, unless the object carried is a baby in which case that’s two extra points. The service carts don’t count, mostly because they would merely roll over my feet, detaching a toe or two in the process. And that’s no fun.

There are no cute flight attendants with whom to flirt either. Only one of them is a man and, even if he was my type, does not seem inclined to flirt. And he’s certainly not passing me free cocktails. Dammit.
I’m hoping that the projected hour layover in Phoenix will be trimmed since we are running late and that I’m not so very late into Los Angeles. On the Jetway, while waiting to board the plane, I phoned Michael and told him that I’d be coming in early and on a different flight than previously planned. I will need to phone him again from the ground in Phoenix to apprise him of the delay.

There is a ritual that I’ve indulged in when boarding an airplane that goes back to when I was a child. As I’m going through the cabin door, I must touch the aluminum skin of the plane, just to see what it feels like. I don’t know why this gives me comfort, but it does. I love the feel of the cold, hard metal for a moment as I’m passing. Usually I will touch the plane to the right of the door as well as just above the door frame. I’ve always done this. Well, the above-the-door didn’t start till I was tall enough to reach it, but you get the idea.

No issues with air pressure in my ears as yet. Whoo-Hoo!

Snoring Guy, whose name, I think, is Landon, is now awake. It’s a good thing, because I might have had to smother him with a pillow if that damn snoring continued. And you know how inadequate these airline pillows are for putting people out of their misery. And mine. I bet you could barely suffocate a small child with one of these things.

So that’s the story from 36,000 feet at the moment. I may write again at some point between Phoenix and Los Angeles.

Posted by Jere at August 3, 2005 08:14 PM | TrackBack