Even if we were having to fly into Newark during a late-season winter storm, we were fortunate to have been able to experience the sunny tropics in the first place. Our plane did run late due to thousands of storm-related delays and cancellations including snow, ice, rain, howling winds. Nevertheless, we were boarded, not that much more than an hour late, pushed back from the gate, raring to go.
Then that dread intercom crackle. Pilot: “Sorry folks. There is a problem with a seal on a life raft access panel. It has no bearing on flight safety, but we need to research if policy will let us fly or we have to go back to the gate. If we go back, we’ll time out and this crew won’t be able to take you to Newark. We do apologize and will update you soon.”
All 150 or so of us are trying not to cry. I’m reminded of my youngest granddaughter: I need a time out so I can go back into my bed and use my pacifier.
Pilot: “I’m very sorry folks but policy doesn’t let us fly. We’ll need to go back to the gate. Someone there will help you make arrangements.”
Back to gate. But we sit and sit. Maintenance people with orange and green vests roam around the panel. All seems resolved. But that pesky time out. Wait wait wait.
We think about how much of our lifespan is about to go down the drain. I really do need to get in my bed with a pacifier. But then: Wild idea from pilot. Maybe we can fly you to Dulles and then another crew will fly you to Newark and you won’t even have to get off the plane!
Joan and I like this idea. Lots and lots of people do. But some people don’t.
I wish I’d have dared video some of the action to get my minutes of viral fame. In lieu of that, I did text family members contemporaneously, so I’ve stitched together a narrative based on often-verbatim texting of what came next.
After the pilot reported the potential solution, maybe one-fourth of the passengers went into a complete tizzy (some in we-have-feelings English, some in eloquent and energetic Spanish, bilinguality only adding to the fun). They threw fits. Let us off this plane! We’re done! This airline is toast! We have our rights!
They were reminded they were only going to Dulles to get a new crew. They wouldn’t even leave the plane, and it was the fastest they could get to Newark. They were warned if they got off they might make it to Newark amid cancellations maybe by the end of their lives. So most of them huffily paraded back on. But enough got off that all the luggage had to be pulled and reviewed on the tarmac.
After oh, two or three hours of new mutinies leading to more efforts to get off leading to more reminders that you might be in your grave before you get to Newark if you persist in this self-defeating behavior, a few people did give nice speeches. They pointed out (I didn’t speechify but courageously nodded support) that this would be a good time to work together as a community to help each other get to Newark instead of generating constant door openings and closures and luggage delays and threats from crew to cancel this flight right now. But the collaboration contingent struggled to achieve full buy in.
Then came word that–
a.) we might get to Dulles if the flight path around wind and storm and oh, a rocket launch at Canaveral could be achieved . . .
b.) fast enough the crew didn’t time out (our seatmate noted that if they timed out they might land us in the ocean), but–
c.) only if you dear people settle down right now.
Except that as the hours passed the crew had said you can go out to terminal for food if you send only one rep per family and return soon. Of course all kinds of exciting new hell broke loose as the push-pull of will we obey so we can actually fly or will we do what we want because we deserve it after all the fuss you’ve put us through continued including as some insisted give us airline vouchers right now to buy our food.
Somehow, even as we were constantly warned we had to get going any minute, the chaos persisted yet another hour or more. Then another update: Nearly within reach of a flight plan if you all settle down.
This was greeted as wow, just an ideal moment for more going to the bathroom, roaming the cabin, arguing with the crew. At this point our seatmate, admirable representative of his locale, a polite young gentleman by and large, observed that “these people are f-ing stupid.”
Joan and I have been on multiple canceled flights. There were many junctures at which we knew that in prior cancellations this would signal flight ended. But unbelievably, the crew started coming back to re-check boarding passes. Okay folks, we should have the flight plan in minutes.
So one woman starts playing local party music really loud. Attendant goes back says stop. She argues. Attendant says everyone can’t play music really loud on this plane it’s not legal stop right now. Argue argue.
Attendant, who seems to be a boss and a grizzled competent veteran of passenger wars, goes back up front to pick up microphone as amid the music kerfluffle a contingent that apparently has bought duty-free liquor celebrates the blessings of the spirits. The music fan and the spirits-lovers both have their celebrations rudely interrupted as the attendant goes on loudspeaker to observe as follows in several layers of Spanish and English:
“You need to know you can’t all play your music loud so none of you can. Imagine if you all did that! And it’s the rules that you can’t. Furthermore. Furthermore! If any of you even try to drink your own alcohol you need to know that could involve the federal government. Which is to say la policia. Which is to say you could be taken off this flight. Which is to say this flight would be canceled and no one would get to Newark. Not even to Dulles. Which is to say you could end up arrested and in jail instead of in Newark.
“So you need to listen. You need to obey the law. Please. Tienen que escuchar y obedecer la ley. Por favor! This flight will be problematic indeed without your cooperation. Este vuelto sera problematico sin su cooperacion.”
Cockpit door keeps opening and closing. Cabin door keeps opening and closing. People in reflective vests keep showing up after all seems resolved. Doors close. Doors open again. Thunk thunk sounds below the plane. Baton dude who guides the plane out gets to work then sits down again on a concrete barrier to watch the fun.
Chief attendant scrolls up and down his cell phone screen for the 3,423rd time in four hours. He and pilot confer for the 50th time. The pilot is not looking like he’s on a happy date. We keep waiting for sorry folks, your dreams are dashed. People keep getting up. Some go to the bathroom 242 times. Bathroom has become an overflowing outhouse and we haven’t even gone anywhere.
But then. Then. Flight plan has been approved “BUT ONLY IF WE GET TO RUNWAY IN 10 MINUTES.”
Lots of fussing and muttering. But crew firm, mostly on loudspeaker now, reiterate: “If we run out those 10 minutes Dulles canceled SIT DOWN people.” Somehow 10 minutes becomes like 25 but flight still hanging by its thread.
Loudspeaker: “Captain says NO ONE Stand Up for ANYthing or That’s IT we’re COOKED.”
The plane actually starts to move. Attendant comes back to check we’re all behaving. Gentleman behind continues a phone call. Attendant tells him, politely but sternly, phone off. Guy yells in several languages, “F— you [that part for sure is in English] we’ve been patient long enough.” It feels like blows come next.
The attendant says one more time “Stop the call or we cancel.” Then backs off and keeps moving up the cabin. Passenger huffs. Gets off the phone.
The plane keeps taxiing. The cockpit door stays closed. It looks gray and inscrutable and strong and a bulwark against the breakdown of civilization. You can almost feel the pilot concluding that so long as no shots ring out this plane is getting up in the air. And this plane is going to Dulles. And in a few hours this story is going to be shared with airline colleagues, maybe even putting some of that duty-free libation to legal use.
Our seatmate says this is the first time he’s been so scared. He says, “It feels like there’s too much going on in this plane.” Joan and I agree.
We get to the runway. I tell our seatmate there’s no wrong answer but ask if he believes in God. He says yes. So we all breathe prayers.
The plane gathers speed. We see the ground drop away.
—Michael A. King is blogger and editor, Kingsview & Co; and publisher, Cascadia Publishing House LLC. He has been a pastor and seminary dean.