My Worst Flight to Date: March 26, 2018
Who
knew what I was in for when I boarded American Airlines Flight 1787 at 6:15 pm
out of Charlotte, NC…
Some
reputations you can be proud of; this is not one of those. I’ve become
notorious for having the worst luck with flights—well, okay, not the REAL WORST
where I don’t live to tell about it, but bad enough that when I begin a story
of my latest flight experience, the head-shakes and eye-rolls begin with my
family and friends. Some now even stop me in mid-sentence to say, “Wait a
minute!” and pull out the beer and popcorn…here comes your latest
entertainment, folks…MY bad luck!
A
Little Background
As
my sister says, “What IS it with you and flying?!!” To which, I can only agree,
“I know, right?” There was the famous 2010 reunion flight (my “Houston, We Have
a Problem” blog) where I managed to do battle with a red-eye flight and wound
up going through security 3 times in one day, then arriving in hurricane
country in time for Hurricane Earl. Another time I overheard the pilot arguing
with the control tower—“Doesn’t anyone know what they’re DOING out
there?!”—when getting ready to take off at O’Hare; this was back in the day
when they let you plug into the cockpit goings-on…I’ve noticed a lack of that
feature since then. One turbulent experience had the whole plane flopping back
and forth and dropping so hard that, upon landing, the uniformed pilot in front
of my row who had hitched a ride with us, turned and said, “I really did not think we were going to
make that one!” Needless to say, there was a long line at the first available
airport bathroom after that flight.
On
and on it goes… I’ve experienced all of the usual common complaints of frequent
flyers—screaming babies, sick people who don’t cover their mouths when coughing
and sneezing next to you, and turbulence that has you reviewing your whole life
while the flying sardine box whizzes and bounces seemingly out of control. But
this time, on my March 26th flight from Charlotte, N.C. to Portland,
Oregon, it appears I have taken my own special brand of excitement to significant
outer-reaches.
The
Foreshadowing
First
off, my flight TO the East Coast on March 16th had a new “thing” for
me—I had never before heard a pilot actually scream over the intercom but this
one did—“Sit down and belt up NOW!”—because the Nor’easters were playing havoc
with our beloved plane and he wanted all flight crew to abandon the snack cart
idea and get back in their seats immediately. Also, a gentleman who had been in
the bathroom during our extreme turbulence came busting out and literally ran
to his seat to buckle in, zipping up his pants as he squirted past our row. I
began my mantra and reviewing-of-life, “I’ve had a GOOD life…” and we proceeded
to toss about some more before roughly landing, with me wobbling off the craft.
Little
did I know that so far what I had experienced in my aviation adventures was nothing in comparison to my flight back
to the West Coast on the 26th. NOTHING.
The
Happy Beginning
After
an awesome visit with family—including a memorable shared time with my sister,
our special visit with our mom, and an epic time with my son and his family, which
of course included spending precious time with my amazing granddaughters in
Charlotte—it was time once again for me to face the beast of the airways and,
to my credit, I did so with a positive attitude. I was thrilled to have a non-stop
flight, unheard of since it was spring break and Easter was just around the
corner, and I called my husband to share my ultimate hope that this would be a
quiet flight where maybe I could get some sleep. Ahhhhhh. Ignorance IS bliss,
isn’t it?
Smoothly
went the boarding process and I settled into my window seat—yes!
When
all passengers were onboard and the safety instructions started, the guy in the
aisle seat of my row and I made eye contact and gave each other a thumb’s up
since it was evident that we had an empty middle seat between us—unheard of in
these days of flight overbooking—sweet!!
Déjà
Vu Begins to Rear its Ugly Head…
As
soon as we were in the air, the flight crew began dealing with a young couple
who had been seated apart, and their distressed toddler who was trying to get
back and forth between them, getting crankier in his distress. The flight crew
politely asked Mr. Aisle Seat and me if we would consider moving to the 2 aisle
seats that the family had occupied, giving them the row where they could be
together, and we quickly agreed. They moved my row buddy to the aisle seat
directly across and me to the aisle seat directly in front of the row we were
in.
I
took a quick scan of the row I was now sitting in—a doe-eyed 20-something young
lady smiled at me from her window seat, and a 40-something odd-looking guy
looked up at me but didn’t respond at all when I said hello and sat down next
to him. Fine. No problemo. “He will be quiet and so will I,” thought I. The
toddler behind me took this opportunity to have a screaming jag, and 2 of the
people across from me, began coughing and sneezing with Bubonic Plague sounds and
the light caught the sputum flying in the air towards me since they weren’t
covering their mouths, thank you very much. There’s comfort in the familiar,
and I knew just what to do; I wiped my surroundings with disinfectant sheets
and popped out the Airborne. Here we go again!
And
Déjà Vu Takes a Nasty Left Turn…
I
tried to settle into my book, but almost instantly, Middle Seat guy—I’ll refer
to him as “M”—started rocking back and forth, and jerking forward and back; he could
not keep still—his legs were dancing everywhere. It didn’t take long for me to
realize that something was a bit off about “M” and I felt kind of sorry for him—hang on, this
too shall pass!—and I figured that perhaps the Window Seat young lady might be
flying with him—a relative maybe—and would know the issue. I made eye contact
with her and she immediately returned a rather frightened look and threw up her
hands as if to say, “I have NO idea!”
I
quickly forgot about getting any sleep, and tried my best to be polite and read
my book, but “M” would have none of that. He took off his belt, draped that
around his neck, then took a back brace he had on and wrapped that around his
head, holding onto it and throwing his head back/forth and side-to-side. Within
the first half-hour of flight, he needed to use the bathroom—which he needed to
do at least 8 more times during the flight—so I got up, let him out. He spent
some time back there and I talked to the young lady a little bit—we agreed that
it would probably be a long flight.
When
“M” returned, he began hitting his tray table and kicking the seat in front of
him, so the people in front of us were naturally irritated and turning around.
I quietly whispered to them that he was a little “off” and I’d talk to the
flight crew about any solutions.
So
back I went to the flight crew—the first of many trips to their area as it
turned out—and asked if any of them were aware of “M”s issues, as in, were they
given any kind of heads up by the people who helped him get on this flight?
They said no, and began watching him. It didn’t take long for “M” to show his
colors and for them to agree that “M” was indeed not quite right.
“Oh
my God!” said one of the crew, “Here we move you to another seat and it turns
out like this! Drinks and snacks are on us—do you want anything?” I was full
from a big lunch before my flight and I hadn’t been doing a whole lot of
drinking the last few years, but this seemed like an exception—“Well, I
wouldn’t mind a vodka cranberry, actually.” She immediately made me a double,
and I’m thinking, “Okay, maybe I can make it through this flight…”
“M”
See “M” Do…
One
of the crew went to speak to “M” and asked if he would like anything, as he was
obviously in some distress. He requested a double whiskey and water. Seeing as
how none of us knew what his problem was or whether he was on some kind of
medication for whatever his condition was, they were a bit squeamish about
giving him liquor, but decided to give him a single to see if that helped calm
him down at all.
It
did not.
The
crew then asked if I would like to move; there was a middle seat on the exit
row—more leg room—that was available if I wanted it. I was really tempted but I
was also thinking about the young lady in the window seat who could not escape
from him as easily as I could. I suggested we ask her if she wanted to move,
then maybe give him the window seat with a seat between us—and maybe the extra
space would help relax him a little. The young lady jumped at the move, thanking
me, and then one of the crew told “M” he could have the window seat and stretch
out now.
I
went back to my seat with a little hope in my heart, vodka in my veins, and an
extra bottle they had plied me with in my pocket. Added note: one of the staff
wanted to ply me with several more bottles but before I could say, “Woah!”
another pointed out that if I was going to be their “eyes” on this guy, they
didn’t want me passing out. We all laughed.
“M”
definitely stretched out—bobbling back and forth so that sometimes his head was
almost in my lap, sometimes his legs were bumping into mine. The couple in
front of me was thankful that he was moved over so he was no longer torturing
them but now, unfortunately, that meant that their window seat woman was his
latest victim. He kicked her seat repeatedly, belched with a distinctive odor
in her direction which she commented loudly on, then pounded the tray, and
shook the top of her seat vigorously.
No
Longer Ignorance, No Longer Bliss
As
the snack cart made its way back to us—and the flight crew nervously watching
his latest actions—“M” suddenly stood up and leaned forward over the chair in
front of him and the lady then quickly scooted to the front edge of her seat,
turned around to look up at him and irritatingly exclaimed, “Are you WELL?!!!!”
to which he replied, “Yeah, well, no, sorry,” then plunked down to continue
thrashing about. When the crew got to her row, the woman pointed behind her and
asked, “Is this a known issue?” to which they said, “We’re finding out all we can.”
When
they then reached our row, “M” ordered another whiskey and water. The staff
looked at each other quickly and the one at our row said, “Sir, we’re cutting
you off. No more liquor. You’re welcome to anything else—soda, water,
snacks—but not liquor.” He bought a snack box and ordered a soda. The crew
member then leaned down to me and whispered, “Darcie—anything you want—any
snack? Any more drinks?” I was still not hungry but ordered some more cranberry
juice to go with the vodka bottle I still had from the last time she plied me.
“M” proceeded to trash the 2 seats he occupied—snacks everywhere, spilled his drink
in the seat, with wrappers and cardboard all over the place.
After
tiring of sitting at the front edge of her set, the window seat woman finally
got up and went back towards the bathrooms, and then “M” wanted out too. It was
his 4th trip in about 2 hours and he made his way back with belt
draped around his neck, holding his pants up while zipping/un-zipping them. The
window seat woman did not return and “M” came back after a long bit of time.
Very
soon, there was the distinct smell of smoke. The couple with the toddler behind
us noticed it right away and pushed the call light. I smelled it and the people
in front of me smelled it; we were all looking back towards the restrooms. When
the staff took the call, they immediately charged back to the bathrooms,
banging on the doors to stop whatever was going on. Two poor souls emerged
professing their innocence. One girl, almost in tears, was sobbing, “I swear to
you I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life!”
So,
gee, where might the smoke have come from? A dreaded kind of premonition caused
me to turn my head to the right and that’s when I saw “M”s left pocket with a
big ol’ box of Camels sticking out.
The
crew was in the back trying to figure out the problem and I headed to them,
explaining that I may have an idea of who was responsible. When I poked my head
back into their area, I spotted the window seat woman—who had earlier departed
from our area—with a drink in her hand, sitting there calming her nerves. She
raised her glass in a salute, and obviously intended to stay there as long as
she could. Couldn’t blame her a bit.
On
my way back to my seat this time, the guy who had been moved with me in the
beginning offered to switch seats with me for the rest of the flight. “I can’t
believe the raw deal you got!” Nice offer, but I declined…I was ready to ride this
one out.
In
Denial
One
of the crew went to “M” and asked “Sir, were you smoking in the bathroom?” to
which he shook his head and grumbled, “No!”
There
was nothing to do but return to my seat and when “M” inevitably wanted to use
the bathroom again, there was nothing the crew could do but let him lock
himself in and hope he didn’t burn anything down. He came back not smelling of
smoke this time (whew!) and plunked down again, banging on the now empty seat
in front of him. I mentally saluted, “Here’s to you, window seat woman in the
flight attendant station with your drink!”
Soon,
“M” was fidgeting in his pockets—I was trying to simultaneously read my book
and use peripheral vision to see what he was up to—and pulled out his wallet.
He got up on his knees and turned to the couple-with-toddler behind and said,
“Will you buy me a whiskey and water?” to which the father said, “No sir, I
don’t drink.” He said, “You don’t have to drink it, just buy it for me with my
money.” Nope. He then turned to me—focus-on-your-book-Darcie-focus-on-your-book!—and
would not let me ignore him. I gave him a resounding no, and headed back to my
spot with the flight crew once again. “Okay, now he’s offering money to others
to buy him a drink.” Eye-rolls all around and then window seat woman—nursing
the same or another drink—said, “Well, that takes care of wondering if he’s in
his right mind, doesn’t it?” Nodding, and unhappy faces all around.
Reluctantly, I returned to my seat.
About
this time, the recent vodka cranberry took effect and I actually dozed off, in
spite of everything. I awoke to the flight crew leaning over me sternly talking
to “M” about his latest escapade which evidently involved a lighter he was
flicking and making other passengers nervous. She also explained that they
would have to have him arrested if he continued in this fashion. He denied the
lighter action and I was now wide awake once again. Oh joy.
Why
Can’t I Keep My Mouth Shut?
“M”
began his thrashing again and I noticed out of my left side that the young lady
sitting in the aisle seat across from me was looking over at him skeptically.
“Boy, he really makes me nervous!” she said, to which I said, “I know, right?
Do we have the row from Hell or what? I’ve got him and you’ve got those sickos
next to you,” referring to the Bubonic plague duo not covering their mouths to
cough and sneeze. Not long after I expressed that observation, I came to the
realization that she was with those 2 and I had just stuck my foot in my mouth
big time. I’m going to blame the vodka. Just sprinkling my sunshine everywhere
I go, I guess!
Can
There Be Any More Drama?
About
90 minutes before landing—and after the longest 4 plus hours of flight ever—I
was trying once more to focus on my book when I saw out of the corner of my eye
a glint of metal. I turned to “M” and saw him flicking open a pocket knife in
his hands. When he caught me looking at him, he quickly snapped it shut,
putting it in his left pocket.
I
actually toyed for a moment with not reporting it just because I was tired of
complaining about him, but then better judgment got the best of me and back I
went. This was the last straw for them and the crew jumped into action.
The
security person on board contacted the Portland Airport security and they
arranged for police to meet the plane once we landed. Staff picked up my stuff
and moved me to a middle seat that 2 businessmen had been using for an office,
and I felt bad busting up their party but explained a little of what was going
on. The guys were pretty muscular and tough-looking so when the one sitting to
my left asked how far back “M” was—he was 9 rows back from this new row—I
thought he would try to go do something but instead he said, “That’s not far
enough back; I don’t like that guy behind us!” Oh, cry me a river.
The
landing at Portland Airport was smooth enough, then the pilot came on the
loudspeaker to explain that everyone needed to stay seated after landing. The 2
guys on either side of me knew why but everyone else began looking around
nervously.
After
several minutes stopped at the gate, with everyone sitting still, 2 vested up
police officers tromped down the aisle towards “M”. I didn’t look back but saw
“M” scuttling up the aisle, with one of the officers running to keep up with
him. The other officer proceeded behind and asked, “Now who saw the knife?”
“That
would be me,” I said, and we talked for a few, me showing him about how big it
was, adding that he put it in his left pocket. He thanked me and continued on.
15
Minutes of Unwelcome Fame…
I
felt sort of like a celebrity for a little while…all the crew knew my name and
hugged me on my way out, apologizing for my awful flight. Then others were
curious and had to ask me questions all the way out. Some questions were
rhetorical: “How did he get past security with a lighter and a knife?—I couldn’t
even get my water jug past them!”
“M”
was at the gate when we got off, talking to both police officers, and my legs
were rather wobbly, so as soon as I found an empty gate, I sat down facing a
moving walkway.
On
the way there, a woman had said, “Well, that certainly wasn’t a boring flight!”
I agreed and said, “My husband’s not going to believe this,” to which she said,
“Honey, you just had 200 witnesses to what happened; he’s got to believe you!”
So
I called my husband and he was probably popping the popcorn as I began my tale.
The officers went by on the walkway as we talked, then the flight crew…then “M”
who saw me and stared at me the entire time he was on the walkway, which I
reported to my husband who then stayed on the phone with me in the baggage
area, until I caught the Hut Shuttle to Salem.
Lessons
Learned
A
flight that crashed would have been worse than this one, but I have to admit to
several times thinking, “If we crash now, I have 3 fewer hours to deal with
this guy…” etc. But now, of course, I’m glad it didn’t.
In
trying to figure out how to turn this into a positive, I’ve decided to start a
web site where I outline every flight plan I have in the future. This way, all
of you innocents can plan accordingly—doing the opposite of what I do.
You’re
welcome.
