Holiday in DFW or Moscow?

The one good thing about not blogging very often is I get to save up a lot of stories/incidents to blog about later. If I can just remember them all. This travel story happened last December.

On December 28, the last day of my Christmas holiday family visitation trip, the weather forecasters predicted 27 inches of snow at home. As usual, they were completely wrong; we only got 24 inches. But I was far away and unconcerned in unusually balmy weather in Tennessee. With two days to clear the snow from the runway and with the airport within walking distance of home if necessary, I didn't worry.

Amazingly, on my last night away, with humid conditions and a 68 degree temperature, we had a perfect night to sit by the hotel firepit without even a jacket. Two of my brothers were there along with assorted other hotel guests as we relaxed and eventually closed down the bar which proved to be my first mistake as hotel bars generally close at 11:00 or midnight, and I had to get up at 4:00 a.m. to catch a 6:00 a.m. flight home.

One of the other hotel guests opened up a travel bag and pulled out a bottle of whiskey for just such an emergency. When he asked us if we wanted some, my answer of "sure" became my second mistake. We enjoyed conversation late into the night, and I had become completely oblivious to the time. As we staggered back into the hotel, my brother said, "I can't believe it's 3:00 a.m." Crud.

At that point, I decided if I went to sleep I'd never get up for my flight so I just sat on the bed watching tv for an hour trying to stay awake. Finally at 4:00 a.m., I got up to get in the shower as my phone buzzed with a voicemail.

"That can't be good," I thought as I grabbed the phone and played the message.

"Hello, this is We Don't Fly in Snow Airlines. We regret to inform you that your flight from Dallas to Antarctica has been cancelled. However, we have booked you on a later flight which departs on January 2."

"January! That's next year!" I fumed to no one. "Four days? I can't get home for four days?"

I settled down and decided not to panic. I've been in these situations before; I'm sure I can get a flight via standby. I also realized that I could just stay in town for another day or two and at least visit family and catch a flight later in the week.

I checked in at the airport and told the agent that if I could book a later flight, I'd just hang around a few days. She glanced at the long line behind me and suggested that all flights were booked up forever and ever and that I should be happy just to get to Dallas. I figured she might be right, and at least St. Pauli Girl could always drive to Dallas to pick me up. So I headed toward the gate.

I finally collapsed into my seat on the plane ready to sleep for a solid two hours during the flight. An older man in jeans and a straw cowboy sat next to me (normal attire on a flight to Texas). I quickly closed my eyes to signal him not to bother me.

The plane finally took off, and I tried to get comfortable for my nap. I heard a slight buzzing sound and a light rap that slowly grew louder. I opened my eyes and noticed the man next to me humming some sort of chant while patting out time with his hands on his thighs. Then the chant went quiet and suddenly got loud again. I decided the best plan of action would be to ask him about it and see if he could keep it a little quieter.

"That's a lovely hymn you got going there," I said. "What does it mean?"

"Thank you. It doesn't really translate to English. But it basically means, 'hope the plane don't crash.'"

"Keep up the good work," I said as I turned back to the window and closed my eyes.

Thanks to his chanting, we made it safely to Dallas and I was now running on about 20 minutes of sleep in 24 hours. I decided I would treat myself to breakfast plus coffee before my next flight. I liked my chances; with the snow two days old, surely they had plowed the runway by now? As I finished my eggs, my phone received another voicemail.

"Hello, this is See You Next Year Airlines, your 9:30 flight has been cancelled. We booked you on standby on a 2:30 p.m. flight but don't hold your breath. And remember we still have a seat saved for you on that January 2 flight. Have a nice day!"

By the time I had paid my check, and left the restaurant, I looked up at a departures screen to see the 2:30 flight had been cancelled already. I called St. Pauli Girl to relay the good news. Originally, we had planned to drive back to Dallas on the 30th anyway to celebrate my birthday and spend the weekend there. We came up with a brilliant plan that I could just spend the night in Dallas, and she would drive out the next day like we had planned.

I decided I had better talk to a real airline agent to get everything straightened out. After an hour, I made it to the front of the line and spoke to an agent.

I said, "Look my wife is gonna pick me up tomorrow, so just keep me on that January 2 flight just in case. I'll just spend the night here."

Relieved that he didn't have to think or that I wasn't the typical angry psychopath airline passenger, he said, "Would you like a discounted hotel room?"

"Why yes, yes I would. Of course, I suppose I can't check in until this afternoon..."

"Nonsense, an airport shuttle will meet you over there by exit G."

Finally, things were looking up for me... ( to be continued)

Flying on the Ground

We continue from the previous post with more "Great Moments in Customer Service."

Several years ago, I made it a personal policy that a trip must be more than 1000 miles before I will consider flying. It's not that I am afraid of flying; it's just that I have found a 1000 mile trip in a tiny car with no air conditioning, screaming kids, bald tires and tornado warnings is just as pleasant as a 1000 mile flight. Usually we even drive the 1200 miles to visit my family, but I found some cheap airfare for the holidays, and we decided to fly instead.

The travel experience went pretty well even though we could only fly within 120 miles of our destination and had to drive the rest of the way. The final leg of the journey home involved a short flight from Dallas-Fort Worth to our small paradise here in the Great Republic. As we sat on the plane and neared our departure time, the captain came on the intercom and said, "Well folks, we're all set to go. We're just waiting to get fueled up. I keep calling for the fuel truck, but no one is answering the phone."

Although ensuring planes get the necessary fuel would be considered the primary part of the job of the fuel truck operator, I decided I would shrug off this inconvenience. Everyone has a bad day now and then. Plus, we're already on the plane for the last leg of the journey, not much else could go wrong.

The fuel truck eventually showed up, and we departed maybe twenty minutes late. After a short flight, we touched down an hour later at our home airport.

"Isn't it nice we live so close to the airport now?" St. Pauli Girl asked. "We'll probably be home in ten minutes."

The plane taxied from the runway then stopped just short of the gate area. The captain's voice came over the intercom, "Well folks, there's another plane currently at our gate. He should be on his way shortly. We'll have to wait here a few more minutes."

Let's review our time dictionary:

If you say:                               I hear:

Just a second                          1 to 5 seconds

In a moment                           5 to 30 seconds

In a minute                             30 to 90 seconds

In a couple of minutes            1.5 to 2.5 minutes

In a few minutes                    2.5 to 3.5 minutes

In five minutes                       4.5 to 5.5 minutes

15 minutes                            Oh no

A long time                           I'll never hear from you again

Even if you don't totally agree with my chart, I think we can all agree that "a few minutes" is a lot less than "30 minutes" which is how long we waited for that plane to move. And this is a small airport. There are only eight gates of which only five are actually used. How hard could it be to go to another gate?

Finally, the plane started moving to the gate area. You could hear the entire cabin sigh in relief. The plane maneuvered toward an empty gate 8. Then suddenly, the plane did a complete 180 degree turn back to where we came from then stopped again. The captain's voice came on again, "Well folks, we're not quite there yet, we just had to move out of the way for another plane that just landed."

I watched in awe as the other plane pulled up to an empty gate. I could see passengers standing up, ready to disembark. About five minutes later, our plane started moving again. This time I could see a crew set up to guide our plane to a gate. We finally managed to get off the plane 45 minutes after having landed.

I went to retrieve the car while St. Pauli Girl waited in baggage claim for our lone bag. I pulled up to the baggage claim area only to find a long line of cars ahead of me. They were all idle and no one seemed to be exiting the terminal. Another twenty minutes passed with no sign of action. I tried to call St. Pauli Girl but she didn't answer. I noticed a few people with baggage come out of the terminal. I pulled out of the line of cars and decided to double park by the door. When I got there I saw St. Pauli Girl with no luggage. She reported our luggage hadn't come off the plane yet.

Turned out that our wonderful airline had only two people working that night. They had to load up the plane that we had been waiting to clear the gate and handle our plane after we parked. At the same time. I'm pretty sure those flights had been on the schedule for a few months. I'm pretty sure a smart cookie supervisor could have scheduled enough people or called in someone on fear of losing his/her job or death.

We eventually got our bag and made it home two hours after having landed. (Did I mention we live five minutes from the airport?) But to top it all off, we paid $25 for the expert handling of our luggage! I'm pretty sure I could have offered anyone in the terminal $20 to go retrieve our bag from the plane, and we'd have gotten it within five minutes.

So I've decided to update my policy: 1500 miles or less, we drive.

Our Miracle On Ice

It was the typical holiday plan: pack up the kids, gifts, food, pillows, blankets and take a 15 hour drive to see family over the holidays. What could go wrong? We never have a white Christmas. Spring tornadoes sure, but not blizzards on Christmas.

Our master plan involved renting a van then driving on Christmas night in 2000 from the Texas panhandle to Tennessee to visit relatives on my side. It would probably be the only time we would ever do it with St. Pauli Girl’s kids, Eduardo and Raquel. They were probably less than thrilled but by driving overnight, we figured they’d be asleep and less likely to complain.

The weather forecast called for a snowstorm but what do meteorologists know? At least this time, they knew a lot. On Christmas morning, snowflakes filled the air. The bigger problem was the ice storm that shut down I-40 in Oklahoma with reports of ice and snow as far south as Dallas. I jumped onto the internet and scoured forecasts and road conditions. I found an alternative route by going south through Dallas. “If we can just get through Dallas by nightfall, we’ll be safe,” I told St. Pauli Girl. “But we need to leave as soon as possible.”

Now by “as soon as possible,” I meant “let’s get in the car and leave right now.” Unfortunately, we had to still pick up the rental van, send the dog to Grandma’s, load the van and get Eduardo and Raquel to pack their bags. Four hours later we were ready to pull out. The latest online road conditions report showed ice all the way to Dallas, but no roads were closed at that time. “And those reports are always ultra-conservative,” I explained to St. Pauli Girl. “Someone sees a snowflake and the plow trucks come out. It’s like those yellow highway signs showing a curve and recommending 35 miles per hour but you know you can really go about 55.”

The first twenty minutes of the trip went well. Snow was on the ground, but the roads were just wet, like driving through a nice spring shower. An hour in, snow was coming down a little harder, and you could see some slush on the road. I slowed down a bit but figured 55 mph would make okay time in this weather. I started to notice cars pulled over on the shoulder. “There sure are a lot of broken down cars,” I said. “They don’t build them like they used to.”

At this point, the van began slipping on icy spots so I slowed down a little more. As we neared a small town, flashing police lights alerted us to three cars in the median. “Idiots,” I said. “Obviously driving too fast for conditions.” I slowed down again.

A few minutes later, we drove past a Suburban laying on its side about fifty yards off the road.

“Did you see that?” St. Pauli Girl asked. “Maybe we should stop and check on them.”

“There’s no one there,” I said anxious to keep going and not lose anymore time.

“How do you know?”

“This is the country. They probably just park their car in the front yard.”

“On its side?”

“Well, it was probably on concrete blocks and the storm knocked it off. Besides if it had been a recent crash, the wheels would still be spinning, lights would be on or something,” I reasoned.

We passed several more cars that had gone off the road. Sleet came down harder, and I slowed down to about 40 mph. I could feel the van fishtail quite regularly now. I slowed down to 30. Our five-hour pace to Dallas had now become ten and what started out as a 15-hour trip had increased to about 27. But we pushed onward.

Finally, we came around a curve where the ice would not cooperate with our wheels. With “steer in the direction of the skid” pounding in my brain, I took us straight down a short embankment and into the snow covered median. Raquel screamed that we were crashing. Luckily there were no obstructions, and momentum carried us all the way through the median until we were pointed in the other direction just off the shoulder of the west bound side of the highway as if we had just made a U-turn.

“Wow,” I said. “What do you think?”

“I think we should keep going,” St. Pauli Girl replied. “We’re headed southeast. It’s going to get better!”

“You know what? Since we’re pointing in this direction, I’m going home.”

I pulled back onto the highway and slowly headed west. The storm became much fiercer, leaving a thick layer of snow atop the ice. But I wasn’t cold; I was covered in sweat. The snow came down so hard and fast it froze to the windshield before the wipers could clear it. We had to stop every 15 minutes and manually clear the windshield. Luckily the worst of the storm was headed east. By the time we hit the outskirts of our hometown, we faced only snowy roads.

We finally made it home, our 150-mile round trip having taken four hours. I sat down and St. Pauli Girl asked if it was wine time. “I’ll have scotch,” I said. “Make it a double.”

So in the spirit of the season, I send this holiday caveat to everyone: when the road department reports that conditions are bad and you should stay home, they aren’t kidding.

For Sale: Me!

St. Pauli Girl likes to participate in an online community forum related to one of her hobbies. Let’s call it “Stratego Fans.” Recently in that forum, a woman published a thread in which she stated that her husband has been unemployed for six weeks, and they are now stressing out about the future. A few posters then offered to donate money. Then someone suggested adding a Paypal button to her thread to make it easier for people to donate. Then she complained that it was taking too long to get the money from Paypal.

How awful! I hate when strangers give me money, and I have difficulty cashing their checks. Six weeks of unemployment? Even in the best of times, that still leaves 20 more weeks of unemployment benefits. I’m sure I sound like a mean Silas Marner ogre but that’s not the case at all. I’m jealous. Strangers are giving out free money on the internet? I want my fair share!

Technology has come a long way. In the old days, you had to cut up a piece of cardboard, make a sad sign, hike out to an exit ramp by the interstate and then bake/shiver in the hot/cold weather as passersby dropped quarters in your can. Apparently now you can just put up a Paypal link on a website, clip your toenails in your cool/warm house and wait for the money to roll in. Plus you can save your best cardboard box for when you might need it for shelter.

I’ve been attending an annual golf trip for the past 25 years. Unfortunately, due to tough economic times, I will not be able to attend this year. At least that’s what I thought. But now through the beauty of technology and your generosity, I am selling sponsorships to finance this golf trip. You can choose from several sponsorship packages outlined below. Remember, no amount is too small!

The Wooden Tee Sponsorship Package
($1 to $99)

To thank my valued sponsors, I will play all six rounds of golf with no tees! Each sponsor will receive a golf tee, photo and signed certificate from me stating that the enclosed golf tee is the actual tee I would have used on a specific golf hole. Don’t worry; my golf swing is so good I don’t need to tee it up! (Note: you must also enclose postage and handling to receive the photo, certificate and tee.)

The Tom Kite Special
($100 to $499)

Send me a hat, and I will wear it for a certain number of holes:
$100 – 6 holes
$200 – 12 holes
$300 – 18 holes
$400 – All day (36 holes plus lunch and dinner)
$499 – All day, plus I’ll sleep in it!

Up to three days and nights available! Documented photo evidence will be provided to you that I wore the hat. What a great opportunity to advertise your business, yourself or just plain make me look silly.

The John Daly Package
($500 to $999)

In addition to the Wooden Tee and Tom Kite benefits, you can hang out with me, the other players and have beer and dinner with us at Hooters every night. Plus, dinner is on me! I promise to get rip-roaring drunk, lose my pants at some point and then get into a fistfight with anyone of your choosing. Then we’ll go back to the Winnebago and trash the place!

The Jimmy Johnson Sponsorship
($1000 to $4999)

I’m selling logo space on my shirts, pants, socks and shoes:
1 Sock: $1000
1 Sleeve: $1500 (or get 2 sleeves for $2500!)
Shirt back: $4000
Shirt Chest: $3000
Shirt Torso: $4999 (can also be divided into halves, quarters and/or eighths for cheaper prices. There’s a lot of space there.)

(For $6000, I will play with no shirt. No refunds if I get kicked off the course or accidentally shot by big game hunters.)

The Bob Seger “Like a Rock” Sponsorship Package
($5000)

In addition to getting your logo on my golf bag, I promise to mention your name or business at every opportunity during the weekend. I guarantee to mention it at least once on every hole, in every pro shop, to every beverage cart girl, to every bag drop attendant, to every police officer, to every waiter/bartender/waitress, and at least 25 times every night when everyone is sitting around smoking cigars and drinking beer. That’s over 300 references in a four-day period! Try and get that kind of deal from a tv or radio station!

The Solid Gold Dancer Platinum Elite BlackCard Wizard Package
($10,000)

You will get everything in the above packages plus:
 Tournament sponsorship (well, as far as you know. I’ll have to work that around the tournament’s board of directors, namely the sole director.)

 Trophy Presentation. During the prestigious presentation of the Green Jacket and Myrtle Master’s Hat, your/company’s name/logo will be displayed in the background. You will then be offered a minute to say a few words about yourself/company and then shake the champion’s hand. I will also throw in a free cocktail.

 Admission to every clubhouse and the players’ locker room plus a nightly cocktail party on the balcony of the players’ condo. 15% discount on all tournament apparel.

 Walk inside the ropes with the players.

 I will approach up to 25 strangers at every airport along my journey and tell them what a good person/company you are. I will give them your phone number and you can even pick the relative attractiveness of who gets your phone number (scale of 1 to 10)

 I will write letters of recommendation for you, your spouse, kids and/or distant relatives to whomever they wish.

 I will remember you in my nightly prayers.

 A wax statue of you will be commissioned to be permanently displayed in the Pine Lakes Clubhouse.

 I will personally lobby the ownership of every golf course we play to rename their course in your honor. (I’m estimating a 50% success rate)

 You can have my 1997 Saturn SL1 Sedan. It’s green.

Please donate now. Only three weeks left! Operators are standing by!

(sorry, photo removed due to web crawlers spreading it around the internet)

A previous green jacket ceremony. (photo courtesy of Tony Tomanek Productions)

(Imagine your logo in the background and your opportunity to shake hands with the champion!)