Our trip to Florida started out so well. We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare despite it being rush hour. Security lines were short, the flight boarded on time, and we didn't have to fight for overhead bin space. The pilot informed us that we had clearance, and would have an on time departure.
And that is when it all went terribly, terribly wrong. Instead of going up, up and away, we sat. And sat. And sat.
Finally, the pilot came back on the PA and told us that they were having a problem figuring out how much fuel we would need for a full plane. Huh?
They got everyone on board, loaded all the luggage, were cleared to taxi out to the runway, and that is when they decided to worry about the fuel? Was this their first time flying a plane? Ever? What were they going to do, wait until the ground was rushing up to meet us to see if they knew how to operate the landing gear and brakes?
While we were all scratching our heads over that announcement, the pilot came back on and explained that since one of the air conditioning units was broken, we would have to fly at a lower altitude, thereby burning more fuel than usual. The problem was that with a full plane, they couldn't carry enough fuel to get us to our destination. Therefore, we would be landing in Charlotte (NC) to refuel.
Goody. An extra two or three hours to enjoy our spacious and luxurious coach seats, questionable air conditioning, an unscheduled stop and the threat of running out of fuel. Was it too late to change our minds and choose an alternative method of transportation, like, say, walking, that would get us there faster, safer and more comfortably?
As we taxied down the runway fifty minutes late, there was one final announcement: they would try to get us there as quickly as possible, but since we were probably landing in Charlotte...
Wait a minute. Probably? What happened to erring on the side of caution and definitely landing in Charlotte? Let me get this straight. We were taking off and they still didn't know if we had enough fuel? Who was doing those calculations, a chimp with an abacus? When were they going to have an answer, right before we made an emergency landing on I95?
As if things weren't exciting enough, when we finally did take off, the wind was gusting up to fifty miles an hour, so the first half hour of our trip felt more like riding a bucking bronco than an airplane. A really, really mean bronco, with a burr under his saddle.
Despite all of these little problems though, the only truly tense moment came when we were taking off from Charlotte and the flight attendant told everyone to sit back, relax and have a pleasant flight. I believe the boat had sailed on that several hours earlier.
No comments:
Post a Comment