Wash.
New Member
To start out with, I'm asking prayer for my family and grandpa, my grandma passed away this last week suddenly, and unexpected. We thought she was in good health, but apparently not. In any case, all the services are over and things will start to quiet down. It'll be a hard time for everyone, we were all very close. Thanks for your prayers.
In addition, I want to warn you against flying Air Tran - here's why...
Here is my story, a week after hearing about my grandmother’s passing, I found myself back at the airport to continue my studies and finish up the semester. I figured I’d catch the red-eye so that I could get back to my classes on time and not miss any more classes than I needed. The weather on the east coast created delays across the nation, and for some reason SFO was no exception, even though I was flying into Atlanta. As my luck would have it, the flight was delayed until 1:30 AM, when I was suppose to leave at 9:55 PM. Inconvenience by weather is no doubt excusable as it is an act of God, not an inept airline that causes delays. Normally, it would not be an issue IF Atlanta was my final destination, but not so! No, I had to grab a connecting flight at 5:20 AM, which wasn’t going to happen. With the adjusted arrival at around 8:40am, my connection changed to a 9:20am flight. I would have the pleasure of carrying over 50 lbs in my carry-on and backpack, something I was looking forward to after a mere 4 hours of sleep on the flight over. But alas, I would not be so lucky. 1:30 rolls around, the plane was there! Hallelujah! They started boarding the first class and soon they would be calling my zone, or so I thought. But this is not a joyful story of air travel and how wonderful flying can be, this is a horror story of the deepest and most depressing nature. If by now you were hoping that I would end this story in a glorious miracle of God that somehow brought me to Atlanta perfectly on time to catch that flight, then you will be disappointed. Instead, those who had gotten onto the plane came back off, with perplexed looks on their faces, matching those of us who wouldn’t be so lucky as to set foot on that plane. A few minutes later, over the loudspeaker, “Uh, sorry about the wait, we’re trying to fix this problem.” 2:00 AM rolls around and I realize that I won’t be taking the 9:20 flight out to IAD. In fact, rumor had it that ever flight out of Atlanta to IAD was booked, except the 9:15PM. Another five minutes passed, minutes that felt like hours, as we anxiously awaited the outcome, like a man waits to be called a father for the first time. Out of the terminal door, our short pilot-to-be (or so we thought) emerged with some news. A metaphorical miscarriage, a royal catastrophe – his flight attendant was ill and decided that she needed to be rushed to the hospital.
I learned something new that day, apparently a plane was not allowed to take off unless it had a captain, his co-pilot, and three flight attendants. We had two. I voted to forgo beverages services and whatever other in-flight conveniences that were allotted the coach class of such a prestigious airline, like little plastic earphones that do not fit and seem pre-worn because of the traces of earwax residue. Promises of hotel room, alternate airline commendations, taxi fares, and various other forms of compensation rang throughout the cramped terminal in the far recesses of SFO. I have the eerie feeling that they were as empty as the promises made by democrats every new election year. I did not intend to spend the night in the terminal to wait and find out. Here comes the most encouraging part of the whole ordeal, by God’s good grace, I found myself in the right place at the right time, with an airline rep on a computer booking me the next flight out of SFO, in the afternoon at 12:55. I figure I will be your run of the mill college guy, “I’ll take what I can get” – if you know what I mean.
Here I sit, on flight 44 at gate 32 from SFO to Atlanta, with a connection shortly after up to IAD. I just ate a couple of their “biscottus” (plural for biscotti, of course) – little cookies that do not deserve such a luxurious title. If “Fight Club”, the 1999 movie staring Brad Pitt, is worth anything – it’s perfect for quoting this, concerning airline travel. Single serving airlines. A single serving drink, with a singe serving cookie, and you meet single serving friends who will eventually fade from your memory. I met such a friend last night. In fact, I don’t know her name, all I know about her is that she’s from Brazil, interested in fashion, and headed to DC. What does it matter? It does not. Of course you ask these things to be polite, but you wonder who ever really listens? If it made any bit of difference, you would remember for at least beyond the few moments you spend with them. Come next week, the memory of her will be long faded, even if I tried to think of her. Which brings me to my next point – this whole concept of flying from one place to another. Drive to Dulles, wake up in Atlanta, San Francisco, back to Dulles, lose three hours, gain three hours, a different time, a different place – can you wake up a different person? Again, my gratitude to Fight Club for these deep ponderings of the nature of travel. And at the end of the flight, you will find you ended up exactly where you left from, having only traveled in a circle. I cannot imagine living like this, life would become so dry! I don’t know how businessmen do it.
Turning back to my story, I am now home at 3 AM Tuesday morning. I should have been asleep for a good 4 hours by now, with another 4 hours on the other side. Let me recount the last few hours for you in brief. It sucked. Now, with a little more explanation, I got off the flight, got my bags, and headed out to wait for the shuttle. Fifteen minutes later, the shuttle showed up to take us to the green lot. It was packed, so I was stuck standing with my backpack on my back and a crazy driver whipping that bus around like crazy. It's amazing I didn't fall all over the poor people who had to sit as I stood over them like a menacing school teacher. I apologized, even though it wasn't my fault. I eventually found my way back to the car and on the road towards Lynchburg. I stopped twice, once to fill my tank half up, since most gas stations are closed this late at night. The second time was to pick up some water at Sheets, I also happened to grab beef jerky to chew to keep me awake. Besides the wind tossing my Honda around like a little toy car, the trip was uneventful.
In conclusion, of all these things, my spite and distaste for Air Tran has grown beyond what i thought possible. The only thing that could have happened worse is them losing my luggage or sending it to Africa. Luckily that did not happen. Please understand that the entirely airline isn't to blame, obviously. However, I find it disconcerting that after such an inconvenience, NOT caused by weather, I still had to pay them 600 bucks for a two-way flight that never really happened right. I missed classes, work, and valuable time. This story could have a happy conclusion if it included some sort of compensation for the troubles and money this trip has cost me. Until then, this story will remain a sad one, with villainy at the heart of its telling.
In addition, I want to warn you against flying Air Tran - here's why...
Here is my story, a week after hearing about my grandmother’s passing, I found myself back at the airport to continue my studies and finish up the semester. I figured I’d catch the red-eye so that I could get back to my classes on time and not miss any more classes than I needed. The weather on the east coast created delays across the nation, and for some reason SFO was no exception, even though I was flying into Atlanta. As my luck would have it, the flight was delayed until 1:30 AM, when I was suppose to leave at 9:55 PM. Inconvenience by weather is no doubt excusable as it is an act of God, not an inept airline that causes delays. Normally, it would not be an issue IF Atlanta was my final destination, but not so! No, I had to grab a connecting flight at 5:20 AM, which wasn’t going to happen. With the adjusted arrival at around 8:40am, my connection changed to a 9:20am flight. I would have the pleasure of carrying over 50 lbs in my carry-on and backpack, something I was looking forward to after a mere 4 hours of sleep on the flight over. But alas, I would not be so lucky. 1:30 rolls around, the plane was there! Hallelujah! They started boarding the first class and soon they would be calling my zone, or so I thought. But this is not a joyful story of air travel and how wonderful flying can be, this is a horror story of the deepest and most depressing nature. If by now you were hoping that I would end this story in a glorious miracle of God that somehow brought me to Atlanta perfectly on time to catch that flight, then you will be disappointed. Instead, those who had gotten onto the plane came back off, with perplexed looks on their faces, matching those of us who wouldn’t be so lucky as to set foot on that plane. A few minutes later, over the loudspeaker, “Uh, sorry about the wait, we’re trying to fix this problem.” 2:00 AM rolls around and I realize that I won’t be taking the 9:20 flight out to IAD. In fact, rumor had it that ever flight out of Atlanta to IAD was booked, except the 9:15PM. Another five minutes passed, minutes that felt like hours, as we anxiously awaited the outcome, like a man waits to be called a father for the first time. Out of the terminal door, our short pilot-to-be (or so we thought) emerged with some news. A metaphorical miscarriage, a royal catastrophe – his flight attendant was ill and decided that she needed to be rushed to the hospital.
I learned something new that day, apparently a plane was not allowed to take off unless it had a captain, his co-pilot, and three flight attendants. We had two. I voted to forgo beverages services and whatever other in-flight conveniences that were allotted the coach class of such a prestigious airline, like little plastic earphones that do not fit and seem pre-worn because of the traces of earwax residue. Promises of hotel room, alternate airline commendations, taxi fares, and various other forms of compensation rang throughout the cramped terminal in the far recesses of SFO. I have the eerie feeling that they were as empty as the promises made by democrats every new election year. I did not intend to spend the night in the terminal to wait and find out. Here comes the most encouraging part of the whole ordeal, by God’s good grace, I found myself in the right place at the right time, with an airline rep on a computer booking me the next flight out of SFO, in the afternoon at 12:55. I figure I will be your run of the mill college guy, “I’ll take what I can get” – if you know what I mean.
Here I sit, on flight 44 at gate 32 from SFO to Atlanta, with a connection shortly after up to IAD. I just ate a couple of their “biscottus” (plural for biscotti, of course) – little cookies that do not deserve such a luxurious title. If “Fight Club”, the 1999 movie staring Brad Pitt, is worth anything – it’s perfect for quoting this, concerning airline travel. Single serving airlines. A single serving drink, with a singe serving cookie, and you meet single serving friends who will eventually fade from your memory. I met such a friend last night. In fact, I don’t know her name, all I know about her is that she’s from Brazil, interested in fashion, and headed to DC. What does it matter? It does not. Of course you ask these things to be polite, but you wonder who ever really listens? If it made any bit of difference, you would remember for at least beyond the few moments you spend with them. Come next week, the memory of her will be long faded, even if I tried to think of her. Which brings me to my next point – this whole concept of flying from one place to another. Drive to Dulles, wake up in Atlanta, San Francisco, back to Dulles, lose three hours, gain three hours, a different time, a different place – can you wake up a different person? Again, my gratitude to Fight Club for these deep ponderings of the nature of travel. And at the end of the flight, you will find you ended up exactly where you left from, having only traveled in a circle. I cannot imagine living like this, life would become so dry! I don’t know how businessmen do it.
Turning back to my story, I am now home at 3 AM Tuesday morning. I should have been asleep for a good 4 hours by now, with another 4 hours on the other side. Let me recount the last few hours for you in brief. It sucked. Now, with a little more explanation, I got off the flight, got my bags, and headed out to wait for the shuttle. Fifteen minutes later, the shuttle showed up to take us to the green lot. It was packed, so I was stuck standing with my backpack on my back and a crazy driver whipping that bus around like crazy. It's amazing I didn't fall all over the poor people who had to sit as I stood over them like a menacing school teacher. I apologized, even though it wasn't my fault. I eventually found my way back to the car and on the road towards Lynchburg. I stopped twice, once to fill my tank half up, since most gas stations are closed this late at night. The second time was to pick up some water at Sheets, I also happened to grab beef jerky to chew to keep me awake. Besides the wind tossing my Honda around like a little toy car, the trip was uneventful.
In conclusion, of all these things, my spite and distaste for Air Tran has grown beyond what i thought possible. The only thing that could have happened worse is them losing my luggage or sending it to Africa. Luckily that did not happen. Please understand that the entirely airline isn't to blame, obviously. However, I find it disconcerting that after such an inconvenience, NOT caused by weather, I still had to pay them 600 bucks for a two-way flight that never really happened right. I missed classes, work, and valuable time. This story could have a happy conclusion if it included some sort of compensation for the troubles and money this trip has cost me. Until then, this story will remain a sad one, with villainy at the heart of its telling.
We will keep you all in our prayers.