We all have those weeks. They are the weeks that linger like a looming black raincloud and are filled with the types of seemingly endless days that everyone knows about, but no one wants to live through. This was one of those weeks for me…one of those weeks from Hell.
Today was my day to get out of dodge. I had finished my torturous work week one day early and had plans to travel east for a long 4th of July weekend at my family’s cottage. I had one afternoon to spend in my hometown first, and I planned to use it drinking mojitos and lounging on patio furniture with my mother. It would be good to be home.
Eager to get out of Chicago for a while, I woke up at 5:50am, showered and took my clumsily packed suitcase one bus and one train ride to O’Hare International Airport. I checked the “Departures” screen when I arrived: “DELAYED – 10:30.” Of course, I thought. A one-hour delay, which is time I could have used toward my four hours of restless sleep last night. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and sleep has not been high on my list of weekly accomplishments.
I made it through security and checked the screen again: “DELAYED – 10:45.” I got myself some oatmeal, extra toppings, from Starbucks, made my way to Gate C28 and decided to treat myself to the airport’s seven dollar Boingo Wi-Fi to occupy my time.
Three hours, one gate change and several airplane status updates later, we finally boarded out of Gate C30. It was 11:00am. Happy to be on board and feeling content with only having a 90-minute delay, I leaned my head back and began dozing off. We made our way onto the runway while the United CEO explained through the TV monitors how not to die in a plane crash. The pilot came over the loud speaker. “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff.” I leaned against the window to sleep, but only drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time I opened my eyes, I saw we had moved only slightly further on the runway.
Forty-five minutes later I looked at my watch. What was going on? I had a good view of the plane’s wing from my window seat and watched as it teetered back and forth. It felt as if the plane had become the little engine that couldn’t. It kept attempting to move forward, but only rocked side to side. The pilot finally picked up his intercom. The plane had a maintenance issue, and we needed to return to the gate.
If there was ever a moment I considered creating public chaos, this was it. I felt my mind screaming as my insides fueled with anger. The flight attendant came on the loud speaker and gave us permission to check our phones for “alternative options”. Alternative options for what? I started preparing my speech for the customer service representatives. “Absolutely not,” I would say. “That is unacceptable. You need to get me to New York TODAY.” I tried not to get too far ahead of myself. Tears started flowing down my cheeks. If I did not get off the plane soon, I swore I would have a mental breakdown and most likely end up leaving in handcuffs and a straight jacket. Was it too early to drink?
Back at Gate C30, the pilot suggested staying on the plane while maintenance investigated the situation. There would be no reason to deplane if maintenance could solve the problem quickly. Another 40 minutes went by. The plane’s brakes had overheated, and the maintenance team was ready to determine if we were safe to fly. It would only be another 30 minutes. Because I overused it during the original delay, my phone had died, so I took my 15-minute authorized plane recess to hunt down a wall outlet and call my mother. As it turned out, United had posted our plane as “Departed” on its website and she had already driven 60 miles to the Buffalo airport. We exchanged a few curse words toward the airlines and decided she would go shopping.
I quickly returned to the plane. It was 1:15, and we were cleared to attempt our second departure. Back on the runway, 200 passengers crossed their fingers in deep hope that the plane would indeed take off. The engine turned and the wheels lifted. Success! I began to sigh with relief, but within seconds of being airborne I saw the plane’s wing veer down toward the city then up again toward the sky. Then, the bumps came. Please pick up your intercom and tell me this is turbulence from weather and not a result of this maintenance issue, I willed the pilot. No word. The bumps continued, only this time the entire plane started to rock. Then, the plane dropped. It did not drop far, but it fell long enough for me to wonder if we hit an air pocket and quick enough for me to fly as far out of my seat as my seat belt would allow.
The flight attendant came on the loud speaker, but with his thick accent all we could understand was the word “emergency.” What did he say? The mood on the plane tensed. I gripped my arm rests as tight as I could. The plane dropped again, my feet flew off the ground and I lost my stomach. I tightened my seatbelt and looked out the window. We had just approached Lake Michigan, but the plane could not seem to gain much height. It dropped again and continued to rock in every direction an upright plane can move.
We still did not know whether the rocking was a result of the maintenance issue or weather. This is it, I thought. I am going to die in Lake Michigan. We are going down, and my mother is going to sue the shit out of United. I was certain my fate would end here. A retired pilot sat in the seat next to me, and I watched him remove his headphones. He must have wanted to be fully present in his final minutes before death. I thought about asking him if faulty brakes could make a plane crash while airborne, but could not find words. Instead, I just clenched my teeth together and looked down at my hands. They had turned white from my tight grip on the arm rest. Who would write my blog when I am dead? Who would take care of my cat? I did not know.
About 10 minutes later, the rocking finally stopped and the turbulence returned to steady bumps. The pilot announced that thunderstorms in the Midwest had created tough flying conditions in and out of Chicago, and United would not be charging us extra for the “fun ride” we just had. Not funny, pilot. It is way too soon for jokes. We rode out another 20 minutes of less threatening turbulence and the journey became smooth.
I wondered what would happen if I somehow maneuvered open the emergency exit and jumped. It was probably not a good idea, I decided. So, instead I said a prayer that this stillness was finally my transition out of Hell. I popped on my headphones, cranked my iTunes and, for one hour, I shut my eyes and shut out the world. This time when I opened them, I was home.
Photo by Gary Meulemans on Unsplash
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