Rants and Ramblings: random commentary about culture, media, politics, technology and whatnot.

round trip

I should be in Tucson right about now. Instead, I spent four hours on a plane and ended up right back where I started.

I took a half-day at work today so I could be sure to make a 4:59 p.m. flight out of National to Chicago O’Hare, where I would pick up a connecting flight to Tucson. The Departures board for my Chicago flight already showed a 20-minute delay when I arrived at the airport. As I sat at the gate, that delay stretched an additional 40 minutes, thanks to stormy weather around the Windy City. About an hour after our scheduled departure time, the gate agents hurriedly announced that it was time to board and rushed us onto the plane, conveying that we only had a limited window of time to get out. As the flight attendants made their final check of the cabin, they — and a few passengers — showed rightful disdain for a woman whose Blackberry addiction threatened to delay us further. (She refused to turn off her device until the last possible moment.)

Not that it mattered. We taxied out to the runway … and then over to a holding area with a couple other Chicago-bound planes. O’Hare authorities had decided to extend the “ground-stop” for another hour, preventing any planes from leaving O’Hare or embarking towards it.

And so we waited.

Every update from O’Hare’s air traffic control seemed to bring another 30- to 60-minute delay. Occasionally we’d be teased with a nugget of hope — at one point, we were approved to take an alternate route to Chicago — only to have that hope dashed by a need to refuel, another “ground stop” due to an emergency aircraft flying in and a pending flight crew “time out.” Finally, our flight was simply cancelled.

We’d been sitting on the plane for more than three hours by that point.

And the evening wasn’t over just yet. Apparently the only gate our plane could park at was currently occupied, forcing us to sit for another 20-30 minutes. At least we were allowed to use our cellphones, so most passengers spent that time calling friends and family members. A flight attendant announced a “special” phone number for us to use to rebook, different from the American Airlines number on our tickets; I didn’t have much luck getting through until another hour and a half later, when I tried calling from home.

As I waited interminably on hold, my anger, disappointment and frustration with the whole situtation kept bubbling to the surface. The rational side of me tried to remind myself that there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of airline passengers in the same boat as me, and that the poor ticketing agent I’d get on the phone had nothing to do with causing my current troubles, so it would be unfair and unproductive to grouch at her. That said, I couldn’t deny that the whole situation upset me. If only they’d just cancelled the flight before we boarded the plane, I might have been able to re-route myself through Dallas.

At least I was able to come home, so I can start the day fresh tomorrow.

Since I didn’t have any hope of getting out to Tucson by way of National in the morning, the agent booked me out of Dulles on an inhumanly early flight. (Okay, 7 a.m. But still.) At least I’ll be in Tucson by 1 p.m., local time. I have such a limited span of time to spend; I don’t want to waste any more time than I already have.