American Airline Torture

(As opposed to Chinese Water Torture.) We flew back from Iowa yesterday and as usual it was a miserable experience. Nothing went really wrong, and the few things that could have been real problems seemed to work in our favor. So it wasn't really bad, like getting beaten with a baseball bat, it was more a death from a thousand cuts. In any case, today my body aches all over. We start with a flight from Ft. Dodge to Minneapolis-St. Paul (MSP). It's 45 minutes late. We are there on time, but most of the other five or six passengers arrive AFTER the scheduled departure time. How did they know the plane was going to be late? We checked on the internet before we left the house in Rockwell City and at that time the plane was still "on time". I suspect collusion.

On the way to MSP we have to stop in Mason City. We had to stop in Mason City on the way from MSP. How often does this plane have to stop in Mason City? I suspect stupid routing.

When we get to MSP we find our flight to Seattle is delayed. This means we only have to spend an hour so hanging around the airport and not five or six days. Then they start calling people to board. This is a big plane, a Boeing 757 and holds about 250 people and they are all going in through one door. I don't like standing in line, so I start pacing the length of the local hall way. It takes ten minutes for the line to get through the boarding gate, so I've probably covered a half a mile with my pacing. Now we get to queue up inside the Jetway. It takes another 10 or 12 minutes to actually get inside the plane, where we have some kind of foul up blocking the aisle half way down. There is one stewardess in the thick of it. Another one gets on the PA and asks the dumbkoffs to stop blocking the aisle. It takes another 5 or 10 minutes to get to our seats.

Problem was there were two people assigned to the same seat. Well, we have two other empty seats, so one person moves and we are good to go. Right? Wrong. Some nitwit from the reservation desk has to figure out what happened before the plane can move. We sit there for another 15 or 20 minutes while "they" are supposedly sorting this out. Nothing actually changes inside the airplane. We just have to sit and wait.

Somewhere around in here the flight attendants stop calling it "Northwest Airlines" (NWA) and start calling it "Delta-Northwest Airlines" or some such. Did Delta and NWA merge during the five days we were in Iowa? Is that why we are having so many petty screw ups here?

The flight to Seattle is uneventful except for the threat of some turbulence on the last half of the trip. Nothing to see but clouds for most of the trip.

In Seattle we are late, again, but there are hoppers to Portland every hour or so, so getting home should not be a problem. The hopper terminal is at the other end of Terminal World from where we are so the first order of business is getting there. It's not too tough, take the escalator downstairs, and then downstairs some more to the subterranean automatic train. Which takes us to another train, and then another. We end up taking four trains before we get to our terminal. And when we get there, there is one single-person-wide escalator. No stairs. So everyone from the train has to queue up to get on this one stinking escalator.

We find the flight desk for the hoppers to Portland International Airport (PDX) and talk to the clerk there. She sorts us out and issues new boarding passes. I don't know what see is doing on her computer, but it's like she's writing a novel. I wouldn't be surprised if it took her a thousand keystrokes to sort this out. It's as bad as the computer system at my local Mom & Pop video rental store. I can understand that kind of clumsy system at a small operation, but I really don't understand why the airlines can't get a handle on it. Too busy paying bonuses to dumbkoffs, I imagine.

The next plane is somewhat delayed, and then delayed some more. Getting on is not too bad, though when we start boarding there is no plane in sight and I wonder if they are herding us all to buses that will take us to the Gulag where they ship all the surplus passengers. Turns out it's about 100 yards down the stairs, down the hall and around the corner to a very fancy airplane with twin six-bladed turboprops. Holds 160 (not 80 as previously reported) passengers, and they have two (!) doors for entering. The marked path (on the ground) to the rear door is blocked by the baggage cart, which may explain why most people went in the front door which left the rear door wide open, for those who could find their way there.


The Q400 aircraft has 40 rows of four seats each, long and narrow. Headrests were non-existent. Leaning my head back left me looking at the ceiling. Shorter people would probably do better.

So the plane is loaded, doors are closed, we are ready to go, but we aren't. Some kind of maintenance problem. Paperwork has to be signed. So we wait for another indefinite time. I've given up trying to keep track, and I can't get my notepad out of my pocket easily while my seatbelt is buckled.

We finally get going and here comes the drink cart. Beer, wine, apple juice or water. The stewards haul the cart from the rear to the front of the plane (one big male pushing, one slight female pulling and bellowing warnings to the passengers to keep their friggin' elbows out of the aisle. Most intelligent thing I have heard all day.). The cart is heavy, the plane is climbing, the guy pushing the cart is really leaning into his work. We are sitting in the very back of the plane, so it takes forever for the drink cart to get to us. They hand out little bags of crunchy stuff along with the drinks. No sooner are they done passing out the drinks then they are collecting the trash. They make a second pass and times up, chug-a-lug, we are landing in five minutes.

We can see the lights of Portland out the window. At least we think it's Portland. Maybe it's Vancouver. Then I notice the dark areas are clouds, not really just dark. So that was a little confusing. We have a left turn and then a right and now it starts to look recognizable. We are down and off the plane. We go inside through non-automatic doors that open outward and don't stay open into a part of the airport we have never seen before. A six mile hike takes us back to familiar territory and on to the baggage claim area. Bags start showing up immediately, but it takes ten or fifteen minutes before our bags show up, but show up they do, which is pretty darn good, considering all the changes we've been through.

Call Park 'N Fly and they send a shuttle over. PDX has a couple of people out patrolling the shuttle bus islands and directing people. I thought I remembered the instructions from the parking lot, but I must have got them wrong, because it took two course corrections from these official good citizens to get us to the right spot. From there it was only a couple of minutes till the bus showed. The driver loaded and unloaded our bags, and helped load them into the car. I tipped him five dollars because I was so glad to finally be away from airplanes and airports. Was that too generous?

It took almost 13 hours door to door to cover 1500 miles. That is an average speed of 115 MPH. With no traffic (and no speed limits), theoretically I could have driven it. 120 MPH should not be a problem on our Interstate highway system. However, I am only good for about 500 miles of driving before I need a serious break.

Nobody else in my family seemed to suffer any adverse effects from this trip. Ross was not able to sleep on the plane, but the girls were invigorated. Go figure.