Which brings us to today. Or should I say tonight. Steve and I are headed to Jacksonville, Florida, for the weekend. We had originally intended to leave early this morning, but Steve had some stuff to do at work, so we changed our flights to 6pm tonight. This meant I could take Everley to school but I would not be able to pick her up. It turns out I could have picked her up anyway...
Steve came home from work around four because that is when we decided to head for the airport (Davidsons generally like to get to the airport early - possibly the day before). As he was headed into the bedroom to pack (okay, so maybe Davidsons like to pack late), he mentioned that he had just gotten a text that our flight had been delayed. By two hours.
We decided to go ahead and go to the airport to have a little dinner and avoid rush-hour traffic (which turned out to be poor choices for both). Rush hour was rush hour and dinner took all my Weight Watcher points for the week, possibly the year. We had hopes that maybe our flight would be moved up by the time we arrived at the airport. It was moved all right - another 45 minutes late.
Once we had eaten, we settled into our chairs at our gate along with our fellow Jacksonville-bound travelers. Steve called Southwest to find out the reason for our flight's lateness. And perhaps when we could expect to leave Nashville. The answers were "mechanical problems" and "when the plane gets there."
When it comes to reasons that I would like to be late, I prefer "bad weather in Chicago" as opposed to "mechanical problems." Mainly because the weather from here to Jacksonville is great, and how do I know if the mechanical problems were of the "a light bulb went out" and not "the engine done quit on us."
Eventually the plane arrived and the passengers got off. I always look at the people deboarding. I figure if they fall to the floor and kiss the ground, there's a good chance I won't be flying. These passengers seemed okay, so I decided to take the next step - get on the plane.
Steve, since he is a Southwest A Travelling Man, has a boarding pass of A16, which means he gets on before me. I paid $12.50 to get an A boarding pass, so I'm not too far behind him. By the time I get to his row, some old lady had put her bag in the overhead compartment and was attempting to sit in my seat. He informed her that he was saving that seat for his wife and pointed to me. She didn't seem convinced, but did move to the seat behind us.
Eventually we took off with the usual flight attendant instructions. Of course I'm still wondering about the "mechanical issues." Were they gluing the wing tips back on in Chicago? Were they replacing light bulbs? Were they duct-taping the wings on? The pilot had said they were late due to "a couple of mechanical issues." A COUPLE??? Shouldn't this plane be in the shop by now?
Anyhow, we're flying along and the pilot cuts off the "fasten seat belt" light. This is a good sign. By the time we boarded, I was about to fall asleep, so I was dozing when the drink order was taken. At least I got peanuts. At some point we get a little bump and the seat belt light comes back on. A little later the light goes back off. A few more bumps and the light comes back on. Then Pilot Bob (or whatever his name was) comes on. This is what transpired ...
What my ears heard: "This is Pilot Bob from the cockpit. (As usual, I can barely understand what he is saying, due to his quiet voice, my lousy listening ears, my anticipation of what he's going to say, and the general noise in and around the airplane). Mmmrsf, mujkl, mmsge, 30,000 feet, cruising altitude, mmmrrfs, jjrjhmmm, keep the seatbelt light on, mmmmrs, 45 minutes to landing."
What he probably said: "This is Pilot Bob from the cockpit. We're at our cruising range of 30,000 feet. While we thought we had some clear air, we apparently do not, and will have a few bumpity bumps, so we're going to keep the seat belt light on. We promise on our mother's lives that we will have you safely on the ground in 45 minutes. Even less if you take a nap now."
What my fearful-flying brain heard: "Hey there, this is Pilot Bob from the cockpit. We are way up in the air at 30,000 feet, if our gauges are working right. We hope that the fuse they replaced in Chicago fixed that. However, the Elmers seems to be coming loose from the wing tips they glued on, so the wings may be flip-flapping a bit. And the stabilizers (no, I don't know if planes have these but it seems plausible) seem to be grinding a bit, so we may be jumping around. We're pretty sure we can land this baby in around 45 minutes, if our headlights are working."
So now I have 45 minutes to burn. Because we have wi-fi on this flight, I can log in (using A-List Steve's credentials) and check on the progress of the flight. I could watch it as the minutes tick by (the only thing worse is watching the inches pass by as I walk on a treadmill). However, I decide on a better plan. I play one game of Sudoku on my phone followed by three games of Solitaire on my phone, THEN I can check the progress. This works and eventually we land in Jacksonville, wing tips intact.
If flying freaks me out so much, then why do I do it? Because it gets me from Point A to Point B in much less time than it would on foot or in a car. And when the flight is good, I like it. I keep doing it in spite of the fact that I don't always like it. I understand that there is a Bernoulli's principle that explains flight. To me, it makes about as much sense as taping baby ducks to the wings. In other words, I don't understand nor care about how and why the plane flies - I just want it to safely and smoothly fly until I reach my destination.
So I guess I will keep at it. For now, anyway. As long as Pilot Bob is flying ...
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Today is a gift because: taking Everley to school and listening to her chat about the weather; getting packed and the house picked up; Goodwill drop off; safe flight to Jacksonville; dinner with Steve and O'Charleys; new fitbit
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