Confused and with a pounding heart--thinking that I had screwed up somehow--I rolled over and looked at my clock. The red numbers showed 1:35.
"I do," I said. "But I wasn't going to get up until MY clock rang at 1:45 a.m. I've still got 10 minutes to sleep."
(My clock is fast. Still in that mode of trying to trick myself into thinking I am not REALLY getting up so early.... That's a left-over from corporate America when I got up at 3:40 a.m. every day, but my clock said 4:00. Just couldn't bring myself to see a three on the dial when I had to pull myself out of bed after only four hours sleep most nights.)
"Well then, go back to sleep," Louis suggested.
"Right! I'll never go back to sleep. I might as well get up now."
So, I did. Tired. Tired. Tired. Because my work month is all two-day trips with O'dark hundred check-ins at DIA and at my layover airports. That means getting up every morning no matter where I am at 1:30. No wonder I was tired.
I was still tired driving to work. But there was plenty of quiet time to reflect about June 19th in 1971 when Brice was born and June 19th in 1975 when Burgandy was born. Those were good memories, now void of all the pain and agony to get those babies here.
Then I began thinking about what a long day I had ahead of me with packed planes and crappy weather everywhere. And I felt tired all over again.
Sure enough, as soon as I emerged from the elevator at DIA which accesses our Domicile on the 4th floor, it was like a people bomb had gone off. At 3:45 a.m.! So many travelers I could hardly navigate the concourse. And our aircraft was indeed stuffed to the gills with passengers, their blankets, full-sized pillows, carry on bags, and food sacks wafting aromas of breakfast sandwiches, hash browns, and scrambled eggs.
We landed pretty much on schedule. But after herding nearly 200 sleepy people off the plane, it didn't leave much time for us to hurry to the opposite side of Houston Intercontinental Airport for our next flight.
We got to the gate--C43. Oops! There had been a gate change to C41. Only at IAH the numbers don't run consecutively down the concourse. C41 was back down the way we came, turn to the right and boogie past a gauntlet of brand new restaurants which they have built right in the middle of the walkways to a section that went from C29-C42. Barely made it to the gate in time for our check-in. My feet were hurting...left-over bruises and blisters from my run through Vancouver Airport the week before and another loooong jaunt through IAH a couple of days before from the end of the E gates at 18 where we landed from Portland to C2 so we could go to Denver.
Got everyone on board our flight to Sacramento. Armed the doors. Did the live safety demo. Strapped ourselves into the jump seat and assumed the brace position for our take off.
We were zooming down the runway at full speed when all of a sudden the plane began to shudder and swerve from one side to the other. It wasn't like anything I had experienced before. My flying partner and I glanced at each other and voiced our concern that something had gone wrong.
Right then the captain announced, "Remain seated! Remain seated!" That is the first part of the drill we use when the plane has to be evacuated. The next second the pilot is supposed to say, "Release seat belts and get out! Release seat belts and get out!"
Thankfully, THAT command never had to be announced. The plane slowly came to a stop without having swerved off the runway. The captain announced we were okay, but we were going to have to go back to the gate and probably would have to continue on another aircraft.
We were supposed to arrive in Sacramento just about noon. THAT didn't happen! By the time operations found another aircraft with exactly the same configuration to accommodate a seat for each passenger, our arrival time hovered around 5 p.m. Dense clouds and rain shower activity along the way made for a very turbulent ride. It was another flight path that zig-zagged across the country as nearly all the flight paths in the last two weeks have been. We bounced around the cabin like a couple of "bb's in a boxcar." Once again.
What was supposed to be a fairly decent layover in Sacramento, with time to sleep before my perpetually early alarm started ringing, actually turned out to be about the same five hours as every other night. I was still tired!
Early arrival at DIA the next morning at the C gates (which we are using while some of the B gates are being redone). Rushed over to B14 only to find that our 10:20 a.m. departure to Philadelphia had an ATC delay. It had been postponed because of bad weather between Denver and Philly. So, United drafted our First Officer for another flight. Then when a replacement came, we were still on the ground so they drafted the SECOND one for another flight. We finally got the THIRD First Officer about the time the ATC delay had been lifted. At last we began the boarding process. And that was when a huge clap of thunder followed by lightning which illuminated the the dark, dark sky.
Now it was Ground Stop in Denver as they closed DIA for safety.
We waited again.
Seven hours after our original arrival time, we finally landed in Philadelphia. The crew desk had a message for us--REASSIGNMENT! Instead of getting to go home to Denver in the morning and "get out of school early" at 8:29 a.m., we were to work a flight from Philadelphia to Chicago which had been delayed 16 hours because of the weather. But....they said we could dead head home once we got to Chicago and be in Denver mid-afternoon. Still not a whole day, but SOME day left.
UH OH! One of the carts was missing from the AFT galley, and one cart and a carrier box was missing from the FWD galley. WHY? FAA mandate is that either ALL carts are loaded--or NO carts. Can't be one or more missing. That affects weight AND balance. So, we waited. And waited. And waited some more with people who had been there overnight--NOT of their choosing--and were really frothing at the mouth while we waited for the catering company to bring the necessary carts so we could leave for Chicago.
Guess what! We got to Chicago just as our dead head flight was leaving for Denver. What a shocker! With everything else that had happened, that was no surprise.
Then began the dickering with the Crew Desk.
"Our flight to Denver just left. Can you book us for the next flight?"
"Your plane landed at 11:15 a.m. and you missed it. You'll have to deviate on your own."
"No we didn't land at 11:15! We landed at 12:57 p.m. It says right here on our hand-held devices!"
"Well, you either have to deviate (meaning you have to use your company seniority with NO company protection as a working crew member--in other words you're on your own!) or you can have a dead head seat on flight 407 at 7 p.m."
Thanks a lot! The purser hung up.
We went to the gate for the 2:20 p.m. flight. We actually had boarding passes for THAT one--though the gate agent said our crew desk had cancelled them, so to talk to our crew desk. NOT! We just had with NO help. We stood our ground. We were numbers 11 and 12 for four seats available. But, we knew never walk away until the plane actually pushes back from the gate. You never know but what some miraculous thing will happen and you will get a seat.
And, the standby list went down one by one. The two of us got on at the last minute before it was time to close the door, with a shrimpy little couple right on my heels. They were older with a shrimpy little dog in a carrier. The gate agent was explaining to them that there were NOT two seats together. I got the heck onto the plane, asked some guy to help me with my suitcase as I need an empty plane to put my own bag up because it is so heavy and awkward, and sat down by the window in row 23. The rest of my stuff I pushed under the seat as they shut the door to the aircraft. I was asleep before the FA's doing the demo had returned to their jump seats.
Next thing I knew, the captain said we would be landing in about 12 minutes and it was time to prepare the cabin for arrival. We were home! Several hours later, but home. Home. Home.
Okay. Tough three days. Not pleasant in any sense of the word. The turbulence was disconcerting. The delays were horrific. The layovers were barely long enough to slip under the covers before having to get up and start all over again.
But...would I trade those nasty days for what I went through on June 19, 1971, and June 19, 1975, to get Brice and Burgandy here for their turn on earth? Not on your life.
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