Sitting down in seat 36J, flight 98 to London, I had the exciting thought, “when I leave this airplane, I’ll be in another country!” I was sadly mistaken, however, when half an hour after our supposed departure time the captain announced that there was a “slight inconsistency” with the gas gauge, and he would be checking back when he knew more. This is never a good sign on airplanes, or anywhere really. When someone tells you they’re going to “check back when they know more”, it really means, “Damn, well, I suppose I had better tell them something before I shock them with the horrible truth that whatever they had hoped would be happening at this moment is not happening, and in fact, things are about to take a sad turn for the worse.” When people die on the operating table, the doctors always tell their families initially that they’re “doing everything they can”, and they’ll let them know “when anything changes”. What this really means is, “Terribly sorry, but your auntie Agnes is not going to make it. She’s just taking much longer than necessary to kick the bucket”.
My feeling of doom intensified as frequent updates from our charming captain began to sound more and more hopeless. After another half hour, he announced that we would be switching planes, “when they could be located”. I had many questions for my wonderful seatmate, an older military man I’ll call Charlie. “Where are these planes? They’re not just lying around out there, are they?” I knew this trip did not bode well when Charlie’s bag spontaneously burst out of his overhead compartment and fell onto his face.
A good start, I’d say.
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