(This is my first post in almost 3 months. I'm still alive, just haven't had anything to say.)
My flight from Houston to Missoula, MT by way of Denver was
scheduled to begin boarding at 3:16PM at gate 30C. I was assigned to Boarding
Group 3 so was in no hurry to get in line. I sat and patiently waited until
3:16 arrived. Nothing happened except the LED sign behind the agent’s counter
changed from Denver to Orange County without even the gate agent being aware. A
mob of travelers soon had his attention and he was on the phone to find out
what had happened to the Denver flight. It had been changed to gate 33C. No big
deal, only two gates away. Our mob immediately began moving to gate 33C, only
to run into another big mob moving from gate 33C to gate 30C. Bedlam ensued but
was short lived. At gate 33C passengers that had already boarded the aircraft
were still deplaning and heading to gate 30C. I also noticed through the
windows that the baggage that had been loaded on the plane was being taken off.
A similar scene was occurring at gate 33C. I remember thinking how glad I was
that I had no checked luggage. Once all of the baggage and passengers were
sorted out and on the appropriate aircraft I learned the reason for the change.
Someone sitting in an airline office somewhere apparently had an “uh-oh” moment
just before the Orange County flight was to pull away from the gate at 2:54PM.
Someone just happened to realize that the Orange County runway was too short
for the “equipment” (I wish they would call it an airplane or aircraft)
originally scheduled for Orange County. The decision was made to swap the aircraft
with the one scheduled for Denver, as it was capable of landing on the shorter
runway. Kind of makes you wonder what would have happened if that “little fact”
had not been noticed.
With the aircraft being slightly different, the seating
assignments were not all as they should have been. I, however, was still
in a window seat right behind an exit row (very bad as the exit row has more
foot room at the expense of the row behind it, in which I was sitting). Also
due to the equipment change the flight attendant read most of the required
emergency procedures incorrectly. The number of exits and their locations was
wrong along with the exit rows. She finally realized what she was doing when
she pointed to exits, which did not exist where she was pointing. All of this
swapping around of planes, passengers, and luggage was time consuming and the
aircraft did not take to the skies until 4:50PM, a little over an hour late. I
was not worrying about the tight connection I would have in Denver because
I was still wondering if the pilots knew how to fly this piece of equipment or
did they swap pilots in addition to the equipment. And if they swapped pilots, did they know how to get
to Denver?
As it turned out, the pilots did seem to know how to fly the
particular aircraft and also knew how to get to Denver. In fact they made up most of
the lost time enroute. I would still need to rush between gates to catch my
connecting flight to Missoula. We pulled into gate 34C and began to deplane. I
walked over to a set of monitors to find the gate number for the Missoula
flight. Gate 89C. About a 15-mile walk I believe. I could have qualified as an
Olympic walker as I scooted around slower traffic to get to gate 89C. I believe
they do this on purpose so that you will be too tired to complain about
anything once you are finally aboard your next flight.
After I arrived at gate 89C and was catching my breath, I
noticed a middle-aged man in shorts, a short-sleeve casual shirt, sandals, and
a baseball cap loudly interacting with two small children while the mother
looked on smiling. The man played silly little games with the children,
laughing along with them. He was being quite obnoxious. That’s when I realized that
the man had apparently left the bar only recently. No wonder he was laughing
and cutting up with the children. I assumed that the mother and children were
his family and that he was simply keeping the kids from becoming bored and
restless while waiting for the flight.
Finally, the boarding process began and as I walked towards
the jet way I noticed a sign that read, “Check your carry on luggage here.” Oh,
no. The plane was a small, cramped, regional jet with undersized overhead
storage. Only small pieces of luggage, such as coin purses, could be carried
on-board. I had to quickly repack to make sure my computer and camera equipment
were not in the bag that would most likely be bounced onto the aircraft.
Once aboard the faux-airliner I discovered that I had a
window seat, which like everything else on this aircraft was small and cramped.
I squeezed into the seat and lowered the armrest between the two seats. When I
looked up the aisle I saw the obnoxious man following the family up the aisle.
The mother and children passed my row but the man sat down in the aisle seat next
to me and raised the armrest between us. It was not his family after all.
The man introduced himself to me, and about half the plane
if they were listening. His name was Dennis, he told me, as he vigorously shook
my hand. He asked if I had ever been to Montana before, to which I answered in
the negative. He had never been there either, he told me. The sweet odor about
him confirmed that he had indeed been drinking, which he subsequently confirmed
by volunteering that his morning flight had been cancelled and he had spent the
interim, which was most of the day, waiting for this flight in a “shitty little
airport bar” drinking vodka and cranberry juice. Dennis was loud and talked a
lot. He was extremely creative with the “F” word and was able to use it
cleverly in almost every sentence that he spoke. Each and every time he had
something to tell me he would lean towards me, invading my personal space, and
slap me on the shoulder to get my attention. I was polite and answered his many
questions but with as few words as possible. I did not want to encourage the
man. Apparently he did not believe me when I told him I had never been to
Montana before as he repeated the question at least four or five times during
the flight. Without asking, I learned that Dennis would be 48 years old in two
weeks, he was from Wisconsin, and he had been working for an energy company in
Lubbock, TX for the past several years. Dennis had never been married and at
the moment was between girlfriends. He worried that the government was watching
him through the TV, Internet, credit cards, and his cell phone in preparation
for seizing his guns. Because of this, he planned to retire in two years, at
the age of 50, and move to Montana where he would live “off the grid” to foil
the government’s plan to take his guns. In preparation for his move to Montana,
and his planned obscurity, he told me that he had purchased 35 acres of land, sight
unseen, “14 miles from the middle of nowhere.” He had made the purchase and
placed a down payment over the Internet. He was now on his way to Montana to
close the deal with $20,000 in cash (the only way he did business he told me), which he
was carrying in his backpack (he did not show it to me). I asked him if it was oceanfront
property but he didn’t seem to catch my joke. The property, he told me, was
beautiful (he could tell from the internet photos) and included 19 fresh water springs
plus an abandoned silver mine. He repeated this several times as we winged our
way toward Missoula. When he learned that I was on my way to Missoula to attend
a one-week photography course he repeatedly invited me and the entire class to
come out and take pictures on his property. I informed him each time that I
would not be able to do so as the class was already planned and was very
structured.
At one point in the 90-minute flight I feigned sleep, only
to be hit on the shoulder every time he wanted to tell me something or ask me a
question. I finally gave up attempting to ignore him but continued to only provide
abbreviated responses. I never asked for additional information but he usually
provided it anyway.
After what seemed like an eternity the plane landed in
Missoula. Dennis informed me that he was picking up a rental car at the airport
and offered me a ride to my hotel, which I politely declined, telling him that
someone was picking me up (I lied). As soon as the plane stopped at the gate,
Dennis grabbed his backpack with the $20 grand in it and sprinted up the aisle
from the middle of the plane to the front where he was the first person to exit
the aircraft. I guess he could not wait to see his property. As I rose from my
seat I was surprised to hear applause from the passengers seated for three or
four rows around me. They were glad to see Dennis gone but were congratulating
me for the patience I demonstrated while being forced to sit next to him and interact
with him for the entire flight. Now if I could just avoid him in the terminal.
