Wit and Wisdom
by Beth Broderick
“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.”
It was twenty-five minutes into the flight from Miami to Newark, New Jersey, too late for the standard welcome speech that is often given from the cockpit. The one where he or she (but let’s face it, still mostly he) welcomes the passengers on board, introduces the names and home city of the flight attendants, and then gives a quick rundown of how the flight should go.
“Looks like we are going to get to Philadelphia in about 4 hours and 26 minutes; wind speeds could get us there a little sooner. Weather should be pretty clear, maybe a few bumps about midway where we will have to ask you to stay seated with your seatbelt fastened. But we should have a mostly smooth ride. The weather in Philly is cloudy with a chance of rain, and it’s about 65 degrees on the ground there. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. I actually love flying. It is one of the only times that I EVER sit back and relax. I crack open a good book, indulge in the salty snacks provided, put my feet up as best I can, and allow myself to drift off into another world
This announcement had a different tone. I sat up.
“Looks like we are going to be making an emergency landing in West Palm Beach. There is an issue on board, and for everyone’s safety we need to get this aircraft on the ground. We are making our descent and should be there shortly. I will keep you posted. Please remain seated. Flight attendants, take your jump seats.”
He sounded calm but concerned, and while I did not panic, I admit to having felt a flush of worry. Firstly, we were in a large-capacity plane with a full tank of fuel, which technically would make us too heavy to land. These weights are calculated very carefully according to flight duration and anticipated speed. I looked out the window next to my seat, searching for clues as to what was wrong. As we approached, a wide variety of emergency vehicles were assembling below. Two fire trucks and several smaller red ambulance-sized vans were standing by, with a few more on the way. ‘Uh boy,’ I thought.
We landed without incident. There was no smoke or skidding, no listing to one side or the other. The tires did not give way under our girth as we rolled toward the great gaggle of first responders. who were racing toward us.
Turned out that the oven in first class was acting up; the stewardess had smelled something burning. A fire on an airplane could spell disaster, so the captain had made the right call. It was very dramatic for a few minutes as the emergency crews assessed the damage and checked the plane for injuries caused by our abrupt, overweight return to terra-firma. The inspections were going to take a while, so we were allowed to deplane, but ordered to stay in the waiting area for updates about our flight. There were not enough seats there, so some folks were milling about while a large gathering stood shoulder to shoulder staring at the lone attendant manning the desk, trying to collectively will her to give us a hint about what lay in store.
I headed to the bar.
A glass of chardonnay was very much in order at that point. It was tiny and crowded, with the two barmen trying to serve drinks as well as pizza. I jostled into position and waited patiently. The gentleman next to me ordered a beer to go, and a bell rang. Perfect. I could enjoy a glass of wine while following the erroneous order to stay in the crowded boarding area. As I made my way back with my to-go glass, I passed two young gay men who were obviously returning from vacation. They were dressed in beach-y outfits, sandals, and straw hats, but their body language was tense. One of them seemed more than a little anxious.
I held up my glass and pointed in the direction of the bar. “They sell it to go here.”
They looked at each other and then back to me with wide eyes that said, ‘Oh, thank Gawd!’
There is not much to be said for Florida in my book, but take-out cocktails at the airport are definitely in the plus column. One of the men hightailed it to the bar, and I settled down on the carpet near the window and took out my phone.
“Expect major delay,” I texted the friends waiting for me in New Jersey. “Emergency landing. Everything is okay, but this could take a minute.”
“Dinner reservations for 8. Your favorite Italian. Think you’ll make it?”
“Fingers crossed.”
I looked up, and the two men I had spoken to earlier smiled conspiratorially and toasted me with a couple of beers in plastic cups. I tipped my less-than-stellar glass of vino toward them with a big grin.
When life gives you lemons …
I have been traveling for years and have had some pretty major disruptions and delays. Detroit and Chicago in the winter are always dicey. I have spent many a night at the Hampton Inn near the infamous Michigan city. Ditto the O’Hare Hilton, where you can find good beds and a decent burger. Atlanta and other Southern cities are tricky in the summer, when tropical storms can gather speed and knock your plans right out of the sky. Coping with these problems is part of the deal we must make to avail ourselves of the engineering feat, the--to me, at least--mind-blowing miracle of air travel.
When I fly, I always wear three layers of sunscreen. One clear and two tinted, which, I have convinced myself, provides more protection. This is because Martha Stewart says that if we are seated by the window, we should always keep it shut tight. The UV rays above 10,000 feet are incredibly strong and can damage our skin. I always fly in the window seat, and I keep it open for much of the ride. There is no way I am going to miss the sight of the Pacific Ocean as we glide over it, arcing toward the heavens. I am not about to skip seeing a deep blue river snaking through rust colored canyons, or the majestic emerald, sage, and piney hues of our national forests. I delight in staring at the clouds below, always filled with wonder at the fact that we can soar above the weather they contain.
The Miami flight took hours to resume, but we made it to Newark in one piece. The First Class passengers had to endure cold snack boxes instead of a proper warm meal, but they did not grumble. At that point, everyone just wanted to get where they were going. I should have landed at 1 pm, but it was after 7 before I had luggage in hand and headed toward the ride-share waiting area.
I texted my friends once again. “Made it.”
“Huzzah! Why don’t you meet us at the restaurant? It’s halfway between us.”
“Brilliant. Will do.”
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER.
When I arrived at Nettie’s House of Spaghetti, Russell was waiting outside to transfer my luggage to his car. The boys had a good bottle of white already on the table, and I settled into the cozy booth, grateful to be in their company. We ordered what these days is too much food, as we are all older and our appetites have diminished. The broccoli rabe dish is a favorite. It is cooked down and ever so lightly creamed, then molded and delivered in a soufflé-shaped mound. Over the next few days, I used the leftovers in omelets and incorporated them into sauces for pasta.
Andrew had to go back into the city, so Russel and I hiked and ran errands and toured about. He drove me past the large former military barracks, now under construction, which will one day be an outpost of Netflix studios. New Jersey has been making a BIG play for production and is poised to become the Hollywood of the East. We visited a fantastic Italian market and walked on the beach at the end of every day. It was a wonderful visit made possible by the privilege of hurtling through the air in a giant vessel.
Thursday, I flew into Chicago to see pals the night before going into rehearsals for a live Sabrina the Teenage Witch reunion show. Fierce storms had all of the area airports closed down, and we circled and circled and circled so we could burn enough fuel to land in Indianapolis and wait out the raging winds. Now we needed to re-fuel in order to leave, and there was a long line of vehicles ahead of us, so we sat for hours on the tarmac waiting our turn to gas up. It was tedious, but we eventually took off, made it to our original destination, and landed without further incident. Later that night, rogue tornadoes raged through Indiana, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. Whew. Those travel Gods can be tricksters, and it’s no fun being waylaid, but I was grateful to have dodged that bullet.
A lot of folks complain about air travel these days. I have friends who will not do it unless absolutely necessary. It is expensive to be sure, and arrival times can be disrupted by several factors, some of which are dubious. The planes are getting larger; the new ones so gigantic that it would seem impossible to keep them aloft, but gravity is no match for today’s technological advances. The space allotted each passenger is smaller and more cramped than ever, the snacks are puny, and the add-on charges for luggage and seat assignment are unfair. The mergers in that industry have made for less competition, and there is little incentive to cater to the customer.
All of this is true, but I am undaunted and always ready to go when the spirit of adventure calls. I have learned to expect delays and endure complications with equanimity. Flying, to my mind, is still a gift, one that I am ever grateful for. Many of my friends live on the other side of this great continent, and yet I can leave my place after breakfast and be there in time for dinner. Ain’t that something? Ain’t that just the best damned thing?
On we go …
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