Flight Karma

I have bad flight karma. I always have. I don't know what I did to piss off a flight attendant or a pilot in a past life, but it must have been really bad, because there seems to be no end to my airline punishment. In fact, it's only gotten worse as I've gotten older.

It used to be that anytime I got on a plane, it was pretty much a guarantee that the screaming baby would be immediately next to me. Or if not that, then the snotty three year old who's just learning how to kick would be right behind me.

But in recent years it's gotten worse. Lost luggage, delayed flights, re-routing, cancellations. You name it, it's happened (frequently).

And because I am a former theatre major (and by definition, somewhat dramatic about everything) I always complain when these things happen. I complain so much, in fact, that I think people have stopped believing that my flight karma is as bad as I say it is.

Today, on my way back from a work trip to Los Angeles, I had the opportunity (three hours, in fact, but more on that in a moment) to reflect on my karma and count up exactly how often airline misfortune has befallen me in the past year. Here is my list:

--September 2005: On my way to my cousin's funeral. Delayed in Washington Dulles (the most boring airport EVER) for two hours. Completely missed the visitation and arrived at the funeral home in time to see the janitors cleaning up and locking up. (On the return trip there was another 2+ hour delay in Dulles--but this time I was stuck in what I'm very sure was a converted airplane hanger, complete with concrete floor and grease stains.)
--November 2005: The ever-harrowing trip home to Colorado, this time for Thanksgiving. Made it to Denver, only to be delayed by an hour and a half for the 15 minute flight to Colorado Springs. On Thanksgiving Day. (A side note: Colorado Springs is only about 55 minutes away from Denver. Another side note: being stuck in Denver International Airport--aka the airport from hell--will be an ongoing theme.)
--December 2005: Going to Chicago to visit friends. This trip was a doozy. My flight was actually canceled. They put me on another flight, which was an hour late getting to Oakland, and two hours late leaving. They were in such a rush to make up time because of the lateness that they didn't actually put our baggage on the plane, but put it on a later flight. This meant that we got to Chicago late, and then had to sit in the baggage claim area for another hour (because no one told us what had happened) while we waited for our luggage to appear. Oh, and I was flying into Midway the day after that plane had actually skidded off the runway and into the street. And of course, I was also an hour and a half delayed coming home.
--December 2005: Home for the holidays. Delayed in Denver going to Colorado Springs.
--December 2005: On my way to Boston for New Years. Delayed in Denver (at least two hours).
--January 2006: Coming home from Boston. New Year's Day. My flight was delayed by (and I kid you not) 6 hours. Maybe more. The only upside of this was that if my flight had left when it was supposed to I would have still been hungover (and maybe even drunk) from the previous night's debauchery. As it happened, I caught the delay before I left for the airport, and so was able to spend a few more hours watching the Project Runway marathon on Bravo. And then I went to the airport, and hung out there for a few more hours, while my flight continued to be delayed. And it's always fun figuring out how you're gonna get home from SFO in the wee hours of the morning after BART has stopped running. Good times all around.
--February 2006: L.A. for work. Absolutely nothing bad happened. (This is really just the gods playing with me, because. . . .)
--June 2006: San Diego for the marathon. Am trapped on a plane with a horrible group of marathon running wanna-be cheerleaders called Team Awesome. There is chanting and singing "We Are the Champions" involved.
--June 2006. Washington D.C. for a wedding. (See above note about how boring Dulles airport is.) There is torrential rain this weekend, causing most of D.C. and the surrounding areas to flood, stranding hundreds of people in the airport over night, and causing my flight to be more than 3 hours delayed. (But I will say I am grateful it took off at all.) This also got me back into Oakland at approximately 3 in the morning, forcing a very lovely and--I'm sure--tired boy to pick me up when he should have been sleeping. It also meant I was an incoherent zombie at work the next day. (Usually, I'm just incoherent.)

That brings us up to today. I had to go to Los Angeles again for work. I'd managed to get myself on an earlier flight home and I was feeling pretty good. We got on the plane, listened to the seat belt/safety speech, pulled away from the gate. And then we stopped. Why, you ask?

Wait for it. . . .

Wait for it. . . .

Because all the power went out at LAX and they had no radar or any other way to direct incoming and outgoing flights. Two and a half hours of sitting on a plane on the tarmac later, and they finally figured out how to turn the power back on. Here is an article in the LA Times that explains what happened.

My dad used to say: "If we can't get there by flying, then we're not going." Well sorry dad, but my new motto is: "If getting there involves flying, then count me out."

Note: This tally of bad flight experiences in the past year leaves out some of my best bad flight experiences, including but not limited to Heathrow airport losing my luggage (and 10,000 other people's) because their luggage sorting system broke down; the trip to Boston where bad weather forced us to circle until we nearly ran out of gas and were forced to land in Providence and take a bus back to Boston, and my 25th birthday, where I spent more than 5 hours getting drunk by myself in a bar at Denver International Airport, because of--you guessed it--a delayed flight.

Good times at the airport. Good times.