Flying is for the birds

The Great Southwest Lost Luggage Fiasco

Bleary-eyed from being up since 3:45 AM, we jostled to the edge of the baggage carousel watching the bags go around and around. It was almost hypnotic; the same bags making the circuit over and over. None of them seemed to belong to anybody. At semi-regular intervals another swarm of passengers joined the press. More bags tumbled down the chute to take their turn around the track. Once in a while a piece was pulled off the conveyor, but not often.

Finally a Southwest employee began pulling off the luggage and stacking it against the wall. I don’t know why it took so long for us to accept the obvious, but we finally began shuffling into line in front the baggage office. It was just a short counter with two clerks. The line stretched out the door and along the wall for miles. Somewhere, at some other airport, the owners of all those bags piled around us were doing the same.

Three days later, FedEx reached my sister’s remote mountain cabin with my suitcase. I suppose I should be grateful that only two things were broken and that I no longer had to wear my skinny sister’s skinny neighbor’s husband’s shirts (he was actually a mite too skinny, too) but instead I am thoroughly disgruntled.

You see, when my sister called for help after her surgery, I desperately wanted to make it a road trip. She had someone to take care of her over the weekend. If I’d left Houston early Saturday morning I could’ve made Sarah’s place in CA comfortably by Monday afternoon. Heck. Miranda, my publicist, made it from Houston to LA in 24 hours once. Of course, she’s quite a bit younger…

Why would I want to take on such a long, arduous trip? Because I love road trips! But that wasn’t a factor for my concerned husband, friends, and family. Anyway – one thing and another – I was pressured into doing the sensible thing. Flying. Arriving in 8 hours instead of three days. Sans luggage.

A few blogs back I did an article on intuition. I guess the lesson here is to use it. If you have time (and you want to), drive! See the country. Exercise at rest areas, not running down some endless concourse to your connecting flight.

Most important, you’ll arrive with your luggage.

Which profession produces the worst drivers? Well, guess what! It also produces the worst fliers. (Good thing authors weren’t included in the study!)

Just ran across this item on AOL News and it immediately took me back to my flying days. But before I elaborate, I shall first tell you the answer: Doctors.

This study was reported by Reilly Brennan, Editor in Chief and Programming Director for AOL Autos. An award-winning journalist, Brennan has written for Motor Trend, Automobile… Magazine, Winding Road, Monocle. He says: “Per year, every 1,000 doctors average 109 accidents and 44 speeding tickets, landing them at the top of the list. Are these sleep-deprived residents and interns too tired to stay on the road, or do they just enjoy playing God in traffic?”
But he also points out that “many of the professions on the list tend to get called into duty with some urgency.”

Now back to flying.

The Cessna 150 my instructor used for training was called “Patches” for good reason. The cowling was red, the pilot side door was yellow-striped, the rudder was blue with white stripes, and the rest of the plane was the original gray and white. It was, in short, the product of a series of cannibalized crashes. And the pieces did not always play well together. The door, for instance, didn’t quite fit and once flew opened just as I was banking over the red and white checked water tower. That was the downwind leg of the landing pattern and I couldn’t have been 20 feet above the thing.

Anyway, Patches’ condition, according to my instructor, was the direct result of the airfield’s proximity to UTMB (Univ. of Texas Medical Branch). Yes. All the crashes were caused by doctors. But why? Those guys are brilliant! To which my laconic, WWII-type teacher replied: “Oh, I dunno. Reckon they feel they’re above it all.” After which he slapped this thigh and cackled raucously over his pun.

That was long ago, of course. At this point in my life I’m grateful Mr. Brennan didn’t include authors in his study. We are probably the most dangerously abstracted people out there. We’re always rehashing or even sounding out bits of dialog, considering plot intricacies, etc. while we’re driving. Frankly, I’d rather be flying with a squadron of MDs than, say, Stephen King, Jean Auel, or Erma Bombeck…