My First Flight, a Horror Story

There I was, at the tender age of 54 years in 1995, ready to make my first flight and there I sat, on a stormy Friday night at Midway Airport in Chicago, anxious to board a Southwestern flight destined for Houston, where I had been invited to attend the wedding of an old friend. I had mentioned to the Southwestern people at the gate that I had never flown before and they thought that was cute. I've got to say that I think they were great.

Southwestern Airlines is not a fancy, luxury outfit but they keep doing a great job and that night was no exception even though the weather was so bad that for a while it looked as though we might not be flying at all. As thunder boomed and lightning flashed -- and other people who had reserved seats for the Houston flight began to sheepishly steal away and wait for better weather to try again some other time -- I sat there resolutely, clutching Olga's wedding present which the Security people had insisted on x-raying. Finally, our time had come and I followed what was left of my fellow passengers onto the plane.

Using life's lemons to make lemonade.

The bad news was that there was so much turbulence that the flight attendants couldn't even walk through the plane to serve snacks and beverages. I missed that because I hadn't eaten since lunch at 11:30 a.m. and I had been afraid to eat anything at the airport for fear I might end up in the throes of motion sickness. Still, it was neat to have to share a plane with only a few other passengers and I must say that the lightning was beautiful.

Unexpected Layover in St. Louis

We were already running three hours late when we got to St. Louis, MO, where a nervous traveler tried to smoke in one of the washrooms. Duly busted, he was unwilling to admit what he had done with the offending cigarette. So we were all delayed another hour as somebody dismantle all the plumbing fixtures, looking for the incriminating evidence.

Finally, our Final Destination!

At 1:30 a.m., our small brave band traipsed wearily through a totally deserted Houston Hobby Airport -- and I mean totally deserted. There wasn't a single kiosk, coffee bar, or anything else opened and no airline employees in sight. Thank God, my fellow passengers knew what they were doing and I followed them to pick up my luggage and phone the Houston Hilton Hobby Hotel to request a courtesy ride to their inn. The hotel clerk on the phone told me where to stand out in the deserted parking lot to wait for the van's arrival.

WHOOPS!

The driver finally showed up and was I glad to see him! I did wonder a bit when he delivered me with a flourish to another hotel. Turns out that he had actually been sent to pick somebody else up (probably one of the other Chicagoans who had chickened out on flying that night because of the weather) and when I jumped in, he just assumed that I was the arriving guest. He was good enough to drive me to the Hilton anyway (where we arrived just in time to intercept their driver as he prepared to drive to the airport looking for me.) Generous tips and a good sense of humor are made for moments like this and we were all feeling the love as I finally checked in, was shown to my room, and found out that room service was closed for the night.