the friendly skies.

Thursday, December 23
I set out on my annual pilgrimage to my parents’ house in Summerville, SC. I have confirmed seats on Delta from Logan to Charleston, connecting through Atlanta. My flight is at 1:40 pm, so I leave the apartment at 10:45 am to catch the bus to Harvard Station. In tow, I have two suitcases full of clothes and presents, as well as a carry-on with my new laptop and a folder full of journal papers to read on the plane. The weather is warm for December, and a little humid. The bus is a few minutes late, so I have time to cool down a bit after dragging my bags up the hill. After reaching Harvard Station, my trek to Logan continues by train: first the Red Line to Park Street, then the Green Line to Government Center, then the Blue Line to Airport Station, and finally a shuttle bus to the terminal. On a good day this whole trip takes fifty minutes from when the bus arrives; thanks to traffic and bad timing on the trains, today it takes sixty-five. I note that they have opened the new Airport T station – it is nicer than the old one, but seems to be farther from the terminals. At least, it takes the shuttle bus longer; for a few moments I suspect the driver is lost, but we ultimately pull up to Terminal C without looping around, so maybe it really is just farther away than it used to be.

The trains and buses have been crowded, but not unbearable. The airport, however, is packed, not surprising for what is supposed to be the busiest day of the year. I find the line for the Delta kiosk, which is less a line than a chaotic human corral. Delta has never made an effort to organize their kiosk lines in Logan, and the result is anarchy and confusion. After fifteen minutes I step up to a kiosk thinking how glad I am to have an electronic ticket so I don't have to stand in the regular full-service line, which stretches beyond the “<60 minutes from here” point.

Here I encounter the first sign of trouble: my electronic reservation cannot be found, please speak to an agent. The agent confirms that my flight to Atlanta has been canceled. No reason is given, but others on the same flight have heard the crew is stranded somewhere in the Midwest by bad weather. There is a rumor that Cincinnati is closed because there is no de-icing fluid on hand and the supply trucks cannot make it to the airport because of the snow.

Snow. In Cincinnati. In December.

Go figure.

I am told to stand in the Delta Direct Access line, which is a line for a set of phones that connect directly to Delta Ticketing. This is the line of The Damned. No one from Delta is answering the phones, and thus the line does not move. A man in the regular check-in line storms away from the counter, crumpling up his ticket papers in a fit of blind rage and frustration – apparently he’s not getting home today, either. Another man in our line from the canceled Atlanta flight is realizing that he’s not going to make his connection to Paris. After about an hour, just as I am next in line for the phones, I am moved to another line to speak directly with an agent. The girl in line ahead of me is crying. The agent rebooks me for a flight tomorrow night connecting through NY/Kennedy. I will arrive in Charleston at 11:50 pm on Christmas Eve. “Sorry, it’s the best I can do.” I am leery about flying at the end of the day on Christmas Eve – if there are any delays at all, it will be too late in the day to recover, especially on Christmas Eve – but I am somewhat reassured by the fact that I have confirmed seats on both flights, and that they are regional jets, so they should be clear of the trouble in the Midwest.

Disillusioned and in no mood to suffer through another ride on the T with my bags in tow, I take a cab home. Upon hearing my destination is Belmont, the cabbie begins to ramble on about how nice a town it is. He’s a nice enough guy, but I’m in no mood to chat. I’m not paying attention to his choice of routes, but I slowly realize that he’s taking the long way to Storrow Drive. When he finally drops me at my apartment the fare is $42 – it’s normally more like $36. It’s hard to tell if he’s a crook or just inept. I have no small bills, so I give him $50. Happy holidays.

This excursion has wasted three hours and cost me a day. I will not be able to finish my Christmas shopping tomorrow in SC as I had planned. The only consolation is that I will still be home for Christmas, and that there is something a bit poetic about arriving just before midnight on Christmas Eve. I briefly entertain the idea of getting in my car and driving, but dismiss it when I realize I would arrive at about the same time either way.

I have no idea what I’m in for.

Friday, December 24
Christmas Eve. I leave the apartment at 3:45 pm to catch the bus. It’s cooler today, and dry – good traveling weather, at least if you have to drag your bags up the hill to the bus stop. My flight to JFK is scheduled for 7:15 pm. Harvard Station, Red Line, Green Line, Blue Line, shuttle bus. The T is nearly empty – most people have the day off. I am lucky with the trains, and make it to the terminal at 4:50 pm. After fifteen minutes in the kiosk corral, I reach the front only to find that my rebooked reservation requires me to stand in the normal check-in line. I had been planning to eat at the airport, but one look at the line tells me I’d better get in it now if I want to make my flight. The line stretches well beyond the “<60 minutes from this point” sign. There are literally more than a hundred people in front of me. At least I have a view of the Departures monitor, and my flight is still listed as ‘on time.’

The line moves less than twenty feet in the first twenty minutes.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I am screwed. The 7:15 pm flight is delayed until 10:10 pm; my connection is scheduled to leave JFK at 9:50 pm. There is no way I will make it home tonight, unless the connection is also delayed by at least an hour. I cling to this slim hope, and decide to stick it out in line; the Direct Access line is even worse than it was yesterday, so at this point there isn’t much else I can do. I am hungry, and decide that at least I can have a nice dinner at the airport Legal Seafood once I make it through the line.

I notice that a 9 pm Delta flight to JFK has been scrubbed completely. I suspect that the real reason my flight was delayed three hours was to accommodate some of the people on the later flight. Or to consolidate the two.

Someone’s dog starts barking at someone else’s dog, setting off a chain reaction. For about two minutes, every single dog in the terminal is barking.

At 5:50 pm, after 45 minutes in this line, I reach the “<60 minutes from this point” sign.

At 6 pm, the Legal Seafood shuts their gates. They are closing and going home. So much for my nice dinner. At least the food court is still open.

At 7 pm, the food court closes as well. I have been standing in this line for almost two hours. I am faint with hunger. Someone’s dog starts barking, setting off another chain reaction. I note that there are no lines at the United or Air Canada counters, or at any other counters in the terminal, for that matter; it’s only Delta.

The woman behind me has been crowding me consistently since we reached the “<60 minutes from this point” sign; she appears to be in a hurry.

At 7:30 pm, I reach the counter. It has been roughly 100 minutes since I passed the “<60 minutes from this point” sign. The ticketing agent is friendly, but can’t do much; I am not getting out of Boston tonight. She books me on two pairs of flights tomorrow: the first is a 7:45 am departure connecting through Atlanta, but she can only get me standby on the flight to Atlanta; the second is a 5:20 pm departure connecting through Cincinnati, confirmed on both legs and first class on one of them. Again, I am leery – flying standby on Christmas Day doesn’t sound promising, and neither does anything involving Cincinnati, which is still struggling with snow. Plus, if I don’t get on the early flight I will have to kill all day waiting around at the airport. However, I don’t have any other options, and I am dizzy with hunger. I will still make it home on Christmas day. The agent says there are only two other people on standby, so my chances of getting a seat are excellent. At 7:40 pm I have a new Itinerary card showing the two pairs of flights.

I have been standing in lines for just under three hours.

The only places open for food are the bar, which is packed, and the Dunkin Donuts, which is out of everything except coconut donuts and chocolate chip muffins. I get a donut and a bottle of milk, scarf them down, and set out for the T. I can’t bear the thought of another $50 rip-off cab ride, and what the hell, I don’t have anything better to do on Christmas Eve. Besides, it occurs to me that tomorrow is a holiday, and therefore I will not be able to take the T to Logan in time to make a 7:45 am flight, and therefore I will have to save my pennies so I can afford to park at the airport.

I am reasonably lucky with the T: I leave Logan at 8:00 pm, take the shuttle to the Airport Station, then the Blue Line to the Green Line to the Red Line to Harvard Station. The trains are almost empty. Usually the bus from Harvard is the sticking point – at this time of night, they only run every forty minutes – but this time I only have to wait for twenty minutes. I finally drag my bags up the stairs to my apartment at 9:20 pm. My shoulder is cramping from the weight of my carry-on. The light in the stairwell has burned out since I left this afternoon.

Delta has wasted just over five-and-a-half hours of my time and cost me another day.

I call my parents to let them know what happened. My brother and his wife, who flew in yesterday from San Francisco via Chicago, were only an hour late, despite the weather in the Midwest. My Dad tells me to check out Independence Air and US Air, who also fly into Charleston, for alternatives in case things go wrong with Delta again. I open a beer and check online; US Air is booked solid, but Independence has seats on multiple flights, all connecting through Dulles. Somewhat surprisingly, parking at Logan is available both in the main lots ($22 per day) and the Economy lots ($16 per day). I have never even heard of Independence Air, but I write down some flight information just in case.

If I had started driving yesterday, I would have been there by now.

The weather in Boston is crystal clear.

Saturday, December 25
Christmas day. The alarm goes off at 5:30 am. I shower, load the car, and am on the road by ten of six. It is pitch dark, and there is almost no traffic at all. The moon is full and artificially huge, hanging low in the sky.

I make it to Logan in less than twenty minutes, and then try to find an open Economy lot. The two lots at Logan are closed, even though there are spots available – it’s probably just too early in the morning to justify paying an attendant for a holiday shift. I spot a guy handing out flyers for off-site parking five minutes away in Chelsea. I find the lot, and a shuttle is waiting as I park the car. The whole thing is actually very well done, assuming I can get back to the car when I return.

I enter Terminal C at 6:35 am and am instantly horrified. There are more people here now than there were at the peak last night. The regular check-in line extends to the back of the terminal – probably at least an hour beyond the “<60 minutes from this point” sign. As instructed, I take a spot in the Direct Assistance line; once again, it is at a virtual standstill.

After about fifteen minutes, word leaks out that the Atlanta flight is delayed – again, no reason given. Once again, I’m screwed. At least I have the confirmed Cincinnati route – surely they must be dug out by now.

At about 7 am, a Delta rep comes out and says he’s going to give us the straight scoop – if we’re expecting to connect through Atlanta, we won’t make our connections and we might as well go home. It’s hard to tell if he’s really being straight with us or just trying to thin out the crowd.

At 7:40 am I finally make it to the phones. I pick one up and wait. I am on hold for thirty minutes. When someone does finally pick up, I realize that my pen is gone, probably taken by someone at one of the adjacent phones. It isn’t clear whether I can make the connection in Atlanta, but it sounds like they’re not letting me on that plane regardless. Better yet, the Cincinnati-Charleston flight has been canceled; so much for Plan B. They can't (or won't) put me on another airline; apparently no one is even taking standby passengers at this point. After ten minutes I am rebooked yet again on a flight tomorrow through Atlanta. I have been standing in line for an hour and forty-five minutes.

Delta, in case you weren’t paying attention, that was strike three.

I check out the rest of the terminal – the other counters are busy, but not unmanageable. I check the departure monitors; other airlines are showing a few delays, but Delta is the only one showing cancellations. It looks like I might have made the connection if I had actually gotten on to the Atlanta flight, but that doesn’t matter now – I’ve lost my place in both the reservation cue and the line to the Direct Assistance phones, so I’m done. The standard check-in line for Delta now stretches well into the tunnel at the back of the terminal, and the area around the kiosks is completely packed. There are probably two or three thousand people in this terminal standing in one line or another.

I decide to check out Independence Air over in Terminal B. I pass the American counter on the way – again, long lines at the counter, and a couple of minor delays, but no cancellations. The lines at US Air look pretty bad, though, so maybe it isn’t just Delta after all. I find the Independence Air counter and there is no line whatsoever. I walk right up and the lady says she has one seat left on the early flight to Charleston. Unfortunately, in the time it takes to check for return flights, the last seat on the Dulles-Charleston leg is snatched up, so I settle for a flight leaving Logan at 4:35 pm connecting through to Charleston at 10:43 pm. It is $437 round trip, more than $100 less than the original Delta flight that was booked more than a month in advance. If I hadn’t wasted so much time in the Delta line I could have gotten the morning flight and been home in time for Christmas dinner.

I pay with my Delta Sky Miles card.

It has taken less than ten minutes to book the flight and check my bags.

I get some coffee and call my parents. I tell them to try to call Delta and cancel my reservation. I wander around a bit, looking for someplace to plug in my laptop so I won’t drain the whole battery. The ladies at the information counter tell me there are chairs and outlets in the hallway between Terminals B and C. Sure enough, I am able to find both a rocking chair and electrical power in a corridor overlooking the tarmac. I set up camp. The view is actually quite good; American and Continental jets are coming and going. The weather is beautiful.

A news crew from the local WB station stops to ask me if I have been delayed by weather. When they hear I have been screwed three days in a row they get really interested and have me tell my story for the camera.

Unfortunately, the next guy down the hallway has a better one – he and his wife are trying to get from Maine to Cincinnati, and spent Christmas Eve in a hotel. I suspect they will put him on the air, and use the shot of me typing on my laptop for B-roll, if anything. I continue working.

Six hours later I am at the Independence Air gate and I am getting nervous: it is boarding time and there is no plane in sight. It has been a decent day, for one spent stuck at an airport. Legal Seafood was closed for the holiday, but the food court was open. I have been playing with my new laptop and watching the planes come and go all afternoon. But now it is boarding time and there is no plane. I begin to wonder whether it was wise to try to cancel my Delta reservation for tomorrow.

The plane arrives, and thanks to the efficient staff and small size of the plane we still manage to leave the gate exactly on time. The safety overview is a tape of James Carville and Mary Matalin, cracking jokes about people sitting on the left and the right sides of the plane. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I actually listen to the safety instructions. Five minutes after we leave the gate we are in the air, and it is the smoothest ride I can remember. The plane is small and feels new. I have a window seat in the second row, and the seat next to me is empty. The flight attendant actually seems to enjoy his job without being obnoxious.

We are fifteen minutes early into Dulles, but I have three hours to kill anyway. There are many people waiting on flights, but the airport is not crowded. A surprising number of shops are open. I get a pizza at CPK and a beer at a brewpub where I can watch the national news. There is a story about the weather problems; the focus is on Cincinnati, which is an absolute wreck. People have been stranded for days, most won’t get out until Monday at the earliest, the computers that schedule the crews for Delta’s Comair are down, US Air is having trouble as well. There is no mention of Logan or any other airport.

I explore the rest of the terminal and then wander back to the gate. Someone from the airline sings “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” over the intercom.

The flight to Charleston is full. We arrive on time, touching down smoothly despite a crosswind that bounced us around on the descent. We taxi back to the terminal in the dark; in the distance, I can just make out the shape of the C-17s lined up at Charleston AFB.

My parents, my brother, and my sister-in-law are waiting. We pick up my bags and head for home.

My father has not canceled my Delta ticket, in the event that I might need to use the return flight. I try to call Delta before going to bed, but both the regular 800 number and the Sky Miles number are busy.

Sunday, December 26
I try again to call Delta to cancel my reservation; I am still booked for a 10:45 am flight from Boston to Atlanta. I am able to get through on the Sky Miles number, but am automatically put on hold. I wait for sixty-seven minutes before giving up; at this point, they know I’m not checking in for the Atlanta flight.

My family and I have Christmas a day late. Thanks for waiting, guys!

Monday, December 27
I try to get through to Delta on the Sky Miles number to arrange a refund. After twenty minutes on hold, I give up.

Tuesday, December 28
I finally get through to a human at Delta, and after fifteen minutes, I have my refund. To their credit, the Delta rep didn’t give me any hassle, and even apologized for the inconvenience.

It could have been worse. Thousands of people on both Delta and US Air were stranded, and many didn’t make it home at all. Thousands of US Air passengers who did make it through arrived without their luggage, courtesy of an abnormally high number of US Air workers who called in “sick.”

Friday, December 31
I return to Boston on Independence Air. For a fee of $25 I have delayed my departure by a day to spend more time with my parents. It has been a good visit. Both flights are on time; I have a new favorite airline for traveling to Charleston. I am able to retrieve my car from the off-site lot with a minimum of hassle, and I make it home without incident.

In the end, Delta’s problems have cost me two extra trips on the T, $89 to park for the week, two full days of my vacation, and a year’s worth of aggravation. Happy holidays.