Friday, January 28, 2022

Come Fly Bargain Basement Airlines!

The concept is terrific. A brand new airline sets up operations in a small southern New England airport, and each day it offers five different non-stop flights to five different cities in Florida. Everybody in New England wants to head south — at least for a vacation during the bleak and cold days of winter. So, it’s a great idea.

The fares offered by this new airline are extremely low. Of course, they whack you with extra fees for checked luggage and carry-on bags. But there’s no truth to the rumor that they hit up all the passengers for gas money before they will take off.

Since I don’t want to get in trouble with the airline’s legal department (and the airline is so small, I suspect their entire legal department is an attorney named Phil who does wills and probate out of his basement), I will not mention the name of the airline nor the small southern New England airport from which it operates. Let’s just say the airport is located in a city on the Connecticut coast that may or may not have an Ivy League school with a name that rhymes with Fail. And the name of the airport itself may or may not rhyme with the word Weed.

Recently, I had to go to Florida for a two-day mercy mission (more about that in a bit). So, a friend and I booked a last-minute flight on this new airline. Our departing flight was delayed for two hours. When I asked what the problem was, an airline employee said, “The plane is late.”

I replied, “But can’t we use another plane?” and she said, “THE plane is late.” 

Oh, I see. In this case the word “fleet” is singular.

Two days later, when we had to fly back home from Florida, this time the plane was not late. It was sitting right there at the gate, with the jet bridge connected to the plane’s door. (Or is it called a hatch? I don’t know.) Just before starting the boarding process, they announced there might be a problem with one of the tires. So, we had to wait for someone to inspect it. This caused a one hour delay.
Then they announced that the tire in question was determined to be unsafe and needed to be changed. OK, I have no idea how to change a tire on an airplane. I know it takes the average person about 20 minutes to change a tire on a car (and it takes me about 40 minutes — I blame it on being left-handed). I suspected a standard scissors jack could not adequately lift the plane high enough to get at the tire, but surely the airline’s mechanics have this all figured out, right?

Well, another hour and a half passed, and we could see out the window that the plane was still sitting there and no one was yet working on the tire. Finally, the guy I was traveling with went over and talked to the two pilots, who also were sitting there waiting, just like the rest of us.

My friend came back and said, “You’re never gonna believe this. The airline is so small, they don’t have their own mechanics and they don’t have any spare parts. They’re frantically calling other airlines at this airport to see if anyone has a spare tire and a couple of mechanics they can borrow.” 

After four hours of waiting, they finally cancelled our flight, and told us to come back the next day and try again. Sheesh!

I’m out of space here, so I’ll have to explain the details of our mercy mission next week. Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly purrrr-fect. 

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