Tag: Southwest

Back To The Sunshine State

I’m writing this while on my way to Florida – again. This time it’s with Helaine and Stef, and this time it’s a more pleasant occasion – my mom’s birthday.

Because of where Steffie goes to school and because you can fly to West Palm Beach non-stop, we’ve opted to fly from Islip’s MacArthur Airport on Lawn Guyland.

This is an interesting airport in an interesting place. It is hemmed in on all sides by the sprawl that Long Island’s become. In that way, there are similarities to Midway Airport in Chicago.

We found our way to the remote long term parking, right on the airport grounds, and waited no more than a minute for the shuttle. The terminal was another minute or two away.

From a distance the terminal looked large. That perspective remained as we pulled up, except now it reminded me of the airport in Rockford, IL.

Stick with me on this.

In Rockford, the airport is large, but usage is not. Same here. Judging by the TV screens, nearly all the flights are operated by Southwest. The few USAir and Delta flights smelled of commuter plane routes. This is an airport where 737’s share the taxiways with Cessna 150s.

As we pulled away from the gate, I saw all six Terminal A gates and jetways. They were all vacant. It’s a shame (though nearby Islip residents might not agree with me on that).

Our flight headed southwest down Runway 24, took off and turned east. We flew over the center of Long Island. Off to the south was Fire Island. North was Long Island Sound and Connecticut.

I don’t know that much about Long Island landmarks, but I was able to pick out Brookhaven Airport, an abandoned Naval airfield and Gabreski Airport in Westhampton Beach before we turned south, heading over the Atlantic in the general direction of Florida.

The flight was a non-event until the last few minutes. With towering thunderstorm clouds on either side of the plane, the pilot came on the PA. The rest of the flight was going to be “very bumpy.”

Ding.

On went the seatbelt signs. The flight attendants were asked to take their seats. We headed down.

It wasn’t as bad as the pilot let on. It wasn’t too smooth either. We landed 15 minutes early.

It’s nice to see my folks, even though it’s only been a few days since I last saw them. Florida, as it turns out, has changed. It’s much more humid. Much.

For dinner tonight, we headed south to Boca Raton and a place called Stir Crazy. I forgot to bring “Clicky.” A shame, because this was a very photogenic place.

Basically, you choose your protein and vegetables and then watch as your dinner is stir fried while you stand and watch. Pretty cool. Very tasty.

I’m bushed.

The Return Trip

I’m typing from seat 3A aboard Southwest Flight 616. It’s a direct, as opposed to non-stop, flight from West Palm Beach to Hartford via Baltimore. All the passengers, save four, thought Baltimore was far enough.

This afternoon I couldn’t help but think of my first commercial flight. It was on a Lockheed Electra L188, a second section flight on the Eastern Shuttle&#185. I was on my way to a college interview in Boston. That was 40 years ago. A lot has changed in flying.

Back then I could have asked to see the cockpit without being arrested.

I remember looking out the window during that flight, much as I looked out the window on this one. I was fascinated by the countryside of Connecticut and Rhode Island as we flew from LaGuardia to Logan. Today I was fascinated by the clouds that floated above Florida and the adjacent Atlantic.

We headed pretty far east before heading north today. The pilot did a good job avoiding the towering thunderheads. I wonder if anyone else on board knew how bumpy it might have been?

I don’t remember the flight attendants from that first trip, though they probably would have been puzzled by the term “flight attendant.” They were stewardesses, mainly young, probably pretty. To me, a seventeen year old unaccustomed to any of their world, they were glamorous and sophisticated.

None of my flights for this trip have been full. From what I read, that’s unusual. No one sat in the middle seat between me and the strangers with whom I’ve shared the row. Nowadays, that’s a luxury.

Being an early boarder from Southwest’s Group “A”, I had my my choice of seats. On the way down it was on the aisle. Now I’m at the left window, chosen for its access to a view of sunset. I try to sit forward of the wing, where first class is on other airlines, the better to snap a few shots.

I watched a PHP tutorial video on the computer, ate an unbelievably expensive sandwich I bought in the terminal, took some photos, loosened, then removed, my sneakers and fidgeted. Helaine should be glad she wasn’t here. My fidgeting would have driven her nuts.

I just looked down to see a dense lattice of streets. I didn’t recognize it at first, but it was Brooklyn. In the distance, Manhattan was underwhelming. I made it out by its shape more than its lights.

I did catch the lights from Shea Stadium and the Tennis Center, but mostly everything under me is nondescript. Anything I recognize from here in will be because I’ve lived there.

I’ll be flying this route again Wednesday. This trip was a last minute deal because of my dad’s hospitalization. Next week it’s my mom’s birthday.

Actually, this turned out to be a pleasure trip, didn’t it?

&#185 – Back then, if the plane was filled, another would be rolled out for the remaining passengers. Though the scheduled flight was on a jet, an old prop plane served as the backup.

Loose Ends

I’m off to Florida this afternoon. First, another trip to get my glasses problem fixed, then a haircut.

I plan on checking no bags. Much of Helaine and my discussions last night centered on what can and cannot be brought on an airplane. My deodorant is 3&#188 oz. Anything over 3 oz is considered a lethal weapon by TSA&#185.

I’m taking it anyway. What a rebel.

The trip to Florida will take about five hours. That includes a 1:35 stopover in Baltimore. As I remember, they have pretty good WiFi coverage in the terminal.

Air travel may be cheaper than ever, but it’s not any faster. Even Southwest, who claims to not be a hub and spoke airline, shuttles a lot of people through Baltimore and Las Vegas, which sure seem like hub airports.

I have some tutorials for Javascript and PHP, two computer languages, I’m taking along. I plan on spending my travel time learning to better program. Last night my mom asked why I was doing that? Is it OK to say, I don’t know?

&#185 – Though written for effect, that statement is literally true. They don’t want me to bring any liquid or gel over 3oz because it might be used as a weapon of some sort!

Southwest Can’t Be Beat

My mom called this afternoon. The doctor has moved my dad’s surgery back one day. Of course, my plans were already made.

I went online with Southwest, moved my reservations (on free tickets) to another day and waited to find out how much more I owed.

Zero!

Is there a better way to run an airline? I don’t think so.

On The Way Out

Our trip to the airport – uneventful. About five minutes from the parking lot, Helaine asked if we were running late. We’re at the gate with no one from Southwest. Guess not.

We’re flying from Hartford to Chicago Midway and then on to Las Vegas. One stop, no change of planes.

I just popped the radar in another browser tab. There’s a long, thin line of thunderstorms – train echoes is the term – just north of Chicago. We’ll see how much impact that has on our day. The anticipation is we’re in Las Vegas around 4:00 PM.

Usually, before a Vegas trip, we watch Chevy Chase in “Vegas Vacation.” We didn’t, but we’ve brought it (and two sets of headphones) along to watch on the plane. That will probably be the MDW-LAS leg. Right now I’m looking for some quality nap time.

It was in the 20&#186s as we drove to the airport. Las Vegas should approach 70&#186 this afternoon.

Sweet.

Off To Vegas

We ended our big October Southwest trip in Las Vegas, where I promptly got good and sick! I’ll spare you the details, except to say I never saw the face of the doctor who came to our hotel room to administer an injection in my butt&#185!

We’ve always enjoyed Las Vegas, but this trip left Helaine a little shaken. She was reticent to go again.

Long story short, the opportunity arose, we’ve got free Southwest tickets, and we leave tomorrow. We’re going to undo the jinx of October.

We’re staying at the MGM instead of our ‘usual’ Mirage.

Of course I want to play poker, but we’re also going to a few shows: Barry Manilow (who we saw on our first date!), Gordie Brown and Roseanne Barr.

I know Manilow has supporters and detractors with no middle ground. It will be interesting to see what he does as a ‘house act’ at the Hilton.

Gordie Brown is also a house act. He’s an impressionist who plays the Venetian. In fact, I first saw him during “Impressionist Week” on Letterman and was favorably impressed. Helaine, who scours the Vegas trip report boards when a vacation approaches, has read lots of good things.

Our last choice is much more chancy. Roseanne Barr has become another house act. She’s just opened at New York New York. Both Helaine and I watched her first appearance on the Tonight Show, blown away by how funny she was. Then her career skyrocketed and crashed.

Is she still funny? Has she seen the error of her ways? I’ll let you know.

Keep your fingers crossed for good weather at Midway in Chicago. We’re on a one-stop.

&#185 – The doctor’s bill was declared ‘off network’ and originally rejected by my insurance carrier. If you’re really sick, you’re entitled to get a doctor without shopping for one who has signed the right papers. After lots of grousing, and two internal reviews, they paid it all, save the co-pay.

The insurance company, in Rhode Island, neither knew nor cared who I was.

Bottom line – If you’re in the right, don’t give up. That’s $435 in my pocket, not theirs.

What’s In Your Wallet?

About six months ago, Helaine bought a new wallet for me. Today, after she asked for the fiftieth time, I switched over. Having a ‘fresh’ wallet doesn’t seem to be a guy thing, but I’m willing to play along.

Every wallet I’ve ever had has been a black fold over affair. Not this time. We’ve gone brown. No consultation. I’m guessing I’ll still match… though don’t green and brown clash?

Over time the old wallet fatter – a repository of stuff I didn’t want to throw away. I think that was as much of a problem as the shabby exterior. On the other hand, cows were upset it was still being referred to as leather.

I pulled everything from the old wallet and put it on the kitchen counter. I only carry one credit card, plus an ATM card I’ve never used.

From my mid-winter poker trip to Atlantic City were three casino cards. They are credit card like in their shape and appearance. You can no longer play in a poker tournament without one. I have no idea why I carried them. They’re now gone.

There were also a few business cards from people I met and exchanged cards with. Except for one, the others have been disposed.

Insurance card, AFTRA card, FedEx, Southwest, AAA – gotta keep those.

I have about ten of my own business cards I keep in my wallet. We have nice cards at work – meaning they’re thick. Ten takes up a lot of space.

I had one bandage in the side pocket. It’s a very small round one, still in its wrapper. The wrapper itself had a tear, meaning it’s no longer sterile. I have no idea why I was carrying that. Gone.

I’m not sure why, but I always carry a single dollar bill behind my drivers license. I always have. It is not money meant to be spent. If there’s a superstition with this habit, I’ve lost sight of it over the years.

It’s very possible this particular Series 1995 bill has been sat on daily for the last 12+ years.

The joke is, guys in their late teens and early twenties carry condoms in their wallets, which leave noticeable circular impressions in the leather. I’m in my fifties. I carry Splenda.

I don’t just have a new wallet. I now have a slimmer butt!

Greetings From PBI

Our flight was scheduled to leave at 2:55 PM. Now it’s on the board for 3:15 PM. It makes no difference. We were here early anyway.

As we passed painlessly through security, I had an overhead announcement making the last call for a Southwest flight to Tampa, Phoenix, Las Vegas and Sacramento. That’s a lot of peanut and Diet Coke time between here and Sacto.

We’re at Gate B5, which isn’t a particularly long walk. Helaine found a seat right away, but I staked out our position in the Group “A” line.

Southwest doesn’t have reserved seats. As you check in, you are assigned a boarding group – A, B, or C. But, all A’s are called together, so one of us (that normally means Helaine) usually gets in line. Today it’s my turn.

The line for Group “A” is behind the check-in podium facing a bank of now removed payphones. The good news is, there are power outlets here. Good for me, with a laptop who’s battery stamina is measured in seconds.

What’s bad is, I’m sitting on my tush and this floor is very hard.

Someone just walked up to ask if this is the line for “A.” Yes. That’s the fith time this question has been asked.

With so many people in close proximity, there is no privacy. I’m listening to a guy right now having a business conversation on his cell phone. A few minutes ago a woman checked her messages using the speakerphone feature of her cellphone!

She quickly hit the switch when a message came in telling her the person speaking was in withdrawal and needed her help. Honest.

I took a look at our flight’s data on FlightAware.com. As I was looking, a woman nearby asked if there were weather problems on our route. I quickly called up the Weather Service composite radar for the US. No problem. She thinks I’m a road warrior god.

I expect Southwest will make up any delay during our stopover in Baltimore. We’ll be home later this evening.

This was a very short trip to Florida, but I’m glad we made it. It was nice to see them. Nice to hang out with them. Nice to leave before we wore out our welcome.

Bad Weather In Florida Is Still Great

Last night on the news, meteorologists were raising the volume on this unseasonable cold Florida weather. “You’ll need a sweater,” one said. “The kids will want to wear coats to the bus stop,” added another.

It was in the 60s today. It was sunny. It was beautiful. It’s Florida. No complaints from me.

Our flight home is at 2:55 PM tomorrow. At 2:55 PM today we got our boarding passes. On Southwest, that’s how you get seated together.

It wasn’t until after the boarding passes that we considered leaving the house. Actually, before we left a friend of my parents came so I could explain how a photo book is made.

Here’s what I discovered. You can’t explain. It’s something organic which must be done to be learned. This isn’t to say she didn’t take copious notes. She did. But she’ll have to play around and ad lib to get anything going.

No matter what I said, it wasn’t going to be the whole story.

We left my parents’ condo and drove toward the beach. My parents are way out west, past Military Trail. The beach is straight down Boynton Beach Blvd to Federal Highway (aka Route 1) a quick jog to Ocean, and then over the Intracoastal draw bridge to Route A1A. We turned north toward Palm Beach.

I know this area well. I worked at 3000 South Ocean Blvd (A1A) in Palm Beach back in the late 60s/early 70s. It was a radio station located right on the beach. How stupid was I to leave that idyllic spot?

There’s been lots of new construction over the years, but much of what I remember is still here.

We drove up A1A past the very expensive, very little towns that fill the barrier islands along Florida’s East Coast. There were condos and houses – some immense monuments to conspicuous consumption.

I looked down at the rushing current as we drove over Boynton Inlet and onto Manalapan. For 35+ years I haven’t been able to not look at Boynton Inlet every single time I drove over it.

We turned right just past Lake Avenue, into the parking lot for Lake Worth’s municipal beach. This beach is actually an easement carved out of Palm Beach.

A few days of stiff breeze had whipped up the surf. That’s what I was expecting. It was my chance to take some surfer photos.

I found a place where a few other photographers had congregated and quickly developed a case of lens envy. That lens you see is a 400mm F4. It’s longer than my longest lens and captures a whole lot more light.

Most non-photographers are surprised to hear the lens is a few times more expensive than the camera it’s mounted on!

The laptop I’ve brought with me is pretty old and very slow. I’m hoping I posted the best surfing shots, but I’m really not sure. I definitely know they will be differently tweaked when I get home.


It was chilly on the beach. Helaine and my folks retreated to the car. I went down to the water line. Being there gave me a slightly different perspective and allowed my feet to go underwater at the tide continued to come in! Oops.

As I was getting ready to leave, I saw a cluster of birds hovering right at the shore. A man in a t-short was holding his hand out, a piece of bread between his fingers. The birds were thrilled to fight the wind and get the bread.

As long as we were down by the beach, we headed to the Banana Boat for dinner. It’s a seafood place right on the Intracoastal Waterway.

My seafood pasta was perfect.

Our Eventful Trip To Florida

This was an interesting trip to Florida. Everything went wrong. Everything went right.

The trip to Bradley Airport was just fine. We pulled into Roncari, dropped off our car and hopped into the van. Because we were going to Florida, we left our coats in the car. Because it was just sitting, the van’s engine and heater were off. Bad time to be coatless.

It wasn’t a particularly busy Saturday afternoon. We wheeled our bags in, checked the one that held the always suspect and always dangerous toiletries (can’t carry those on anymore) and headed toward security.

Even on a light travel day, if you only have two of the four screening stations open, there will be a line. There was a sizable line. Still, we were early – no sweat.

A man wearing a white TSA shirt with those weird epaulettes yelled instructions vaguely in the direction of the line. He held up a one quart plastic bag. He said something about laptops. He was the vocal equivalent of the hodge podge of Scotch taped signs carrying most of the TSA’s rules.

Hint: Dirty, sometimes ripped signs, affixed to pillars with tape, is not the way to make people think you’re a top notch safety and security organization. They will think of you as the DMV with arrest powers. Better still…

Do this. Don’t do that. Can’t you read the signs? – “Signs,” Five Man Electrical Band.

Remember, these people thoroughly screen all the pilots even though they will be at the controls of the actual airplane!

I emptied my pockets, removed my shoes, put my laptop in a plastic tub – flat. This wasn’t my first time to the rodeo. I knew the drill.

I walked into the phone booth GE claims will sniff out explosives. Little puffs of air poked at my clothes. I waited. I waited some more. The door opened and I stepped out.

Next up was the metal detector. I was told, unless I was wearing a “country trucker” belt buckle I’d be OK. I walked through

BEEP.

I looked down at myself. Oops. My Bluetooth headphone was sitting on my shirt. I handed it to the guard… a guy who remembered me from when he worked at Sears Optical.

BEEP.

I’ll bet you didn’t know this. The TSA has a two strikes and you’re out policy. I needed to be patted down.

I’ve heard stories about how terrible this is for women. Get in line. It’s demeaning for everyone.

The guy was doing his job, I know. I just don’t want anyone feeling me up. And, in essence, that’s what being patted down is.

Before he went to my most sensitive parts, he told me he was going to use the back of his hand. it made no difference.

These guys are doing their job. Of course. Does this job make us safer? I don’t think so.

Our plane was due at Gate 4. As is the norm with Southwest it unloaded quickly, but before we could board, there was an announcement. On the way in, the plane had flown through a flock of birds and struck one with the leading edge of the left wing.

They didn’t think the plane suffered any damage, planes are designed to survive, but maintenance would have to look and make sure… and they don’t work for Southwest… and they’ll have to drive over from wherever it is the folks who work maintenance Saturday afternoons are kept.

Within a few minutes the pilot decided the plane would pass, so we might as well board anyway, even though the inspection hadn’t started. And we did.

So, we’re sitting there on the plane, and Helaine is staring at a guy wearing shades, looking at the wing, when the pilot comes on the P.A. He’s still expecting a passing grade on the wing, but now TSA was telling him there’d been a security incursion at the airport and until the two people who wandered where they shouldn’t be were located, there would be no landings, no security screening and no departures!

Did I mention we were flying to Tampa, with a 45 minute layover before boarding a connecting flight to Palm Beach International?

The minute hand on my watch began moving fast enough for me to see. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Then it was a half hour and forty five minutes.

I saw the pilot, standing near the door, and explained our plight. He said he’d check.

As the one hour mark approached, we were cleared to go. Michael, a ground agent from Bradley and Dominic, a flight attendant came over to where we were seated. They understood our predicament… one shared with 13 others on the flight… and would make sure word got out.

I’m not going to make you sit through the second-by-second details, but we landed too late to make that connecting flight. Except Southwest held it at the gate!

I know I’ve slobbered endlessly in the past about my great affection for Southwest, but you tell me if this is the outcome you expected? And it wasn’t because I was TV-boy.

We walked the three gates to our outbound flight, handed over our boarding passes and started to walk down the jetway. Along the way, I thanked EVERY Southwest employee I saw. I wanted them to know this was the decision they needed to make, and I appreciated them making it.

“Avoid eye contact,” Helaine said as we boarded the plane. These folks had been sitting aimlessly, waiting for us.

As I walked down the aisle I looked up and to no one in general said, “Thank you for waiting.”

After all this tumult and grief we landed in Palm Beach about ten minutes late! My parents were waiting for us.

It was a very bad day to be a bird flying low over the Bradley Airport approach. It was a good day to be the Foxes. We’re in Florida.

It’s On The Way

I’m so excited. The setup for the photo book from Helaine and my Southwest vacation was done Sunday night. Helaine took a look, asked me to remove one photo, and off it went to Shutterfly.

There’s a thirty minute grace period before the order is finalized. During that time, I changed another picture.

Here it is Tuesday, one day later, and Shutterfly says it’s on its way to Connecticut.

I’m so excited. If this is anything like the book I made from my Maine trip, it will be well worth the effort… and with 51 pages and a few hundred photos, there was plenty of effort.

Photo Time

I tried to catch up on some loose photography today. The four photos (of 325) I wanted to keep from my Atlantic City trip got tweaked in Photoshop and then uploaded to a photo finisher.

Some of my friends print their own photos. My friend Peter, near Atlantic City as it turns out, has printed some gigundo photos which hang on his wall and look great. I’ve never been that lucky and I’ve read it’s no cheaper to print at home.

Anyway, any time I’ve ever tried to print something ‘critical’ it’s always taken at least two tries! I’m saving myself cash and grief by waiting for the postman to deliver my photos.

Getting the Atlantic City shots out of the way was simple. The big job is the one I’ve put off since October – our Southwest vacation photos.

My goal with those was to print a photo book, like the one I did for my ‘mancation’ to Maine with my friend Bob. The problem is, there are just so many photos and many of them are pretty good.

No photo gets printed ‘as is.’ Every shot needs some tweaking, though I’m trying to keep it at a minimum for this album. Instead of Photoshop, I’m relying on Picasa, the free photofinishing software from Google. Picasa can sharpen and adjust levels at the touch of a button.

Unfortunately, some shots have tiny marks caused by dust on the camera’s sensor. It’s a real problem in first generation DSLRs, though now solved in most modern cameras. Photoshop is the cure, which just adds another layer of complexity to what I wanted to be simple.

I’m through 13 pages in what I anticipate will be a 30-40 page book. It is tedious work. If this comes out anywhere near the last one, it will have been worth it.

Once the book is done, I need to pick 5-6 shots to enlarge. I have claimed the two walls that make the hallway to the attic stairs for my gallery. It’s beginning to fill up nicely.

I’ve been through these pictures many times and I continue to discover shots worth looking at. Often, I’ll play with them just to play. It’s amazing how you can change the look and feel of a photo with the right tools on your computer.

My photography hobby has turned into a lot of fun. I can see why so many people are hooked and throw money at it for all sorts of neat equipment.

What I don’t understand is how people were able to get good at it before the digital era. To me at least, good photography demands practice. That’s one reason I have no qualms shooting 325 pictures, mostly in one afternoon and evening in Atlantic City, to get four I’ll keep.

With film this would have been a prohibitively expensive undertaking. On top of that, by the time the prints were back I’d have forgotten exactly how the shots were set-up.

I am the un-Luddite.

I’m Not Ansel

I was playing around with some more of my Southwest vacation pictures last night. Of course, whenever you look at photos of the Southwest, you start thinking of Ansel Adams.

Why not play with one photo and see if I could do an Ansel impression?

After a few throwaways, I realized I needed a very wide shot of a distant scene. Clouds were necessary – the sky needed sharp contrast.

In this case, I took the liberty of removing a black plastic fence. Other than that, the photo stands as shot… just in black and white and with the darkest and brightest parts ‘crushed’ to stand out.

The sun was already strong, but now the monoliths seem really starkly lit and the clouds have turn from puffy to ominous.

How Do They Know It’s Us?

Helaine is out-of-town for a few days. She left from Hartford this morning.

Yesterday afternoon we spent about twenty minutes, including a call to Southwest, trying to ascertain if food was as explosive (and restricted by the TSA) as mouthwash or toothpaste.

It is not.

She left Bradley and flew to BWI Airport outside Baltimore. Terminal B arrival. Terminal A departure.

Southwest flies to Houston’s Hobby Airport’s (I wish it were professional as opposed to a hobby&#185), and this particular flight went to Gate 50. Yes, there are gate numbers higher, but none more remote.

How do they always know we’re coming to make it as far as is humanly possible? They do, you know.

A few years ago, when it was a United hub, we changed planes in Denver. We literally walked the walk between their two farthest gates. It was like taking the tour of DEN!

Another night, changing at Detroit’s Wayne County Airport (DTW if you’re checking your baggage tags) we were so far away, with so little time, I slipped some money to a person driving one of those long motorized carts and got chauffeured.

The terminal was so crowded, I’m still not sure we ran someone down. I closed my eyes except when I was staring down my watch. We got to the gate in the nick of time… well, it would have been if the flight hadn’t been delayed.

Back in my SciFi Channel days I changed planes in Minneapolis. I was talking on the cell phone walking slowly to my gate – 15. As I walked, I passed 19, 18, 17, 16, 31, 30, 29!

You’ve got to be kidding. They were out of order! I almost missed that plane.

Of course this is one reason I enjoy flying from Tweed New Haven Airport so much. There’s only one gate currently in use. Unfortunately, you can only fly to Philadelphia.

Actually, if more airlines would come in to New Haven, I’d promise not to kvetch about the walk.

&#185 – I know, Hobby was a Texas governor – Governor William Pettus Hobby. I just can’t resist cheap humor.

When Good Airlines Go Bad

If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know I’m a big fan of Southwest Airlines. I still am at this moment, but they’ve shown a side I hadn’t seen before.

Our flight from Midway was due out at 8:00 PM. “Conditions” (a word which covers a multitude of sins) didn’t allow us to depart on time. Hey – it happens.

The departure time was changed to 9:25 PM, so Stef and Helaine headed out searching for food. I sat on the floor, playing online poker.

A little after 8:00 PM, I faintly heard an announcement from the boarding area. I wasn’t sure what I heard, but Hartford was included. With Helaine and Stef gone, my laptop open on the floor and five bags next to me, I was stuck.

Next to me, another laptop user was also sitting on the cold marble. I had heard her mention New Haven in her conversation. I asked if she’d mind watching my stuff for a moment while I checked out what was going on.

At the gate, the CSR told me “we’re boarding now.” Yikes!

I called Helaine on the cellphone. She was at the far end of the concourse and I was at Gate 24. “Run,” I said.

To show the agents I was earnest about getting on, I disconnected from the poker game, pack muled myself and carried all the bags to the gate.

I will remember that for a while because my hip is killing me with the twingy pain that probably means I pulled a muscle!

It looked like they were about to close the door, but they weren’t. A minute later, Helaine and Stef, who had ordered dinner and then canceled it (thanks Harry Carey’s who understood their situation), pulled up to the gate.

We got on a half empty plane. Many of those who held boarding passes were nowhere to be found.

Imagine you’re told that your plane is delayed nearly two hours. You walk away to get a drink, a sandwich, go to the men’s room. When you come back, your flight is gone! I suspect this counts as “your fault.”

A few more, but not all, the passengers made it on the plane before we left for Connecticut. We arrived at Bradley after midnight.

While I went to get the car, Helaine and Stef stayed for the bags. The buzzer buzzed. The carousel spun. Some bags came down – not all.

A disembodied voice on the PA system apologized. Another plane was about to leave. Our bags would have to wait a few minutes more.

I know it’s tough to be in the airline business on a night when Mother Nature just isn’t cutting you any slack. I just think, in this case, Southwest didn’t live up to its reputation – at least it didn’t in my eyes.

The delay in Chicago wasn’t handled properly. No one was ever advised the plane might not be held until 9:25. I’m not sure what to make of the baggage snafu in Hartford, other than to say we once had this same problem with Carnival Air.

Does any airline want their attention to customer needs compared to Carnival?