I’ve written before about how uncomfortable it is to be scrunched up in the middle seat on a plane during a flight. What I didn’t previously address — but will now — is how aggravating it is to be scrunched up in that seat prior to the flight. The thing is: During a flight, being cooped up is a necessity, whereas being stuck in the plane on the tarmac prior to taking off seems, at least in some cases, to be preventable.
Steve and I have flown a lot this year, and we’ve found ourselves in this position at least three different times: on the plane, seemingly ready for take-off — and then a delay. One of those delays wasn’t bad; it turned out to be just a matter of minutes. We’d boarded an Alaska Airlines flight from Seattle to San Jose, when we heard an announcement that we couldn’t take off until the tire pressure was checked on one of the plane’s front tires. That situation was resolved quickly and we took off just 15 minutes later than originally scheduled. And while a 15-minute delay wasn’t bad, it did cross my mind that perhaps the tire pressure could have been checked earlier.
A second situation was much more trying. We were scheduled to leave at 1:58 p.m. on a flight from Los Angeles to Charlotte, and as we were boarding the plane, I made note of the fact that two maintenance workers were exiting the cockpit, which seemed to me out of the ordinary; of all the times I’d previously flown, not once had I ever crossed paths with maintenance workers on a plane. Sure enough, once everyone was seated and buckled in, the pilot announced that there was an issue with the plane that required maintenance; he advised us to expect a 20-minute delay.
Thirty minutes in, passengers were complaining, and the flight attendant announced that anyone wishing to disembark could do so but would not, under any circumstances, be allowed back on. Furthermore, she said, if you have checked bags, you will not be permitted to retrieve those now; you’ll have to get them in Charlotte. Oh, and one last thing: For those of you with the bright idea of getting off the plane and then heading straight to customer service to whine and bellyache, you can forget it; she’d just been informed that the customer service line was currently backed up with at least an hour-long wait. (OK, that’s not exactly how she put it, but that was the gist.) A few people did choose to grab their carry-ons and skedaddle, but Steve and I, and most of the passengers, stayed put; we finally took off around 3:30, which means we spent an hour and a half squished up in our teeny tiny seats — at least, that’s how we in coach spent the time; I assume the passengers in first class stretched out for a nap, after stuffing themselves with caviar and champagne cake with buttercream icing.
Now, don’t get me wrong — I’m all about safety first, and no more so than when I’m cruising at 35,000 feet above the earth. If there’s an issue with a plane — and I don’t care how small it is — I want it fixed. But the thing is: I saw the maintenance workers when I boarded the plane. There was obviously a problem from the get-go. Why, then, would you go ahead and stuff a bunch of people onboard when you know there’s a good chance they’ll be stuck there for who knows how long? (I never, at any point, bought the pilot’s claim that it would be a mere 20-minute delay — if a simple tire pressure check requires 15 minutes, my admittedly uninformed opinion is that a mysterious “maintenance issue” will take at least quadruple that.)
We had yet another significant delay when leaving Manchester, New Hampshire for Charlotte. Our flight was originally scheduled for take-off at 5:15 p.m., but our plane’s incoming flight was running behind schedule, so we our take-off time was pushed to 5:30. No big deal. Everyone had boarded the plane and settled in when the announcement came that a cargo door wouldn’t shut — and we were awaiting the arrival of a maintenance crew from elsewhere to fix it. (Really? There’s no maintenance crew at the airport?) The problem was “solved” (and by solved, I mean they’d been unable to properly repair the door, so they “jammed” it shut — their word, not mine), and we were pushing back from the gate at 6:30, when one passenger decided he’d had enough and wanted to disembark. So, for the entire hour we all sat on the plane while the cargo door was being expertly jammed shut — during which time the flight attendants told anyone wishing to do so that they could get off the plane (although they would not be allowed back on, nor would they be allowed to retrieve their checked bags) — we didn’t hear a peep out of this guy. But once the plane started to move, he piped up. The flight attendant conferred with the pilot, and back to the gate we went. By the time, we finally started to depart from the gate a second time it was 6:48, one hour and 33 minutes later than our initial scheduled departure time — and most of that time was spent cooped up on the plane.
The passenger that hopped off the plane at the last minute was definitely not popular; he exited to the jeers of several others onboard. And why on earth he waited that long before disembarking, I couldn’t begin to understand. But I did understand his frustration. Maybe he was wondering the same thing I was wondering: Wouldn’t it have been possible — even prudent — to check the status of the cargo door earlier? Just as I had wondered on our Seattle flight why the tire pressure hadn’t been checked earlier. And on our Los Angeles flight — when there were clearly maintenance issues from the get-go — why those issues weren’t addressed prior to our boarding.
Look, I know airlines run on tight schedules. I know that once an issue is resolved, the goal is to get in the air as quickly as possible. And I don’t have knowledge of the decision-making process that goes into determining when passengers should board, but I’m convinced that if the decision-makers, whoever they are, were forced to sit for one or two hours in a coach seat, they’d think twice about cramming the rest of us in there for any longer than absolutely necessary.
