The Aeroplane Flies High, But Not in Minneapolis
Above: The hand controlling the plane could very well belong to the pilot who taxied us around the wet runway for 3 hours.
A shocking tell-all about getting stranded in an airport
Whoa, what a monstrosity of a horizontal line.

April 1, 2002

0620hrs: Getting up before 10am makes me crabby. Coincidentally, that is 5 days out of every week. School just doesn't
               agree with me. But I digress. So I wake up at 620 to catch a plane. I notice it is snowing and I say "Crap" to
               myself. Heavy snow and planes just don't mix.
0740hrs: In line to go through the detector dealie, but have to wait for a long time 'cuz they just made the people on the
               720 United flight get off the plane and go through the detector thing again. One of those unfortunate souls
               happens to be a certain Chris S. but he doesn't see me and I don't want to yell. I see another ex-classmate too,
               but eh. When I finally get to that detector and belt thing, the man is all, "Take off your shoes and put 'em
               through the machine." So I do. And then the other man mumbles something about the zipper on my sweatshirt
               setting the detector off, so I have to take that off too. What makes me confused is that Hector Int'l Airport, in
               all of its 2-gated grandeur, is far more stringent with those things than say, Lindbergh or O'Hare, where I can
               get through with my shoes and sweatshirt just fine. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing.
0945hrs: The plane lands in Minneapolis and I am panicking because I have a connection to catch at 10. Needless to say,
               I don't make it. Ah, blizzards across the entire upper Midwest.
1015hrs: Confused and mostly clueless, I call Mum at home and Dad at work. Dad tells me to get rebooked on a later
               flight. And as it turns out, the 11o'clock flight has been cancelled and the 1o'clock is full. So the lady at the
               Northwest counter puts me on standby for the 1pm flight and confirms me on the 3pm. She's awfully nice, and
               reminds me of Ryan's mother.
1230hrs: Ah, the 1o'clock has been delayed till 130. Fine, fine. I eat a cheeseburger.
1300hrs: Delayed till 2. The weather still continues uncharming.
1400hrs: Delayed till 240.
1415hrs: Delayed till 3. I might as well get on the original 3pm flight then.
1500hrs: I am on the plane. We get out of the gate area and the pilot drives round the runway for a while and happens to
               pull around behind another plane that suddenly powers up and blows chunks of ice on our plane. We have to
               go back to the gate to get de-iced and refuelled cuz of all the fuel we used to drive around the one runway. People
               whip out their cell phones in one accord. A most impressive display. Two gentlemen sitting behind me make
               fun of the pilot and call him a moron.
1600hrs: Yes, because everything happened at convenient hourly intervals. Pulling out of the gate area again. Taxi around
               the runway again. I may or may not have fallen asleep.
1700hrs: Pilot man says, "I'm at a loss for words, folks," and goes on to say that the anti-skid controls don't work so we
               have to go back and get 'em fixed. The two gentlemen behind me up the sarcasm ante. Eventually the steward
               and stewardess bring water for everyone. The steward says it's extra light vodka, as all 130 cell phones make
               yet another simultaneous guest appearance.
1800hrs: The pilot announces that the brake pads don't work either, and nothing can be fixed. The flight is cancelled.
               Notice that we've been on the plane for 3 hours. We deplane and have to go back to the ticketing counters to
               get rebooked. Lo and behold, there are no more flights to Chicago that night. We get certificates for a discount
               off the next Northwest flight. In her haste, the woman handing these out accidentally gives me two. Score. The
               man at the counter gets me a hotel room in Bloomington and tries to get me excited about its being across the
               street from the Mall of America.
1830hrs: I call home again and my parents laugh at my predicament. Though, to tell the truth, I am awfully glad I had
               to stay the night... Riding back to campus for an hour and a half on the train at night would have been hellish,
               I'm sure. Yes, I am one of those people who thinks all criminals and crazies crawl out of the woodwork at dusk.
1915hrs: The shuttle shuttles me over to the Thunderbird hotel. I am somewhat surprised by the very obvious Native
               American theme of the decor throughout the entire hotel. It is a maze of hallways and a long trek from my
               room to the front desk and lounge where I get my free meal of a salad and fish sandwich.
2030hrs: Make more calls at the pay phones. Hell if I'm going to put down a $30 deposit to get the phone line in my
               room freed up.
2115hrs: Fresh out of the shower that didn't drain very well. I watch the World Figure Skating Championships and then
               the NCAA final. Huzzah for Maryland. Ha, you didn't think I watched sports, did you?

Eventually I go to bed... and wake up at 545 the next day to catch an 8o'clock plane that doesn't leave till 11. I get back
to school in the afternoon and when I go to work that evening, my sore throat turns into a full-blown cold, causing me
to miss school the next day as well. As it turns out, I don't miss much at all. All's well that ends well. I never understood
that phrase.

The Thunderbird hotel is one crazy hotel, but I thoroughly enjoyed my stay there, Mall of America being across the
street notwithstanding. That's all, folks. Goodnight.



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