I don't know where the last two weeks went, but already I find myself back in England. We (this time I brought my wife) have been here almost a week already and it turns out that, as clichés go, "getting there" is less than half the battle and the moron who called Chicago that toddling town can kiss my ass. Chicago is that pansy-ass town that closes the airport whenever someone sneezes. I will admit that in this case it was a real heavy quick-grab-a-tissue-sneeze complete with thunder and lightning, but still, this is the 21st century, I thought that blizzards and terrorist attacks were the only real show stoppers these days.
I chose Chicago as our route to London because I figured this time of year our odds of delays were greater on the East Coast. This is hurricane season and I hate Washington Dulles airport. I don't know why, I just do. Chicago--that toddling town--seemed so much more romantic. We were doing well at the beginning of the day, which began last Monday. The bags were packed, the house locked down, and nobody cried as we left for the airport. We were only about an hour and a half early for our flight, which as you should know by now, for my wife, that's a feat in and of itself. Everything was going smoothly until we began our descent into the Chicago area. Jen was the first to notice that we seemed to be flying in circles. Then came the announcement from the flight deck that we were in a holding pattern. The captain said there was weather moving through Chicago and he expected to fly in circles at least for half an hour. I ordered another drink. No sooner had I started sipping it the captain came on and said we would be landing shortly. The tricky bastard made me gulp my drink and didn't bother telling us until we were on the ground that we had landed 60 miles east of our intended destination in South Bend, Indiana. Did he think I wouldn't notice? It's not even in the same time zone. I had to reset my watch.
We disembarked the aircraft in a tiny little satellite terminal with no bar or restaurant. By the way, it is worth noting here that we disembarked the aircraft. We did not de-plane. De-plane is not a word. It is the phrase a short man with an accent used to use when he was trying to say "the plane". When we got on the plane, the flight attendant did not say "now planing", he said "now boarding". When one goes on a cruise, do you de-boat? Of course not, you disembark. Why suddenly does the airline industry seem to think de-plane is a word, let alone a verb?
We disembarked the aircraft and sat in this sorry excuse for a terminal for about two hours. Our flight to London was due to take off at 6:30PM. When we finally made the short trek from South Bend to O'Hare, we landed at almost exactly 6:30. Sure enough, our London flight took off without us. Amazing how our flight couldn't fly in but the London flight was able to fly out right on time. United was kind enough to automatically book us on the next flight out...the next flight with seats available. We were now on the 4:11 flight the next afternoon (Tuesday). As airlines are not responsible for weather delays--wait, let me start again. As airlines are not responsible, we found our own hotel about ten miles from the airport. Lodging however was not our biggest inconvenience. The $50 cab ride to the hotel wasn't all that bad either, after all, this is a business trip, I'm not paying. The ride back to the airport by the way was $25--I guess the airport cab driver toddled a bit on his way to the hotel. The main problem was that what should have been a 24 hour trip in the same clothes was now a 48 hour trip in the same clothes. My wife was not happy and, for heaven's sake, why can't those little "[dis]courtesy kits" the airlines give you include a small container of contact lens solution? By the next morning, my eyes were burning.
For round two we got to the airport four and a half hours early. We certainly didn't want to miss our flight again. By 4:11 we were on board, the door was closed and we were ready to go. The cool thing about flying on United is that they make communication with air traffic control available to listen to on channel nine. I've heard some pretty amusing stuff listening to those folks. As 4:11 quickly became a distant memory we heard our pilot ask the ground controllers if we could push back from the gate. There were a couple of rather large airplanes behind us waiting to taxi and we were blocked in. A little more prodding from our captain and the planes to our rear were finally moved and we were happily on our way to nowhere. At the same time, all northbound and westbound traffic out of the airport was grounded. Someone was again about to sneeze. The controllers routed our plane along a maintenance route, told us to get in line and shut down the engines, we weren't going anywhere fast.
Three hours later we were leveled off at our cruising altitude and getting ready for dinner. The in-flight entertainment was about to begin and Jen and I were both looking forward to taking in a movie, eating some food, and trying to get some sleep. Jen's screen did not work. This was quickly becoming the trip from hell. Early the next morning the purser gave her a form to fill out and assured her that someone would be contacting her. At this point, jet-lagged and exhausted from the trip, we just wanted to get somewhere. We disembarked the aircraft at Heathrow and walked about a mile and a half to customs.
My assignment in the UK is for three months and one of the reasons for returning to the U.S. after the last trip was to allow some time for the appropriate work permit documentation to be acquired. I was not anticipating any problems with customs. It took about five minutes for the customs officer to read my permit, ask me a few questions, find the proper stamps, and send me on my way. As I left the desk, Jen was still getting the third degree. Why are you staying so long? Where are you living? What do you do? Who is financially supporting you? I know Jen looks suspicious, but come on people, you drive on the wrong side of the road, who would actually want to stay longer than they have to?
By the time we got ourselves and our seven bags to the rental car facility neither one of us had much of a good mood left. The consolation in the back of my mind is that at least we were finally “there”, and getting there is always half the battle. In a couple of days we’d be replenished and refreshed, recovered from jet-lag and sitting pretty and comfortable in our new flat. Not quite. Getting there was just the beginning.
The first bit of news was that my credit card was over the limit so the car rental company could not verify sufficient funds to cover the three month rental. Apparently my previous expense reports had not yet been paid and all those business class airfare tickets were adding up.
Next it was our flat. We expected to be in a hotel for the first couple of days until we could arrive, get settled, and get the key to our new place. As it happened, our new place had some maintenance issues that wouldn't be fixed until the following weekend. Four nights in a hotel suddenly turned into ten nights.
I had confidence at least in the hotel I chose. Last time I stayed at the Marriott for the first week and then the Holiday Inn for the second week. Surprisingly the Holiday Inn was leaps and bounds ahead of the Marriott. This time we were not so lucky. Our sink didn’t drain, the air conditioning worked when it felt like it (I think it was haunted), there was no refrigerator, no complimentary water and chocolate bar and the bed was lumpy and hard. Four days I could have dealt with, ten was going to require a change of venue.
So the moral of this English Lesson is this: getting there is not necessarily half the battle. This afternoon we switched hotels. The air conditioning works, the sink drains (we’re very excited about that) and there’s a refrigerator with complimentary water and milk (for tea of course). So far so good and, with any luck, by next weekend the battle will finally be over and we’ll be there...wherever the hell that is.
Cheers.
