It all started so innocently (well, as innocent as a planned bachelor party in Vegas could be). Then, last week, American Airlines decided to start canceling swaths of flights all across America. Naturally, Frants and I had our own flights nixed on Thursday, when we were supposed to leave on Friday. Frants' good fortune was that his was canceled early -- so he phoned up the Platinum AA Member line (lah-dee-dah!) and they moved him over to a nice little Continental flight. Myself, I had to wait all day long until they finally dropped my flight around 6pm on Thursday. After a whole day of other cancellations, there were suddenly many less options for me. Like, one option. So, the eight AM flight from JFK it would have to be.
It was going to be for the best, we guessed -- arriving in Las Vegas at 11am would mean a whole day to nap and rest up and relax by the pool. Good fortune, perhaps?
No. No it was not.
For, if you caught a whiff of this tale from me over the weekend, you know that it would turn into the worst travel experience of my life. No understatement. Car picks me up at 4am for JFK, since I have to check in at BOTH American and Delta. No problem. Arrive there at 4:30am, do my checking in, get thru security, and by 6am I'm eating a little BK Breakfast at the Delta Snack Bar.
Everything seems fine as we get closer to boarding time, until, around 7:45am, we receive an announcement of a "slight mechanical problem". Technicians are working to repair it, and as soon as they do, we should be on our way. "Hopefully only an hour." This is an expression I will hear many more times. Needless to say, after an hour and a half, there is still no fix. They are half-assedly saying that they might not be able to fix it, and they would look into getting another plane. Or maybe cancel our flight. This could take another hour or two.
Oh, if only that were the case.
At this point, it was now mid-morning. I was exhausted from my early rise and my pre-flight dramamine (which I had taken right before they announced the delay). Delta's disgusting terminal, however, offered no rest. Old, terrible seating and filthy floors meant a slight meditation was all I could achieve. Still we waited. Finally, some relief -- they said our plane was able to be fixed! They just needed to test it. Another hour at the most!
Lies, damned lies.
After an hour, they tell us that our flight crew can no longer fly us to Vegas. It would put them over the FAA's allotted time for their shift. We must find another crew. Nobody thought to do this at any point during the past six hours, I guess.
Another mini-riot occurs as passengers turn on the agents. If they had canceled our plane, we could have tried to get other flights on Jet Blue. But they wouldn't. So we were stuck in purgatory, unsure if we'd ever get there. They offered an olive branch: "meal vouchers". A whopping $7 at the terminal food court.
This did not go over well.
The dance of half-truths and excuses continued as the hours ticked on. Around two o'clock, it hit the breaking point -- they reversed course and told us that we had to wait for a plane to arrive from Ohio, that our original plane was never fixed and was "still broken". Screaming and cursing began, people went buck wild. The Port Authority Police were called to the gate to calm things down.
And still, we just wanted to get to Vegas.
Eventually, we were told that our "new plane" would arrive around five PM. Once it was cleaned and turned around, we could take off... for Cincinnati. Our flight crew was once again, over the FAA limit, so we would need a fresh crew to continue onto Vegas. So it goes. I used my voucher for some BK tenders and watched another movie on my iPod. And waited.
We board a little after five o'clock. We sit and sit until we can get a slot for take-off (so much for their assurances that our flight "had priority" on the runway). We finally leave the godforsaken confines of JFK airport at 6:30pm -- fourteen hours after I arrived for my flight.
Of course, as we flew into Cincy, we hit the worst turbulence I've ever encountered -- no exaggeration. It was like "Lost" -- drinks flew into the air, people started screaming, and I had to catch the stewardess next to me who was falling backwards. I expected a briefcase to fall from above and crack the guy next to me in the head. Instead, it just continued for the next fifteen minutes and I had what competitive eaters call "A Reversal of Fortune" on landing -- losing those BK tenders in the process.
On the ground in Cincinnati, I doubled up on my dramamine as we switched crews. I tried to sleep some as we flew to Vegas. We land there after 10pm -- twelve hours late -- and I make my way back to the hotel to fall into a coma.
Still, it was great to see everyone the next day -- and we had a blast, drinking and drinking and drinking and watching the Sox defeat the Yankees. Larry put together a high-class weekend that everyone enjoyed. And, even though nobody won at the sportsbook (or had much luck at the tables); even though I got hit with the 'Curse of the Creamed Spinach' after dinner; even though I spent more time in airports and airplanes than I did with my pals -- I'd do it all again.
Because, I was there for the one last weekend when Corey was plied with too many drinks, had fun and make some bad decisions (betting on the Yanks being the least among them). Yes, it was worth it.
That said, I'm never setting foot in that goddamned town again.
