Surviving The Phileas Fogg Effect
Was it a brown acid flashback, or simply another wintertime nightmare at O’Hare?
It would be nice to report that O’Hare Airport Transportation Security Officer DeMarco was a gracious host of the highest order. After all, the Chicagoan was present to provide some extremely weary travelers with shelter from the storm.
In the end, ATSO DeMarco, more than likely the second cousin of a precinct captain who attended elementary school with Mayor Richard M. Daley’s sister-in-law, proved but a nightmarish exclamation point to the longest sleepless weekend of several wayfarers’ lives.
We should have seen it coming. When some friends and I opted to visit pals who winter Down Under, so excited were we of the adventure to a second summer in Australia that we jumped at the best fares available. A little more forethought and we might have avoided the pleasure of 14 hours over the Pacific sardined in economy class eating gummy chicken and eggs that looked crayon orange (if not as tasty), attempting to sleep while two 5-year-olds in the row behind us played “Wrestlemania XVII.” A little more planning and we might have understood the calamity that is connecting through Chicago in winter.
Suffice it to say, the lesson has been learned. Indelibly.
Never fly on purpose through Chicago between November and March. Never. Even if it means going through Atlanta and having a 50-minute full sprint between terminals to catch a connecting flight that leaves in 45.
Thanks to what I will term the Phileas Fogg Effect (crossing the International Dateline allows you to experience the same day twice), along with our own personal wake-up specialist, our traveling party spent not one but two sleepless Saturday nights. Double the pleasure, double the fun.
The half-day’s flight from Sydney to San Francisco was uneventful. Unless one considers it an event to be awakened from a gnawing half slumber to be force fed a snack of mystery meat and paste on crustless white bread. (Apparently the culinary artistes in United Airlines’ kitchens worry that crust on bread might add taste.)
The connecting flight from San Francisco to Chicago left the gate only an hour and a half late. Not bad considering reports of “weather” in Chicago and points east. (Query: Isn’t there “weather” everywhere?) While taxiing to the runway, our pilot advised that O’Hare had shut down. We returned to the gate, deplaned, which left our hearts five more hours in San Francisco. At the airport. Tethered to Gate 62, awaiting further instructions.
Finally airborne to Chicago, there were some empty rows of seats that allowed an attempt to spread out. Unfortunately, one I happened upon was in front of a family returning from Asia with an adopted child they had no idea how to nurture. Every time the kid tried to fall asleep, the new parents took it as rejection and awakened the tot. Which, of course, caused the toddler to wail. Making the guy in the row in front of them want to practice his imitation of The Rock. I refrained.
Which brought us to Chicago’s O’Hare around midnight. At which time Concourse C of the world’s busiest airport was empty except for 400 forlorn travelers queued up to talk with — count ’em — two United Airlines customer service reps. And United wonders why bankruptcy is in the offing?
Escaping from that, in search of something resembling reality, we happened through dumb luck upon the host with the most, ATSO DeMarco, guarding cots for our sleeping pleasure in the full fluorescent splendor of baggage claim. Sumptuous accommodations indeed.
“Yeah,” he advised, “that construction guy with the jackhammer outside will be working all night.
“Oh, yeah, the area’s gotta be cleaned. I’ll wake you up at four.”
Give the officer some credit. ATSO DeMarco is nothing if not a man of his word.
Did I mention the delay on the leg home the next morning? Much to the dismay of flight attendant Brandy (and a passel of passengers forced to fly through Louisville from Chicago to connect to Philadelphia), a passenger approached the cockpit to engage the pilot as we were about to take off.
OK, enough sordid details.
The lessons?
1) Never fly through O’Hare in wintertime.
2) Never fly economy class across the Pacific. Upgrade to business class. Steal upgrade miles if you must to do so. It’s a felony but well worth it.
3) Never take a flight with babies on board.
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