Flying Off the Handle into Unfriendly Skies

If you are planning to fly anytime soon, your best bet is to sprout feathers and grow wings.

I've been on 21 business flights in the past six weeks. What's left of me is here to tell the tale, and it ain't pretty.

All those airline horror stories about missed flights, delayed flights, canceled flights and long waits on tarmacs don't begin to describe the mayhem of air travel. Airlines say staff cuts, outdated air traffic control systems and congested skies have made 2007 the worst year for air travel ever. For the first time, I'm inclined to believe them.

I missed every connection, and my direct flights arrived on time exactly once.

My worst airport adventure was Saturday in New York City. I stood in line for 55 minutes to check my bag with the skycap, who regretted to inform me that he had to take my bag at least one hour before my flight and I'd just missed the cutoff by three minutes.

"You'll have to go inside," he said.

Oh, the chaos, the misery, the alarming display of hairy body parts as I made my way to the back of a two-hour line for a kiosk. In my first hour, I witnessed one dodged punch, two marital fights, a snapped thong (and I'm not talking flip-flops) and a 12-minute nonstop wail by a three-year-old.

Then, a man wearing baggy bermudas and a scowl to wither Satan cut in front of me.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, pointing behind me. "The line begins back there."

He leaned into my face and growled, "And what is little ol' you going to do about it?"

I gauged his height and weight and decided that even I could do that math.

We both missed our flights, and my only option was a seven-hour wait at JFK Airport. In hour three, another guy, this one with a tray full of food, asked whether he could share my little table.

"Sure," I chirped.

We're all in this together, I thought, wishing I had my pompoms.

He told me he needed more space.

"You know," I said, "you could get rid of your tray and have plenty of room."

Again, the leaning in; again, the scowl: "You gonna tell me how to eat , too?"

Whell!

Finally, a word about pilots: The oddest things come out of their mouths.

During a flight to Dallas from Washington, D.C., the pilot declared that it was "too hot to fuel," so we were going to Nashville, Tenn. For the snow flurries, I guess.

On a flight from San Francisco to Cincinnati, we were inches from touching down — I swear I saw ants running for cover — when the plane lurched up and made a wide circle over Kentucky.

The woman next to me started to cry. "I hate to fly. I've always hated to fly, but I really hate to fly now because I have two young children."

Behind me, a 9-year-old boy flying alone exhaled and said, "This is not good."

The pilot's fuzzy voice came over the PA system: "Folks, we've had a flap malfunction, and we're trying to fix it."

A what ?

Across the aisle, a man void of the good sense God gave a goose started speculating — loudly — that the reason we were flying over all those trees was so we wouldn't, and I quote, "crash over civilization."

"Oh, God," cried the mother.

Now, two years ago I would have led the "Ave Maria" singalong, but that was before I had survived nearly 100 flights and enough turbulence to blow St. Peter from the gates. Besides, I just couldn't bear to see someone looking as scared as I was feeling. So I lied.

"Just as a plane has two engines and two copilots just to be safe," I said in my Sister Connie voice, "so, too, is a plane full of flaps it doesn't need."

"Really?" the mother said.

"Yup," I said, and a few others started to nod. I did avoid looking out the window in case the copilot was out there on the wing. Some things are just plain unsettling.

Everyone clapped when we landed, and my knees were so weak I barely could walk. The mother flipped open her cell phone. "I'll be home soon, " she said in a cheerful voice.

I called my husband and assured him, as well:

"We. Almost. Died."

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… And His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com), and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

COPYRIGHT 2007 CREATORS SYNDICATE INC.