Q. How often do you fly for business?
A. About twice a month, mostly domestic.
Q. What’s your least favorite airport?
A.
Q. Of all the places you’ve been, what’s the best?
A. The Greek islands. I love the people, their sense of independence, the ambience and, let’s face it, the islands are great for a beer on the beach.
Q. What’s your secret airport vice?
A. I don’t know if it’s a vice, but I try to always book a layover in
I WORKED for more than 30 years for the government as a psychiatrist with the Department of Veterans Affairs system. I flew all the time for meetings and other bureaucratic events. I now work in the private sector as a psychiatrist, and still fly for business about twice a month.
I don’t like flying much. If I could take a train, that’s what I would do. I don’t mind talking to seatmates, but I don’t advertise what I do. I might say I’m a doctor, and if they ask me what kind, I’ll usually answer “a pretty good one.” I don’t want to get into a discussion about psychiatry when I’m trapped in a plane.
I’ve had my share of flying misadventures, but nothing like one recent experience where everything that could go wrong, did.
My wife and I were coming home from Scotland. We booked plenty of time between our flight from Edinburgh to London and then on to Boston. We booked through a British carrier, but the London-to-Boston leg was subcontracted to an American carrier. We were feeling very hopeful that everything was going to go smoothly. That is, until we got to the airport and saw the plane we were supposed to board was empty. Other travelers were gathering, so we figured that we were in the right place. After about 90 minutes, we found out the delay was caused by fog at Heathrow.
We finally boarded, but then we sat on the runway for another hour because we couldn’t take off because of the backup at Heathrow. We started with a four-hour cushion of time between leaving Scotland, landing in London and then going to Boston. So much for that, and even more time was eaten up as we circled Heathrow because of continued congestion.
We finally landed, but then had to wait for an open gate, and then found out we had to be bused to a terminal. By the time we got to Heathrow Terminal 5, our Boston flight was gone.
We went to the flight connections desk, where about 2,000 people were in line ahead of us. I called the American carrier whose flight we missed and was told that since it wasn’t a simple round-trip booking, I would have to buy another ticket to get home. I refused, and was told to call the British carrier with whom I booked the ticket originally.
They told me that we could get on a flight offered by the same American carrier I had just spoken with. Fine by me. It was leaving in 90 minutes. I asked what gate the flight was departing from. It was Terminal 3. It took 45 minutes to get there, only to find out bookings for the flight had closed.
I’m pretty sure tears of frustration were streaming down my face as I explained we had just been sent there from Terminal 5. They found our names, which was great, but we still had to clear security, and then make it to the gate. I was beat up at this point, but we finally boarded our flight home only to discover that we left a backpack at security. The attendant gave me 10 minutes to run back to security and then run back to the plane.
I’m 72 years old. I thought I was going to die, but somehow ran the mini-marathon. When I finally sat down on the plane, we were delayed another 30 minutes. I drank wine. We landed in Boston. My luggage was lost. It did arrive one week later, dirty laundry still intact. After that ordeal, I figured someone might have at least washed it.