Everything Can Be Solved in Twenty Minutes

EVERYTHING CAN BE SOLVED IN TWENTY MINUTES

- Jackson Blair

Last week I wrote you about the west coast in general and San Francisco in particular. Well, I have escaped San Francisco. Actually, I escaped at 7:35AM today and flew to Los Angeles on American Airlines. I am enroute to Hong Kong.

In order to get to Hong Kong I have to take a plane to Los Angeles and then fly from LA to Tokyo, Japan, where I catch another plane to Hong Kong. This is required because San Francisco simply refuses to make it easy for anyone to leave.

Now you are probably thinking that is a lot of trouble just to get away from San Francisco. And, as it turns out, you are correct. But I thought it would be worth it.

When I landed in Los Angeles, and that city is worth an entire column of her own, I had to wait three hours for the privilege of jumping on another plane that would keep me captive for 12 hours on the way to Japan.

Realizing this would be a long time on the plane, I decided that I would kill the three hours in Los Angeles by going to a restaurant for lunch. So I sat down at the counter of an airport restaurant to watch a basketball game on the big screen television and have a bite to eat. A nice young waitress approached me and gave me a menu.

I studied the menu and took a good deal of time deciding on the turkey and cheese sandwich with fries. When the waitress returned I gave her my order and she said I couldn’t have it.

Now, as you know, west coast rudeness doesn’t exactly surprise me but I decide to stay calm and ask why I could not have the sandwich. She responded that I could wait ten minutes until they stopped serving breakfast, at which time she would get me the sandwich, or I could order breakfast, in which case I could be served now. For a fleeting moment I thought I would ask why she gave me the lunch menu, but then I remembered where I was and decided not to waste my time with anything that rational.

Now life in the fast lanes is pretty busy and I know there are more and more rules and regulations- but this is ridiculous! I am sitting at a counter in a restaurant in one of the busiest airports in the country and they cannot serve me what I order unless I agree to wait ten minutes. Since I didn’t want eggs or pancakes, I waited.

They must have been changing shift cooks because it took my sandwich the stated ten minutes plus another thirty minutes to make it from the kitchen to my mouth. And here I thought at airports where everyone is on a tight schedule, and running to make a connection, service would, as a general rule, be fast!

Then, keep in mind I am on the west coast! The rules are different.

There is an old saying that something will happen in a “New York second” which is meant as a compliment to the prodigious work effort and the fast pace of the environment in New York City. Then there is a song that further underscores the expectation of performance in New York, the one that says “if you can make it here you can make it anywhere, New York, New York.”

We east coast people know a little bit about hustle, timeframes, dedication and commitment.

The song that comes to mind regarding the west coast is the one that says “I left my heart in SanFrancisco”. That is a pretty good example of what happens out here. One way or another, you lose a body part before you escape. Some critics even think the guy who sings that song left his voice out here, too.

So I am whiling away my time in the great Los Angeles airport, three hours of whiling as I said earlier, and it is time to go to the gate for my flight to Tokyo.

I got there. About 200 other people got there. The folks at the check-in counter were there. The plane was clearly there and visible outside the window. But no one was boarding.

Finally came the announcement.

Due to the work the cleaning crew had to complete on the plane we were taking we would board 20 minutes later than scheduled.

Nineteen minutes later we were told the cleaning was taking more time than anticipated, but we could board in another twenty minutes.

You guessed it; in nineteen minutes we had another twenty minute warning.

It was right after the third reminder that the cleaning crew must be engaged in a really competitive game of “who can find the barf bags” when a long line of flight attendants passed by and went on the plane.

Once again, the great Airplane God had lied to the passengers. No one was cleaning the plane. The crew was just late!

Now you might think I have no evidence to back this up but let me tell you when I actually boarded the plane I expected to see the big guy, bald head, arms crossed, earring in place: Mr. Clean Himself! What a disappointment. The plane looked as though it had been cleaned by a group of disgruntled husbands.

What was worse, the flight attendants forgot to smile. They were not happy. Whoever recruited them must have dropped some broken glass in their morning bowl of Cheerios cause this was one unhappy bunch.

Brrr. I didn’t think we had much chance of flying any friendly skies.

We were now roughly 60 minutes behind schedule. I had a 90 minute window in Tokyo to catch my plane to Hong Kong. Using the special math known only to world travelers, I computed that the plane could make up the lost time and still arrive in Tokyo in time for me to make my connection.

I settled into my economy seat, which was slightly wider than a child’s booster seat at your favorite restaurant and just a little longer than a normal sized whoopee cushion (and made similar noises when you moved), and which is in a seriously small and crowded space if the guy in front of you likes to sit upright. If he yearns for a more relaxed position, you are about to make a very intimate new acquaintance because his head will be in your lap. If his eyes are open you simply have to speak to him, as it would be rude to pretend you didn’t notice. If his eyes are closed you have to be very careful not to spill any of your food on him.

Then my very good new friend, the Captain, came on to announce that maintenance had found a small problem with our plane.

Now folks, when you are planning to fly over the Pacific Ocean for the better part of 12 hours there are no “small” problems. All problems are “big” ones.

Seems we were missing a bolt, or a nut, or a screw and they were calling in management to see if they had a replacement in the storeroom.

Yes, we were back to the twenty-minute rule. In twenty minutes they would give us an update.

Nineteen minutes later the Captain announced that there was a replacement part on another plane that just happened to be on the ground in LA. How lucky could I get? Now the corporate biggies were trying to decide whether to have us all schlep off and change planes or whether to get the little bugger off the other plane and put it on ours. They had to call in reinforcements for a question of this magnitude.

Yup, the question would be answered in twenty minutes.

After the customary nineteen minutes we were advised the surgical procedure was actually taking place and whatever we needed was being removed from another plane and placed on ours.

This must be something like stem cell research, or hormone replacement therapy, or transplant surgery. Who would know?

I had mixed emotions. I was glad our problem had been solved but I felt guilty for the passengers that would board the other plane only to go through the same rigorous twenty-minute games we had.

I should have realized this nightmare would not end with the pilfered part.

The Captain greeted us again.

First we got the good news. The missing part had been successfully replaced. But there was, of course, bad news.

There is some rule the Pilots’ Union has that suggests if they work more than a couple of hours past their normal schedule they might fall asleep and crash the plane so, you guessed it, the Captain, with whom I had developed a first name relationship, was actually bidding us a fond adieu, even went so far as to say he hoped he would have the pleasure of Captaining another plane we might one day take (it would have to be a very cold day in hell!) and then he led his four man cockpit crew off the plane.

In my heart of hearts I hoped he would be assigned the plane they took the part from.

The corporate bigwigs now had to scour around for a new crew, preferably one that had some recent sleep. I envisioned them running around out in the corridor, visiting every gate, and asking pilots if they had a few hours, twelve or more, that they could give to the company.

As you know, on the west coast there are always exceptions to any rules. So, there is a hidden little item in the union contract that says if you can find one, even just one (I think I read something like that in the Bible) God would let this plane fly. So they did find one poor soul. Back came the Captain with his original three pals and one new addition. Now we were ready to fly.

My mind raced. I tried not to think of the obvious. Four tired cockpit workers. One untested new part. Company afraid they would loose the plane because of lack of sleep. One wide-awake guy is found roaming around the airport, probably just fresh from a caffeine fix at Starbucks, and now we are safe.

Forgive me my disbelief.

The new guy is going to sub for the pilot, the co-pilot, the navigator, and the off –the- clock guy that always gets a free ride in the jump seat all airlines keep for decrepit former pilots. That is one heck of a lot of responsibility on one guy’s shoulders. He has to hope they decide to nap consecutively rather than concurrently.

I decided to calm myself with the thought that his job was simply to keep brewing coffee and serving it to the pilots and navigator.

As we taxied out onto the runway, we were treated to a wonderful visual on a screen tiny enough for a gnat to use for shaving, in which the airline runs through all the possible ways you might die on this plane and what you can do to prepare for it. They could have summed it up in one word: “pray”.

I was especially fond of the part where they told you that you had available to you a life vest. It could be found either under your seat, between your seats, or in a side compartment. It was comforting to know the people running this airline have absolutely no idea where they put the life vests! Clearly, they hope you can find them.

What great news. If the plane takes a dive I get to play a game of “find the life jacket”. The rules of this game are very simple. If you don’t find it before the plane hits, you drown. If you do find it and get it on before the plane hits, you live long enough to actually see the sharks that are having you for lunch.

I am now flying. Sometime in the very distant future I shall land at Narita Airport in Japan. Waiting there for me will be a very pompous airline representative who will tell me that I missed my flight to Hong Kong but have been booked on another, one that will arrive sometime around 3 or 4AM. Or he will tell me I have missed my flight but will have to find a hotel on my own because the International Code of Airline Stupidity that was adopted by all the free nations of the world has determined that the loss of a nut, bold or screw is really an act of God and the airline cannot be held responsible. No wonder the government wants to run these companies.

This announcement brings with it the knowledge that I need to fetch my luggage, go through Japanese Customs, hope for a hotel room somewhere that will cost about 200,000 yen per night and that I will most assuredly still have to pay for the hotel room waiting unused in Hong Kong.

If I get my anger under control and my sense of fair play returns, I will pick up this story in next week’s segment of why Americans are considered ugly by the rest of the world.

You can be sure that I shall be living up to that description when I engage the airline representative who meets the plane in Tokyo.