08/12/2007

Twentysomething

Flying the friendly skies

By Danielle Killgore
Local columnist
danielle.killgore@
gmail.com

Read past TWENTYsomething columns here

I've always felt safe flying. I never minded.

But now I feel differently. It was 5 a.m. when my ride arrived to take me to the airport. The sun was still sleeping, but not me.

My first plane was supposed to go from Los Angeles to Memphis, then another plane from Memphis to Jacksonville — a long day, but simple. I settle in my 2-by-2 space and close my eyes. Then I wake up. Is it me or am I the only one who cannot sleep on a plane?

I look around and first I notice there are two different people sitting next to me than when we left. Then I notice the majority of the people are sound asleep. They are sleeping like this is the best sleep of their lives.

How? My head is always falling to a solid 90 degrees or off my hand or banging off the window. Not these folks, they're definitely in dreamland right now. Even better, the three people behind me are all snoring. I look at my watch to see how much longer, only two-and-a-half more hours.

In Memphis, I run to catch my next flight but, alas, no need. The maintenance crew was there fueling up and fixing the wheels, not really what soon-to-be-airborne passengers want to hear. An hour goes by, and we are on the plane. But now we have too much fuel. Nice. After all that, we're ready to take off.

I've always thought take-offs were intriguing. Heavy object, so much speed, lifting off the ground … good stuff. We arrive at max speed and wait for it … BAM! A loud noise comes from the right side of the plane. No big deal, we keep on going.

After a while of flying toward our destination, the lovely flight attendant utilizes the intercom with these words "We have an emergency situation. Everyone needs to fasten their seatbelts tightly and put their feet on the floor in front of them. All carry-on items must be securely stowed.” Then she talks to the passengers seated in the exit row (which I will never be doing after this flight) and hustles back to her chair up front. She buckles up for dear life and holds on tight.

I'm sorry, but would you like to inform us what that emergency is, lady? She grabs her friend, Intercom, again and says, "We will be headed back to Memphis to land. Everything will be OK, we will all be OK. The Lord is with us.”

When the flight staff begins talking about the Lord, everything is NOT OK. I looked around our little aircraft. All of a sudden we were all friends — close friends. Some people were crying, some were trying to use their cell phones (I can barely work mine on land so that was useless) and oddly enough, others kept on reading.

It was a small plane, with only 13 rows. Her voice came to us again, "We have blown a tire and we will be landing back in Memphis to make an emergency evacuation but we will be OK. I have flown with this pilot before.”

Some new information, at least we know what happened. The pilot finally came on to explain and assure us he would do the best he could. As our descent into Memphis began, the plane was silent. The man diagonal from me (Mr. Exit Row) was bracing against the seat in front of him.

I was scared. But what do you do when you have no control at all? Down we went and then … back up?

"We did a fly-by and have identified what tire it is,” the pilot announced. "We have to fly around Memphis for about 45 minutes to burn off extra fuel before making the landing.”

So there we were, making circles in the sky, everyone anticipating what was going to happen when we landed. During the Memphis tour, people began to bond. One young girl continued to take advantage of her cell phone. One lady finished her novel. But for the most part, people tensely got to know one another.

It's strange how it takes a moment of fear to bring people close together.

Down we went again. Greeted by ambulances and fire trucks and a rocky landing (possibly like driving a car on three wheels), we were safe. On the intercom came, "Welcome to Memphis, ladies and gentlemen we made it safely.” Everyone cheered.

Two hours later we were compensated with another plane —one that had all wheels intact — and a $10 meal voucher. It took six hours longer than it was supposed to, and with $10 I can't use — but at least we made it safely home.

Danielle Killgore is a 2002 graduate of Traverse City Central High School. Newly graduated with a bachelor's degree in communication from Columbia College in Columbia, S.C., she is working as a sales consultant for a Web-based data acquisition company. She will write occasionally for the Record-Eagle Twentysomething column. She can be reached care of the Record-Eagle or at danielle.killgore@gmail.com. The Record-Eagle pays for essays published in Twentysomething. Submissions can be e-mailed to kgibbons@record-eagle.com, or mailed to: Twentysomething, Traverse City Record-Eagle, 120 W. Front, Traverse City, MI 49685, or faxed to 946-8632.