Part 3: The last shortcut I take…ever

We landed in New Orleans almost exactly six hours after my first flight took off from Sioux Falls on April 27th. It wasn’t until after we boarded the plane that I figured out the rules on bringing food and drink on board. Apparently once you pass through security you can buy whatever you want and bring it with you.
Not that I would have had time to stop and purchase anything in Chicago anyway, mind you…
As it was, I was subsisting on the approximate 3.8 oz. of Diet Coke they poured in my ice-filled plastic cup sometime before we left Illinois airspace. In retrospect, that was probably a good thing. It most likely kept me from adding “got stuck in the bathroom” to my list of issues during the flight.
Although I can truthfully say I’ve now been to New Orleans, they actually didn’t let us leave the plane. I felt worst for the poor mother with her two young children a couple of rows in front of me. Six hours confined to their seats and we still weren’t at our destination.
Much to my surprise, our captain actually came back and stopped at each seat to answer any questions from the passengers. We were there for about 15 minutes when the fuel truck came and parked outside my window, lifting my spirits with the realization that they remembered to refuel. My self-appointed duty was to watch to make sure he screwed the cap back on.
Our pilot informed us that several planes had been diverted to other cities and we would have to wait our turn once the storm moved on from Houston before we would be cleared to take off.
Finally, my ears perked up when one of the flight attendants came on the P.A. system to tell us they would be coming around with snacks and refreshments. The euphoria wore off quickly when I received my bag of “Premiere Snacks” and another 3.8 oz. of Diet Coke. I pulled open my foil bag to find nine pretzel sticks, three sesame seeds and an almond. I think pretty much everybody knows it takes more than 3.8 oz. of Diet Coke to choke down nine pretzel sticks. I ate four and saved the rest for later…in case I decided to party a bit once I got to my hotel.
At 8:15 p.m., I called Kathy to tell her we were finally about to take off for Houston. Naïve flyer that I am, I assumed that since it took 28 minutes to get from the airspace over Houston to New Orleans, it would take around 28 minutes to get back.
Wrong.
As we were ascending once again to some ridiculous altitude, my old buddy the captain came over the P.A.
“We expect to land in Houston in about an hour and a half,” he announced. “We are taking the long way around, in order to miss the bank of storms headed toward us. We will fly up over northern Texas and come in behind the storms.”
Fair enough, I thought. Better safe than sorry.
I just was starting to become de-sensitized to all the little movements and sounds that come with air travel when the Lord sent us another delicious twist.
The captain came on again.
“This is your captain speaking,” he started. “We think we have found a shortcut through the storms and should be able to cut some time off our flight. We’ll keep you updated.”
It was about five minutes later when I got the impression that the “shortcut” closed up on us.
What ensued was a very long period of pitching, rumbling, bouncing, shuddering and non-stop lightning…BELOW ME! Our normally chatty captain may have suddenly become oddly silent…but I feel like I know what he was thinking…and if he had any sense it would somehow have involved what was going on in his boxers.
And me…I was going to be the proud owner of the most finely toned sphincter in the 48 contiguous states. (OK, I had just enough people complain about me referring to my sphincter last week that I just couldn’t resist…)
The scenes that played out before me in real time were precisely what I had witnessed in every single airplane disaster movie I’d ever seen. Most of which did NOT have a happy ending.
It seemed like it was about three hours, but it was probably closer to 20 minutes of picturing me as shark chum, and the turbulence disappeared. For the rest of the flight, it was smooth sailing. Nothing could be heard but the gentle purr of the engines. The electrified skies beneath us cleared and soon I was looking down at the vast expanse of street lights radiating from Houston, Texas…pride of the Lone Star state.
By the time I found my luggage, picked up my rental car and pulled out of the parking lot, it was 10:48 p.m. on April 27th. It would be well into April 28th before I would slip a key card into my hotel room door.
Next week, Part 4: So this is how Noah felt….