From the Washington Post:
Southwest Airlines has canceled at least 1,800 flights this weekend, citing “disruptive weather” and air traffic control issues, although federal regulators attribute weekend service disruptions to airline staffing and aircraft issues.
Slipping Away
Southwest Airlines is the “happy” Airlines. “Happy” stands for “hang around positive people Y’All. At least that’s what the flight attendant (not a Stewardess, not anymore – for sure) told us yesterday. Getting the message across – wear a mask, stay in your seat, don’t try to pretend the middle seat is taken – is all done with a joke and a smile. But this weekend Southwest really wasn’t very happy – either in the positive sense or the pleasant sense. And I got to travel right through the middle of it.
It all started on Saturday, for me, Saturday night. We were at the “wake” for my cousin in Florida, who died last month. As we were busy toasting and cheering, two of our party got the message. Their flights home (upstate New York) were cancelled. As they battled on the phone to get through to Southwest reservations, their chances of getting home on Sunday slipped away, to Monday, and ultimately Tuesday. Lubricated by Jameson’s Irish Whiskey and red wine, the invective was flowing in Southwest’s direction. But swearing didn’t get an earlier re-reservation.
Rumor Control
The rumor – and it was really rumor – was that bad weather on the East Coast, especially Jacksonville, was delaying and even cancelling Southwest flights. There was also the hint that maybe the Jacksonville Air Traffic Control center was short workers. And as the flights got cancelled, the passengers were rebooked on later flights, cascading through Sunday and on into the week. The strange thing was that no other airline seemed to be affected by the bad weather, of the ATC slowdown, or anything else. Whatever was happening, it was a Southwest-only affair.
I was on Southwest for Sunday as well, but my straight-thru flight from Tampa to Columbus held up through Saturday evening. And additional rumors started to come out. Southwest had instituted the national vaccine mandate. Pilots, already stressed by too many flights and not enough pilots, were having an unofficial work slowdown. The pilots’ association loudly denied that rumor, but something was definitely going on.
Wake Up Call
I slept well Saturday night, but Sunday morning started early – a text alarm from my phone at 6:17am. Southwest Texting – my flight to Columbus was cancelled, click on a link to re-book. I started to roll back over, I’d earned at least another hour’s sleep at the wake; but then I started thinking. Everyone on that flight got the text, and they are all re-booking right now. How long did I want to stay in Florida???
I will give Southwest credit, even with eyes half shut, the re-booking page was clear. Flying from Tampa to Columbus on Sunday? Here’s the list of flights. Many were “unavailable”, full or already cancelled. In fact, on the list for Sunday there was only one option – one seat left from Tampa to Dallas, and Dallas to Columbus. I clicked.
By 6:27 I was all re-booked. Now instead of leaving at 4 pm, I had a 1:20 flight. So I got up, drove to pay the family offering to Starbucks for the morning caffeination, and waited for the rest of the “crew” to get up and get the news. Our beachfront breakfast, out on the sand with the waves lapping in from the Gulf of Mexico was out. Instead, it was breakfast in the hotel lobby, along with the homeless folks who hung out nearby.
The Chosen
It wasn’t just the pilots who were delaying things. When I made it to the Tampa airport gate, the plane was all-ready to go, as were the airport staff. Missing were the attending crew for the plane. They were arriving on a flight from Denver, which was running late. So there was no-go in Tampa for a while, hoping that the Denver flight would arrive and we could get on.
We ended up being about forty-five minutes late getting out of Tampa, not a problem for me with a two hour layover in Dallas. But the specter of cancellation hung over everyone. Even lining up to get on the plane, names were being called out of line, like prisoners being called back for further interrogation. And when the “names” didn’t identify themselves, then it was “all passengers connecting to flights to Ontario (California), or Denver, or Kansas City. Once they left the line, they never came back. No going home for them tonight.
But we finally managed to get on the Dallas flight – a window seat! I watched the Gulf Coast go by, flying over the familiar ground of Pensacola and Gulf Shores, Alabama. I couldn’t find the Battleship Alabama docked in Mobile Bay, but definitely had a view of the Mississippi River from Port Hudson almost to Vicksburg. And, thanks to Southwest, I was able to watch the Bengals game as well.
Just One Job
We arrived in Dallas, but couldn’t get out of the plane for a while. As we watched the baggage get not so carefully, placed on the carts, there was no one to operate the “jet bridge” to get us in the terminal. That’s when our flight attendant, who managed to joke her way through the entire flight, turned out to struggle with her “happy-ness” – she mentioned that the ‘p’s might stand for patience, rather than positive.
After ten or so minutes we hit Dallas’s Love Field, home to Southwest. It was stacked with passengers, worried about whether they would have a next flight. Some were already looking for a place to bed down for the evening. But there was plenty of food, I even had the opportunity to finally experience a “Whataburger” (now with In-and-Out Burgers, White Castles, and of course the Thurmaninator, my life is complete). So whether the flight to Columbus made it out or not, I was sure of one thing – indigestion.
The Bengals finally lost as I waited for the flight home – after missing a game winning field goal attempt. The Green Bay kicker, who already missed four in the game, managed to save himself a one way ticket to stay in Cincinnati – and finally hit with two minutes left in overtime.
The Last Leg
The plane was there, the passengers lined up – but somehow, we weren’t getting on board. It was an extra forty minutes or so, for “undetermined reasons”, before we actually got on the plane. Buckle your seat belt – once on they’d have to pry us all back off if they changed their mind.
The flight from Dallas was uneventful – I slept most of the way. We came up the Ohio River, then followed I-71 from Cincinnati straight to Grove City before making the turn for John Glenn International. The baggage took forever to make it to the carousel, but finally I was loaded up on the “Parking Spot” bus headed back to the Jeep.
But the qwerty code failed to let me out – and I sat in the night, trying to convince the scanner that I really did pay my $30. Someone “in charge” ultimately noticed my plight – and I finally was released for home.
