En Route

So, Munich was awesome.

But more on that later.

I realize that this post comes about a week later than it should have; my apologies to anyone who's been wondering why I was being such a slacker. The truth is I've been in recovery mode. I still don't believe my internal clock is back on track, but maybe this weekend will help.

On the way back from Germany, my family and I had to connect flights in Atlanta after stepping off our 10-hour flight from Munich. We got to the Atlanta airport at about 2:30 p.m. (local time in Atlanta) and our next flight was scheduled to leave at 6:45 p.m. As we were walking to our gate, we noticed a ridiculously long line of people that stretched half the length of the terminal. The line was so long we couldn't even see where it ended or what these people were waiting for. We shrugged it off.

As it turns out, the long line was comprised of angry people whose flights had been cancelled. There were thunderstorms up and down the East Coast and in the Midwest that were delaying and cancelling flights right and left.

We checked our flight status. All was well. We thanked our lucky stars and went to our gate.

Then, at 6:30 p.m., our flight time was changed to 7:10.
At 7:00, our flight time was changed to 7:30.
At 7:20, our flight time was changed to 8:00.
Then, we were told that we had a plane, but no pilot, flight crew or flight attendants.
At 7:50, our flight time was changed to 8:30.
At 8:20, our flight time was changed to 9:00.
At 8:50, our flight time was changed to 9:30.
Then, we were told that we had a flight crew and flight attendants, but no pilot.
At 9:20, our flight time was changed to 10:00.
Then, we were told that our pilot had showed up.
At 9:50, we FINALLY started boarding.

By 10:30 p.m., everyone was seated, strapped in and definitely more than ready to go.

Then, the crew announced over the intercom that the flight had been cancelled. Why? Because they were one flight attendant short.

ONE.

What makes it all even so much better is that Atlanta is a hub for this airline. How could they not have an extra flight attendant around? And how could they not know, during the course of a nearly four-hour delay, that they weren't going to have the correct number of flight attendants?

So now we all get off the plane and are forced to either wait in the line of cancellations (which is now about 150 yards long), use our cell phones to call the airline and request help or hunt down a member of the airline's staff, tackle him/her and use violence to coerce him/her into remedying our situation.

I won't say which method we employed, but, four hours after we had gotten off the plane, we were finally able to get new boarding passes for a 6:00 p.m. flight Monday night.

The airline could not (would not?) give us vouchers for future flights, hotel stays or food. We were officially stranded.

How can I describe the next 18 hours? Getting stuck in an airport and having to spend the night there sucks on any day of the week. But getting stuck in an airport overnight with hundreds and hundreds of other people sucks even worse. This I now know.

It's surprising how quickly humans will revert back to their primitive instincts; I witnessed a number of amusing battles that took place over prime sleeping spots and positions in lines for food. People were practically taking baths in the sinks in the bathrooms. And I didn't blame them; at this point, I had been traveling for over 30 hours and my clothes and skin didn't smell too good either.

We slept on the floor at first. After a few hours, we moved to a round booth in the Wendy's and slept some more. Later, we raced another family for a couch in the shopping court and won.

I remember waking at one point to see local news crews filming and taping newscasts in the airport and people yelling at the cameras, "Atled* sucks! Atled sucks!"

When it was finally time to check in -- 2 p.m. Monday afternoon -- it took the lady at the airline's ticket counter a half hour to retrieve our boarding passes because we were "lost" in the computer's database. When she was finally able to print them, my dad said, "Thank God. We've been waiting 40 hours for this flight." She laughed and said, "I know, right?" I wanted to be like, "No. Really."

The rest of how we got home is tedious history that, frankly, is pretty fuzzy in my mind. The point is: we made it. And I am never flying with that airline ever again.

*The airline asked that I not use the company's name in this post, so instead I have referred to it as "Atled," which is its name spelled backwards.

Thank you for flying with Sway today. Have a safe trip home.