"Do Not Fly This Airline," said the Review
Author’s note: I haven’t been sure of what to call these weekly posts, but I would consider this one to be a Narrative Essay. It is longer than some of the previous posts, but if you’d rather listen to it, you can click into the audio version. Note, I renamed it since recording the audio.
Thank you for following along. Enjoy!
In March, I travelled to Denver to pick up a used car we had purchased from a trusted friend who owns a dealership. When I was looking at flights from Durango, the prices from the small Durango airport to the very large Denver International Airport were nearly $400 for a one-way ticket. Absurd, if you ask me. I had heard about people in the area flying out of an even smaller airport in a nearby town called Cortez and found that the one-way ticket was only $186. I’m always in for a bargain so I booked immediately, without question.
When I told my husband about the steal of a deal, he said, “What airline is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know actually,” I responded.
“Are you sure it’s a real airline and not a scam?” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t think it was a scam until you said that!” I shouted in response from the other room.
He’s quick to not trust a good deal or anyone really, whereas I’m eager to believe everyone is looking out for my best interests and a bargain is a bargain. His concern did have me questioning the validity of the airline though and the affordable price.
As any geriatric millennial does, I took to the internet to look up reviews. I’ll be honest, I was a bit alarmed when the top hit showcased a 1-star rating, captioned with “Do Not Fly this Airline.” After a bit more digging, it appeared the airline had changed ownership in the last few years and recent ratings were far improved. Yes, hardly any reviews were above 3 stars, but who actually reviews an airline when they’ve had a great, or even good, flying experience?
“I’m sure it’s totally fine,” I reluctantly said to him, in between reading reviews, leaving out most of the reasons for the 1-star ratings.
On the evening prior to my flight, I realized I hadn’t received any other correspondence from the airline outside of my initial confirmation email, which was noticeably also a bit lacking. I didn’t get the usual “Get Ready for Your Upcoming Trip,” or “Add a Hotel and Rental Car” emails you receive from the mainstream airlines. In fact, if I hadn’t remembered that I was flying the next day or noted it on my calendar at all, it was like the booking never existed. You’re on your own kid, they’d say.
After scouring my inbox for an airline I couldn’t remember the name of, I found the original confirmation email and check in instructions. Upon opening the link to check in, I was met with the question, “Do you have a REAL ID?”
Why is REAL capitalized, I thought. Is it an acronym? Representing Everyone And Lemurs? Reform Elevation Act Lovingly? What could it stand for and why not phrase it - do you have a real ID or are you planning to fly with a fake one? It turns out, it doesn’t mean anything other than a government issued ID. It’s just capitalized for the fun of it, I guess, and believe me, I tried to find the acronym. The lesson here? Don’t try to fly with a fake ID. They won’t let you.
I eventually figured out how to check in for the flight, though no further communication said I did it correctly. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow,” I told my husband when he asked if I was ready to go.
On the morning of the flight, he had an appointment scheduled, which meant I would need to be dropped off at the airport sooner than usual. I thought the Durango airport was small, but when we arrived at the Cortez airport, Durango’s airport, in comparison, was actually a bustling hub. I trusted things would be fine though, because there were at least 40 cars in the parking lot, abandoned briefly I’d hoped, while their owners traveled.
I entered the small building and was surprised to see what appeared to be a newly renovated, fairly modern, and very clean airport lounge. And there, in that clean new space, I stood completely by myself.
Being alone in an airport is a strange feeling. Am I in the right place? Am I allowed to be here? Am I flying the plane myself? I took a seat near the window, where I planned to watch planes take off, a favorite pastime in larger airports, but was met with silence. Not a soul in sight. Not a plane in motion. Just me.
After twenty minutes or so, and about 90 minutes before my flight, a woman entered the side door and was startled by the lone stranger in the airport. “Woah, no one has ever been here this early,” she said to me, missing the hello, how are you that most greetings in the service industry include.
I laughed and explained that my husband had a meeting and had to drop me off early and said I hoped it was okay that I was here. Waiting in an airport had never felt like an intrusion, but it did that morning. She responded with something no one has ever said to me in an airport, “Oh that’s great, honey! If everyone arrives early, we can leave early.”
My face must have shown my surprise and confusion, because she then said, somewhat accusingly, “Have you never flown out of Cortez?” No, ma’am. I haven’t and in all of the years of flying, no flight I’ve ever been scheduled on has ever left early, as you say. What does this word even mean in aviation?
She checked me in officially and explained the flight to me, which was standard for the process it seemed. She said I was one of nine passengers. The plane would arrive from Phoenix in the next hour, security will open thirty minutes before boarding and then me, eight others and the pilots will be on our way. She added, “It will be an open cockpit so if you want to look out the front window, you can!”
Over the next hour, my eight travel companions trickled into the airport. I sat in my claimed corner, with a full view of the lounge and noticed that the nine of us seemed like the cast of a movie, destined to experience a once in lifetime event. We were each unique in our own ways, but like the movies, we were a diverse cast that meshed well. Quirky, but balanced. Think Breakfast Club, but with a wider age gap.
One cast member was a young girl, likely in her mid-twenties, wearing a bedazzled, fuzzy, bright pink track suit. Her slick black hair was straight as an arrow and lay beautifully down beyond her butt. Her leopard print bags sat on the seat next to her, fearful of the airport floor. I assume she’s on TikTok.
Sitting with their backs to her were a middle-aged married couple. The husband, eager to get checked in and boarded handled speaking to the gate agent, while the wife read a thick and flimsy paperback I dream can only be smut. When they were checked in, they said very little to each other.
The cool, alternative barista sat closest to me. She wore a Colorado-coveted Melly and rocked a haircut I only wish I could pull off, with half of her head shaved, and the other half styled. In this case, I am not assuming she’s a barista. It took me mid-flight to recognize where I knew her from and that she’s served me some of the best coffee in Durango many times.
Our next cast mate was a concerned woman, likely in her early 60s. I rarely use the word fret, but she was fretful. She was flying from Cortez to Denver, and then Denver to a warm and wonderful tropical vacation I have now forgotten. Her fretting did seem warranted. She was traveling with an oversized bag that would need to go in the cargo hull of our 9-passenger plane and because of a policy with the Denver airport, would be sent to baggage claim. She would then need to get her bag from baggage claim, recheck it and go through security again in Denver. If you’ve ever flown into the Denver airport, it’s difficult enough to get to baggage claim, but to then go through security again on a Friday afternoon at the start of Spring Break was worth the fret. I named her Fretty.
Our next couple were younger and seemed like they’d flown out of Cortez before, as they arrived just before security was scheduled to open. We would not be leaving early. Neither wore a ring indicating a proposal had been made, but they fought like they’d been married for years. “Did you pay the electric bill,” she snarled at him for all of us to hear. “It’s been on autopay since we moved in together,” he replied, without looking up from his phone. You might accuse me of eavesdropping, but since the lounge was so small, the plane only held 9 passengers, and they talked throughout the entire flight, you couldn’t help but bear witness to their woes.
Our final passenger was the Ally Sheedy of our crew, but I didn’t think our young Tik Tokker would be doing her make up anytime soon. She could have been 30 or 60, but with a large rounded hat over her face, layers and layers of clothing and two large and bulky bags shielding her from us, I’ll never know. I named her Layer Lady. As I sat in the lounge, scripting the movie I had just casted, I wondered if she might be doing the same. What character would I play in her script?
After moving the nine of us through what I’d loosely call security, we sat cramped, arm to arm in the standard airport chairs, bags on our laps, waiting to be told we could board the flight. Just outside the doors was beautiful Colorado sunshine and a dainty 9-seater I’d be risking my life in momentarily. Did the others know we were in a movie in my head about to share an experience that would thread together our lives forever? It didn’t seem so.
I was second to last to board and took the open seat directly behind the captain (you know, so I could look out the front window like the gate agent had told me to). When Layer Lady got on though, I gave her my seat since it would be easier to fall into it, rather than carting her bags to the back. What I realized when I found my seat in the back though was luxury! How foolish was I to grab that first seat, cramped behind the pilots, and how terrible I felt to leave Layer Lady in it.
The seat I now claimed as my own had enough leg room for my 5-foot, 4-inch frame to lie down comfortably if I wanted to. Layer Lady should’ve had the leg room, but at this point, the pilot had introduced himself, made eye contact with all souls aboard, and was preparing for take off. It was too late to offer the best seat I’ve ever had on an airplane.
Throughout the flight I continued to make up stories for the passengers around me. In my story, the young woman with the beautiful hair was a tik-tokker on her way to New York City to see if she could make it in a dog eat dog world. The younger unmarried couple were heading home where they’d realize the electric hadn’t been set up on auto pay and the contents of their fridge had spoiled. Three months later, she’d leave him. Fretty made her connecting flight in Denver, though she missed grabbing a bite to eat in the airport and arrived in paradise with only free vodka tonics she got with drink coupons on her second flight. She’d make a drunken scene when they lei’d her at her final destination. The married couple who didn’t speak to each other were visiting family in Cleveland, like they did every year, even though they resented it in March. Layer Lady’s story was unknown, but I hope she’s still out there, bags in hand, hat on head, avoiding more strangers. I didn’t need to make up a story for the cool barista because I later learned her name and that she was visiting her parents in Denver. I thanked her for the coffees that have fueled my creativity over the past few months and have since seen her in Durango again.
The plane ride itself was fairly uneventful. We didn’t have the shared experience of crashing into the wilderness of Colorado and needing to use the contents of Layer Lady’s bags for survival. They wouldn’t be making a movie about it.
As with most flights into Denver, it did end with a rough bout of turbulence the moment we flew over where the mountains ended and the high plains began. At one point I had to hand Tik Tok one of the flimsy, paper puke bags when I saw her struggling to reach her own. Fretty provided her with a piece of gum after she needed to use it, and she sat in pure embarrassment as all 8 other passengers assured her it was no big deal to puke on a plane. None of us would ever mention it.
Since my flight, I’ve reviewed the airline with the hopes of cancelling out at least one of the 1-star reviews. I left out the details of my script in case I pitch it to Hollywood one day, but titled the review, “Most leg room I’ve ever had on a plane!” Layer Lady, wherever she is would not be able to say the same.
ReplyForward
Add reaction