I'm Blaming Continental...But Only Just This Once or Human Nature: The Dark Side

Delayed flight, sick baby, home at 11--en route back all day with no computer. Excuses, excuses. I'll be good tomorrow, and at least I'm not skipping out entirely. Don't think I didn't think about it.

Briefly, I will relay an experience from our trip home.

So we're on the plane, the bigger one, from Fort Lauderdale to Newark (sensing a kinship of loserdom in those two cities; hope I'm not offending anyone). Finally, after some of that nonsensical circling due to bad scheduling, we're starting to descend, and the voice comes over the loudspeaker. It explains that there are about ten people on our flight who have a shot of making their connections if the rest of us let them off the plane first once we've landed. It informs us that these flights will be the last ones out of Newark that night; in other words, these people are headed straight for the airport motel and some screwed up plans if we don't comply and show a little compassion.

I listen with a modicum of interest. Annika is sick. Lily is starting to meltdown after a loooong day and a stellar showing. Ben is on edge, not a relaxed traveler under the best of circumstances. I had my free wine with the coupons from our delayed flight on the way down but am still feeling frazzled and exhausted at the same time. But as the plane bumps to a landing, smooths to an actual stop, my interest perks up.

The instant the lights go on, two-hundred seat belts click open and the madness begins. As far as I can tell, not a single person on the plane holds back for the desperate souls trying to make their way off for a joyful run to another terminal while lugging all of their carry-on bags and wondering if all they're going to get to eat until they get wherever they're going is that mini bag of baby carrots.

Seriously, nobody holds back. They argue over the bags in the overhead compartment, push each other, mutter under their breath, swear out loud, then look (but only slightly) apologetic when they see our kids, those in the row behind us. We sit in silence; there is no point in even beginning to gather the massive amounts of equipment and supplies required on even a puddle jump with two children under 4. Ben appears lost in thought. Lily is trying to make her movie come back on. Annika is asleep. A man calls out from some rows back, "Hey guys! I'm one of those people with a connection. Don't make me spend the night in Newark!" He is totally ignored. Nobody stops jostling, steps into an aisle.

When everybody else is off the plane, the cleaning crew stepping on, we gather our things and depart. I am wondering if "Don't Make Me Spend the Night in Newark" would make a good country-western song, but as I pass a flight attendant, I can't help but ask, "Did you actually think people would let those ten passengers off the plane first?" She has the graciousness to smile.

"Nope," she says, and looks as though she wants to add something, but lets it go at that. When we get to baggage claim, the bags have not starting coming onto the carousel. All of the people who shoved each other off the plane are standing there, waiting. When we have all of ours, many of them still are.

Does it make me a bad person to hope that some of their luggage ended up in San Diego?