wastin' away again in philadelphia.
stuck all day in a hotel room as the soft shitty sleet slaps against the windows. there are no restaurants within a mile and a half for lunch, and i already slept through the powdered-eggs-styrofoam-plate breakfast because we got in so late last night that i didn't hit the pillow until 2 am.
livin' the dream!
5pm. put on the monkey suit and neck noose, pack up the roller bag. i've lived nomadic style for many years in many places around the world, but i still prefer the backpack and sandals in a land where i don't speak the language to wheeling this black box through the cultural death valleys of 'merica.
at the gate, in terminal E. lots of people, no airplane in sight. huh. they arrived over an hour ago according to my pocket oracle. me and the captain walk away to a quiet area opposite our gate with lots of empty chairs. plop our asses down and wait. the answer comes quickly, in the form of a blonde british gate agent making a beeline towards us. must want an autograph or a selfie with us. can't blame her. we are eye candy in black wrappers.
"can you guys do me a huge favor?"
shit. this sounds like work. we brace ourselves.
"the plane arrived from punta cana an hour ago and is over at the A terminal. we are very short-staffed today, and one of the tugs is not working. would you guys be willing to walk over to A and taxi it over? otherwise it may be awhile."
"yeah sure, no problem," i say. "but you have to ask the pope here, it's his ship."
my capt pipes up: "i'll be willing to do it, but we need you to have crew scheduling call us to request this, so that we are approved by the emperor and duly compensated for our efforts."
daaaaayyyyyyyammmm. i hadn't even thought of that. these damn captains are damn smart.
soon, the word comes down from the archangel gabriel that they do not want us to walk for 10 minutes and taxi the plane over to the new gate in 5 more, but instead sit and wait for it. i have a vaguely familiar and disturbing twitching in my nether regions that indicates this is not a good idea. i have no idea, however, about just how right my premonition is about to be proven.
2 hours later, the aircraft is brought over. people are already upset, but they have no idea what fun awaits inside the pressurized tube. and the weather gods are displaying their disapproval of all of our unclean lives as the front moves in and the freezing rain begins. i do my walk around and emerge from the deluge like a wet cat, humbled and mewing. finish finger-banging the box with flight plan, weight and balance, and performance data. sit back and wait for the self-loading cargo to wrap up the always-daunting task of seat selection.
we push. fire up both motors to taxi extremely slow on the skating-rink taxiways. join the conga line as number 17 for de-icing. the babies crying in the back are audible over my headset. they must sense the djinns that are about to be unleashed upon us, the unwashed infidels. no one knows that the true plague of desolation is about to be visited upon our meek airbus.
finally number 1 in line an hour later, and the iceman gives us a de-ice pad assignment. no sooner that we set the brakes that the heavens open and the freezing rain begins in earnest. drops splatter and turn to ice as they rapidly coat our airplane into a popsicle. i order a type 1 whole aircraft with a side of type 4 wings-and-tail from the drive-through window, but get no response. repeat the request. nothing. finally after the third attempt i am told to standby. the iceman breaks the news that the airport authority has issued the second ground stop of the night, halting all departures. all de-ice crews cease and desist before they've even started with us.
the captain and i note that at our current burn rate, we have exactly 20 minutes until we reach minimum departure fuel. delta is parked on the one and only exit taxiway from the de-ice pad to the runway, and they refuse to move. all aircraft behind them are trapped. even if we were done de-icing now, there is no way we'd be off the ground before we reach our minimum fuel. we elect to start the apu, and shut down the engines, so as to still have electrical power and air conditioning, but only burn 1/10 the amount of fuel. neither of us know how bitch-slappingly fatal this mistake will prove.
within one minute of shutting down the engines, a caution message pops up on the screen: apu air bleed fault.
without bleed air from our apu, we are now trapped on the de-ice pad, unable to start our engines and thus move. we are also without air conditioning, with 180 cabin heaters of various shapes and sizes seated in the compartment behind us. the air temperature rises quickly from 70 degrees, as does the volume of crying babies.
the captain gets on the phone with maintenance to try to troubleshoot the problem while i call in vain every radio frequency and phone number we have for our philadelphia operations. no one is around to answer our pleas for help. company aircraft supposed to land in trenton are diverting to philadelphia and the understaffed rampers are busy trying to help them all. none of the circuit breaker resets prescribed by maintenance work, and we are left with only one option. shutting down the apu and attempting a restart.
turning off the apu means the airplane will go dark. it possibly could reset, but it might not restart at all, leaving us stranded in the sleet in the dark with no way to move. it's kind of like turning off all the power in jurassic park. it might work to regain control, but then again it might let the velociraptors out too. the captain and i quickly agree that with the way our luck is going, this seems like a bad idea that could make our insufferable situation exponentially worse. puking grandmothers in a dark airplane guarantee our appearance as celebrities on youtube and the national news tomorrow.
instead we make a phone call to dispatch, begging for help. a tug and towbar, a ground power cart to keep the aircraft powered while we reset the apu, a huffer air cart to plug in and start the engines, a couple large bowls of cold gruel, something, anything to end this misery.
the flight attendants have already started passing out granola bars and water. one of them calls to tell me we have a developing medical emergency as a woman with high blood pressure is feeling like she's going to pass out with the rising temps, which now indicate 84 degrees in the cabin. with no way to cool the cabin, the only option is opening some doors in the pouring freezing rain for ventilation. conferring with the flight attendants, we all agree that with the collection of potential jumpers or slide-blowers seated in the back, this is a bad idea, so we squish the option. people are irate and becoming verbally and physically abusive. they are accusing us of doing nothing and want off now and want to speak with the captain. now.
despite numerous public announcements about our mechanical issues explaining our plight, people only grow more and more agitated. it's been 2 hours since we pushed back, and dispatch messages us to return to the gate, and that they are going to cancel the flight. as if we could! we tell them again that we are dead in the water, desperately waiting for a tow or a power cart so we can move the aircraft. we are assured for the second time that the cart is "on it's way." but it's coming from over a mile distant on icy taxiways.
someone, anyone, please make the bad man stop.
the captain reiterates our soggy sticky smelly unpleasantness with dispatch as he requests top priority of personnel on hand as well as reserving one of the limited gates to deplane the aircraft, even with all of the company airplanes diverting here.
finally around the corner comes the tug and huffer cart. we establish coms and they try to hook up the high pressure air so that we can start the engines. the hose isn't long enough, and it takes 10 more minutes to reposition the cart on the skating rink. finally we are plugged in, but something is wrong. the cart is only putting out 12 psi, and we need around 30 to be able to start. the men working the cart can't figure out how to dial up the pressure. we sit for 10 minutes as they fiddle-fuck around. they neglected to bring a tow bar as i requested so they can't tow us back to the gate. waiting for them to go get one and return will take another 30 minutes.
the captain is on the phone with operations, dispatch, the chief pilot, his wife, 1-900-GIRLS-NOW, and i am talking to the ramp control, iceman, and tug operators on the radios, and the flight attendants in the back with the escalating medical emergency and wailing babies and yelling people.
finally the tug operators figure out the right valve, but they are unaware of their own success and haven't been talking to us for awhile. the captain just happens to notice 34 psi displayed on our screen, and yells for me to start number one right now. we crank it up, she starts slow but she's steady and building and fuck yeah you little bitch turn turn turn!!! you got it baby!!! keep going!!! phuk yeah we got this!!
as soon as #1 is spinning i turn the bleed and pack on and crank down the temperature controls to full cold. 88 degrees in the back but finally the air is blowing. we have the tug disconnect and pull away clear as i crossbleed start #2 and fire up the other pack. quickly coordinate with the iceman and ground control for a taxi back to the gate as the captain makes an announcement that we are finally free and please sit down immediately and fasten your seatbelt so we can move.
we block into the gate 2 hours and 59 minutes after pushing back, and have law enforcement meet the aircraft to deal with the passengers who have been threatening the flight attendants. one of them, an obese man, shoves a small petite gate agent as he deplanes.
the crew remains on the aircraft as we wait for the situation to get under control at the gate. all of us are completely fried and tell crew scheduling that we are fatigued. a few minutes later dispatch calls and since the freezing rain has stopped in philadelphia they want to reboard the flight and continue on to tampa! it is now nearly 2 am and thunderstorms will be pummelling the entire sweaty shaft of florida for the next several hours. there is a massive system en route as well that we would have to pick our way through and the captain and i both agree that our mental states are not safe to attempt such a feat of airmanship at the moment. we politely decline the offer and finally get a hotel room at 3 am.
i slam a can of beer kept in my roller for such occasions and pass out.
stuck all day in a hotel room as the soft shitty sleet slaps against the windows. there are no restaurants within a mile and a half for lunch, and i already slept through the powdered-eggs-styrofoam-plate breakfast because we got in so late last night that i didn't hit the pillow until 2 am.
livin' the dream!
5pm. put on the monkey suit and neck noose, pack up the roller bag. i've lived nomadic style for many years in many places around the world, but i still prefer the backpack and sandals in a land where i don't speak the language to wheeling this black box through the cultural death valleys of 'merica.
at the gate, in terminal E. lots of people, no airplane in sight. huh. they arrived over an hour ago according to my pocket oracle. me and the captain walk away to a quiet area opposite our gate with lots of empty chairs. plop our asses down and wait. the answer comes quickly, in the form of a blonde british gate agent making a beeline towards us. must want an autograph or a selfie with us. can't blame her. we are eye candy in black wrappers.
"can you guys do me a huge favor?"
shit. this sounds like work. we brace ourselves.
"the plane arrived from punta cana an hour ago and is over at the A terminal. we are very short-staffed today, and one of the tugs is not working. would you guys be willing to walk over to A and taxi it over? otherwise it may be awhile."
"yeah sure, no problem," i say. "but you have to ask the pope here, it's his ship."
my capt pipes up: "i'll be willing to do it, but we need you to have crew scheduling call us to request this, so that we are approved by the emperor and duly compensated for our efforts."
daaaaayyyyyyyammmm. i hadn't even thought of that. these damn captains are damn smart.
soon, the word comes down from the archangel gabriel that they do not want us to walk for 10 minutes and taxi the plane over to the new gate in 5 more, but instead sit and wait for it. i have a vaguely familiar and disturbing twitching in my nether regions that indicates this is not a good idea. i have no idea, however, about just how right my premonition is about to be proven.
2 hours later, the aircraft is brought over. people are already upset, but they have no idea what fun awaits inside the pressurized tube. and the weather gods are displaying their disapproval of all of our unclean lives as the front moves in and the freezing rain begins. i do my walk around and emerge from the deluge like a wet cat, humbled and mewing. finish finger-banging the box with flight plan, weight and balance, and performance data. sit back and wait for the self-loading cargo to wrap up the always-daunting task of seat selection.
we push. fire up both motors to taxi extremely slow on the skating-rink taxiways. join the conga line as number 17 for de-icing. the babies crying in the back are audible over my headset. they must sense the djinns that are about to be unleashed upon us, the unwashed infidels. no one knows that the true plague of desolation is about to be visited upon our meek airbus.
finally number 1 in line an hour later, and the iceman gives us a de-ice pad assignment. no sooner that we set the brakes that the heavens open and the freezing rain begins in earnest. drops splatter and turn to ice as they rapidly coat our airplane into a popsicle. i order a type 1 whole aircraft with a side of type 4 wings-and-tail from the drive-through window, but get no response. repeat the request. nothing. finally after the third attempt i am told to standby. the iceman breaks the news that the airport authority has issued the second ground stop of the night, halting all departures. all de-ice crews cease and desist before they've even started with us.
the captain and i note that at our current burn rate, we have exactly 20 minutes until we reach minimum departure fuel. delta is parked on the one and only exit taxiway from the de-ice pad to the runway, and they refuse to move. all aircraft behind them are trapped. even if we were done de-icing now, there is no way we'd be off the ground before we reach our minimum fuel. we elect to start the apu, and shut down the engines, so as to still have electrical power and air conditioning, but only burn 1/10 the amount of fuel. neither of us know how bitch-slappingly fatal this mistake will prove.
within one minute of shutting down the engines, a caution message pops up on the screen: apu air bleed fault.
without bleed air from our apu, we are now trapped on the de-ice pad, unable to start our engines and thus move. we are also without air conditioning, with 180 cabin heaters of various shapes and sizes seated in the compartment behind us. the air temperature rises quickly from 70 degrees, as does the volume of crying babies.
the captain gets on the phone with maintenance to try to troubleshoot the problem while i call in vain every radio frequency and phone number we have for our philadelphia operations. no one is around to answer our pleas for help. company aircraft supposed to land in trenton are diverting to philadelphia and the understaffed rampers are busy trying to help them all. none of the circuit breaker resets prescribed by maintenance work, and we are left with only one option. shutting down the apu and attempting a restart.
turning off the apu means the airplane will go dark. it possibly could reset, but it might not restart at all, leaving us stranded in the sleet in the dark with no way to move. it's kind of like turning off all the power in jurassic park. it might work to regain control, but then again it might let the velociraptors out too. the captain and i quickly agree that with the way our luck is going, this seems like a bad idea that could make our insufferable situation exponentially worse. puking grandmothers in a dark airplane guarantee our appearance as celebrities on youtube and the national news tomorrow.
instead we make a phone call to dispatch, begging for help. a tug and towbar, a ground power cart to keep the aircraft powered while we reset the apu, a huffer air cart to plug in and start the engines, a couple large bowls of cold gruel, something, anything to end this misery.
the flight attendants have already started passing out granola bars and water. one of them calls to tell me we have a developing medical emergency as a woman with high blood pressure is feeling like she's going to pass out with the rising temps, which now indicate 84 degrees in the cabin. with no way to cool the cabin, the only option is opening some doors in the pouring freezing rain for ventilation. conferring with the flight attendants, we all agree that with the collection of potential jumpers or slide-blowers seated in the back, this is a bad idea, so we squish the option. people are irate and becoming verbally and physically abusive. they are accusing us of doing nothing and want off now and want to speak with the captain. now.
despite numerous public announcements about our mechanical issues explaining our plight, people only grow more and more agitated. it's been 2 hours since we pushed back, and dispatch messages us to return to the gate, and that they are going to cancel the flight. as if we could! we tell them again that we are dead in the water, desperately waiting for a tow or a power cart so we can move the aircraft. we are assured for the second time that the cart is "on it's way." but it's coming from over a mile distant on icy taxiways.
someone, anyone, please make the bad man stop.
the captain reiterates our soggy sticky smelly unpleasantness with dispatch as he requests top priority of personnel on hand as well as reserving one of the limited gates to deplane the aircraft, even with all of the company airplanes diverting here.
finally around the corner comes the tug and huffer cart. we establish coms and they try to hook up the high pressure air so that we can start the engines. the hose isn't long enough, and it takes 10 more minutes to reposition the cart on the skating rink. finally we are plugged in, but something is wrong. the cart is only putting out 12 psi, and we need around 30 to be able to start. the men working the cart can't figure out how to dial up the pressure. we sit for 10 minutes as they fiddle-fuck around. they neglected to bring a tow bar as i requested so they can't tow us back to the gate. waiting for them to go get one and return will take another 30 minutes.
the captain is on the phone with operations, dispatch, the chief pilot, his wife, 1-900-GIRLS-NOW, and i am talking to the ramp control, iceman, and tug operators on the radios, and the flight attendants in the back with the escalating medical emergency and wailing babies and yelling people.
finally the tug operators figure out the right valve, but they are unaware of their own success and haven't been talking to us for awhile. the captain just happens to notice 34 psi displayed on our screen, and yells for me to start number one right now. we crank it up, she starts slow but she's steady and building and fuck yeah you little bitch turn turn turn!!! you got it baby!!! keep going!!! phuk yeah we got this!!
as soon as #1 is spinning i turn the bleed and pack on and crank down the temperature controls to full cold. 88 degrees in the back but finally the air is blowing. we have the tug disconnect and pull away clear as i crossbleed start #2 and fire up the other pack. quickly coordinate with the iceman and ground control for a taxi back to the gate as the captain makes an announcement that we are finally free and please sit down immediately and fasten your seatbelt so we can move.
we block into the gate 2 hours and 59 minutes after pushing back, and have law enforcement meet the aircraft to deal with the passengers who have been threatening the flight attendants. one of them, an obese man, shoves a small petite gate agent as he deplanes.
the crew remains on the aircraft as we wait for the situation to get under control at the gate. all of us are completely fried and tell crew scheduling that we are fatigued. a few minutes later dispatch calls and since the freezing rain has stopped in philadelphia they want to reboard the flight and continue on to tampa! it is now nearly 2 am and thunderstorms will be pummelling the entire sweaty shaft of florida for the next several hours. there is a massive system en route as well that we would have to pick our way through and the captain and i both agree that our mental states are not safe to attempt such a feat of airmanship at the moment. we politely decline the offer and finally get a hotel room at 3 am.
i slam a can of beer kept in my roller for such occasions and pass out.
2 comments:
For all you do...This Bud's for U....we all agree safety 1st! Then whiskey for my crew and beer for my horses.PD
Howzit Paddy:)
I have been reading your blog for 6 years, struggled to find it again over the last year and a bit:)
Please don't stop writing and adventuring:) keep up the stories:)
I am currently flying for doctors without borders in Central Africa. Let410.
Mac:)
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