Lary Bloom photo
Our Boeing 737-700. Fully equipped, except for one screw.
7:32 a.m., Thursday, March 23, Charleston, S.C.
We are two minutes past our self-imposed deadline for leaving Charleston’s historic district and heading to the airport, as it is always my preference to arrive for a flight without having to sprint to the gate, and shouting. “Wait! New Haven or bust.”
But somewhere on the road, Father Time hovers above the car. He is the fellow who knows all about, well, time, and he is about to expound on it. As he settles outside of the windshield, he brings his fingers to his cracked lips, and speaks.
“You, sir, have had good fortune in your travel life, getting where you want to go without delay. But, today your record in this regard is at an end.
“True, Avelo is a fine airline, with very pleasant employees, a boon to the Elm City. But, as you know because you are getting long in the tooth, all airlines, even international ones, are subject to the whims of fate. And today, you will participate in a little experiment about human nature.”
When I ask for clarification, he evaporates.
9:45 a.m.
As I buckle my seat belt in 9C, I think that old Father Time has erred. The cabin door is closed. The two engines roar. Soon this sturdy Boeing 737 – 700, with its 117 foot wing span, able to carry up to 148 passengers and on a good day reach 588 miles per hour, will be lifting off. So why is the captain on the intercom?
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve run into a bit of a maintenance problem. It seems we’ve lost a screw that holds the emergency slide. It’s a safety issue, so we need to replace it, but I’m told this will happen shortly. And we’ll soon be on our way.”
11:26 a.m.
I am ruminating about the sentence, “And we’ll soon be on our way.” It is a line that social scientists have determined also means: “Hah, hah, hah.”
At this moment we should be starting our descent into Tweed. But my wife Suzanne and I instead have descended into chairs adjacent to Gate 10, as all passengers were asked to return to the terminal. The captain said, “We apologize for the inconvenience,” but this didn’t persuade the crowd (and it was a large crowd) to forego serious grumbling.
A fellow sitting across from us is smoking an e‑cigarette. He takes tiny puffs, hiding them under his jacket.
When I point this out this to Suzanne, she shrugs, as if to say, “Let it alone.”
12:52 p.m.
I am thinking on the bright side. Our particular Boeing 737 – 700 apparently has at least 99.99 percent of its necessary parts. The other good news is that a Dunkin’ outlet is open across from the gate, and, though no substitute for the G Cafe back at Tweed, it has a couple of fresh glazed.
Among the “residents” of gate B10.
12:57 p.m.
A message arrives on the phone that our flight will depart at 3 p.m. This is promising news. The attendant at the gate relates to us that an effort is underway to disassemble a row of seats in the plane to try to find a screw that will fit. It occurs to Sue that we had passed a Home Depot on the way to the airport and perhaps we should point that out. But we don’t.
12:59 p.m.
Another message arrives on the phone says that Avelo Flight 486 will depart not at 3 p.m. but an hour and a half earlier.
Hallelujah! No details are given about which little piece they found and whether it was formerly under my seat.
1 p.m.
An announcement from the gate informs us that the plane bound for New Haven is ready for boarding and all passengers should be ready for “on time departure.” There is a roar of laughter from the throng.
1:05 p.m.
We are ready at last to reclaim our seats, and find a place in line. Then the announcement is made that “the boarding process will begin in 15 minutes.”
There is the kind of groan from the crowd that occurs when Tiger Woods misses a short putt at the Masters.
I decide that Avelo, though staffed with knowledgeable people, hasn’t yet offered extensive training on how to handle the stress of passengers in need of a good screw.
1:15 p.m.
I am in seat 9C again. There is a South Carolinian settling into 8C, and before she does, she tells me she is traveling to attend a grandchild’s sixth birthday party in Westport. And that she knows New Haven well because her sister once was a grad student at Yale, studying French and philosophy.
I ask her what her sister did with that fine education. “Nothing,” she says. “But she has traveled the world.”
Robert Frost gets under the skin.
3:46. p.m.
As we land at Tweed, the woman on my left tells me she and her husband have taken Avelo on several trips and never once had any issue. They love this airline, and jumped at the pop-up sale that secured them $19 one-way tickets, just about what it costs for top-of-the-line hamburger and fries in our own city. (My roundtrip bill, including a bag check, priority boarding, tax, etc., ran $270, but was I envious? Of course.)
There is good cheer among the travelers. “Let’s have a reunion next week,” suggests one, as we prepare to exit.
A tall young man walks by, and I notice on his arm one of the chattiest tattoos I’ve ever seen, all in verse. I asked what is it? He says, “It’s Robert Frost — The Road Less Traveled.” A commentary of long ago that, Father Time would agree, never loses its timeliness.
Lary Bloom’s new book, I’ll Take New Haven: Tales of Discovery and Rejuvenation, is available at local bookstores or online.