By: Gabriela Yareliz
We were delayed.
“It’s getting hotter and hotter,” the pilot told us. So we would be delayed further because they couldn’t get the plane to cool with external units.
*collective sigh from the cohort of southbound travelers*
The plane had no functioning AC on the ground. The day wasn’t even sweltering. It was 75F outside, and the inside of the plane was 97F. Ironically, where we were going was much hotter. It’s like we were on planet earth and traveling to the sun. But we couldn’t get it together on earth. A dubious start.
What blew my mind was that the solution JetBlue was offering was for us to wait and board the hot plane complaint-free or they would cancel our flight. How are these the only two options? Most of us were conference bound and hoping to arrive before the open plenary.
How is getting us a functional plane not an option? I wondered. This is the state of JetBlue. Ghetto. (The flight back was a steamy one where I was seated on a hot plane, trapped with parents who had zero control over their kids or themselves— more on that later).
The state of NYC flights is wild. JFK has a new exit for certain terminals. There is zero signage where you need it. The security line is insanity. They yell at you, telling you there are three lines, but it is all a lie. The three lines merge into one in five feet. It’s the dumbest thing I have ever seen. Everyone is pissed and cutting each other as they merge.
Basically, NYC has taken the approach of complicating travel. It’s like someone asked, How can we make this harder and more unpleasant? A+ on that assignment to the asshole who succeeded.
No Ubers allowed. Lines for taxis that last for hours. A NYC-based plane and crew with no AC. The lines for Starbucks and Dunkin were three city blocks long. They closed Jamba Juice in terminal 5.
So you go hungry because you don’t have the hours required to make it through the Starbucks line, and the snacks get smaller and more pathetic in-flight. JFK Terminal 5 hack— the new Eataly mini-mart. It’s the size of a corner with self-checkout. They have egg salad sandwiches and other little snacks for the hungry.
Traveling out of NYC (or to NYC, for that matter) is not for the weak.
Just as we thought we were taking off, the flight attendant tells us we were rerouted to another runway, and we are #24 to take off. On a hot plane. He reminded us to “not complain” and cooperate or they could easily cancel the flight.
Also, what does it mean to not cooperate? We are strapped captives in this capsule. Were they telling us not to fight each other? To not fight them? (At that point, we all would have fought them). Honestly, I kind of understand why people lose it on planes. I bet we miss context in these stories that hit the news. Were they sitting on the tarmac sweating for hours? That’ll do it. We lose all civility because the airlines lost it first. Passengers suffocating on incompetence (and the lack of moving air).
I turned on St. Denis Medical in the background, opened my Kindle and said my prayers while we bopped over clouds and experienced insane turbulence. The pilot was like, “There are no flights making a path for us in this direction— we keep running into these systems, and it’s going to be bumpy.” Meanwhile, we are all gripping for dear life. It was basically the SNL Newark sketch.
The flight crews’ whole conclusion was always, “Don’t complain.” Meanwhile, it’s like, Why can’t you get it together, JetBlue?
I made it, though. I made it and landed in the South. And if we thought it was hot, we went out of the frying pan and into the fire.
I walked out of the tunnel and through a new terminal. A man dutifully swiped his badge, opened the auto doors. Swiped again. Closed the doors. A bus pulled up ten seconds later, and the man swiped again, opening the doors. It was an absurd routine that I observed. Closing the doors for five seconds was unnecessary. But one thing the South has down that doesn’t exist in NYC is order. I was going to give him that.
The doors opened, and I scurried to a bus shuttle. Welcome to Nashville.
GABRIELA YARELIZ 