Airport purgatory

Crowds flying home after Christmas, airline workforce decimated by a spike in Covid-19, and an airport unaccustomed to heavy snowfall and sub-freezing temperatures.  Stir these ingredients together, and you have an explanation for why I arrived back in Seattle over 51 hours later than originally scheduled.

My train ride from Seattle to Oxnard went off without a hitch.  I had an enjoyable couple of days with my brother and his wife at their coastal home in Oxnard.  We drove to his daughter's home in Glendale, about an hour to the south, where we celebrated a beautiful and merry Christmas.  

And then Sunday, December 26, arrived.  The date on which began the Great Snowfall of 2021 in the Pacific Northwest.  The date when more and more airline employees began phoning in ill from Covid-19.  The date and day of the week on which large numbers of holiday travelers were scheduled to travel from Los Angeles area airports -- including Burbank -- to Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.

My brother drove me -- innocent as a lamb -- to Burbank Airport at 10 a.m.  I always insist on arriving early for my flights, in this case for a flight scheduled to depart at 11:59 a.m.  Through the undeserved grace of Alaska Airlines, I had earlier been bumped up to First Class, and I was looking forward to a luxurious flight.  Almost immediately, however, we were advised of a half hour delay.  I thought nothing of it.  In holiday periods there is often a short delay because of the crowds.  

But one delay followed another.  

With all due respect, I should make you aware that Burbank airport has few forms of amusement for passengers awaiting flights.  Its Terminal B has one small, crowded café and a few stands selling snack food.  But finally, at about 3:30 p.m., we boarded our flight.  I settled into my First Class seat, and watched the pathetic coach class mobs file past me.  The doors were closed; we pushed back from the gate; the engines warmed up.

And continued warming up.  The crowds began squirming nervously.  Finally, after about a half hour on the tarmac, the pilot announced that Air Traffic Control in Seattle was refusing to authorize our departure from Burbank because Sea-Tac airport was closing for the day.  Disbelieving, we returned to the gate and deplaned.  A lengthy line formed at the gate desk.  Luckily, I was third in line.  They had an available seat on Tuesday -- was I interested?  I didn't try to negotiate for something better -- I grabbed it.  

I walked past the long line of my fellow passengers.  I recalled how long it had taken for the first three passengers to be processed.  But am I my brother's keeper?  I turned my thoughts to reserving two more nights at my Glendale motel.

After dropping me off, my brother had returned to Oxnard.  His daughter -- our hostess in Glendale -- was flying off with her daughter to Minneapolis.  It was just me and an inexpensive motel, situated in a mixed residential-commercial neighborhood.  The hours that followed while awaiting Tuesday's flight gave me a premonition of Purgatory -- not fun, not hellish, just long and gray and seemingly endless.  Starbucks got a lot of my food-consumption business, as did -- for one interesting dinner -- Carl's Jr. 

I returned to Burbank Airport on Tuesday at 11 a.m. -- my welcome at my motel having expired --  awaiting a flight at 1:40 p.m.  Same experience.  An additional series of delays, which -- as I posted with horror on Facebook -- seemed to be "déjà vu all over again."

We boarded, just as we had two days earlier.  We backed away from the gate.  We paused.  I held my breath.  Had I become a character out of "Groundhog Day"?  Another lengthy delay ensued, because Burbank's traffic control staff had gone home for the day, and we were being controlled from elsewhere.  But, in due time, we took off.

I was once more seated in First Class.  I drank wine and ate a small dish of salted nuts.  A complimentary cheese and fruit plate followed, with crackers and dark chocolates.  The flight was great, the service was impeccable, and the time passed swiftly.  I have no criticism of Alaska Airlines, which did everything possible for us passengers with the hand they'd been dealt.

We arrived in Seattle at about 8 p.m.  I had only to pick up my baggage and summon an Uber car. 

My baggage!  Well, some other time, folks.  This story has drifted on too long already.