I'm a Rocket Man

8/29/08

Chicago-O’Hare

Preparing to depart from O’Hare to Shanghai’s Pudong airport, I went to the check-in counter to get my boarding pass and check my bags. I was at Terminal 3, which is the universal check-in point for all American Airlines passengers. The lady at the counter told me my gate.

“Your plane will be leaving from L8.”

“Gee, hope I won’t be late,” I punned in return.

She glanced at her watch and glibly said, “Only 8:40 now, still nearly two hours before take-off. I think you’ll be alright.”

Wow. So I’m not even out of the country yet and already I’m failing to communicate. Granted, people who work at the airport all seem to check their sense of humor at the door. But I thought that ‘L8’ quip was gold. Perhaps I thought wrong.

Later, as I’m waiting by the gate to board the plane, I hear the number one most dreaded noise a traveler can hear: the shrill wailing of an infant child. I look over at the hapless couple that the child belongs to, and they’re exchanging nervous glances. This cannot be good. How long is this flight? 14 hours, oh Christ. I hope they packed some child-strength Ambien in their carry-on luggage, because there might be a mid-flight riot if things carry on in this fashion. Because China ain't the kind of place to fly with a kid, in fact, the flight is long as hell.

Luckily, the child was nary heard from again after take-off. In fact, neither the babe nor his parents were anywhere in sight during the trip. These are large planes, mind you. Large enough so that if you are fortunate and have a seat in the middle section, which is five seats wide and usually under-populated, you can lay across the unoccupied seats and rest in relative comfort.

Yes, it was a marathon flight. Glad that I won’t have to do it again until next year, that’s for certain. I thought I was relatively accustomed to lengthy, trans-continental flights. Given that I had flown across the Atlantic four times collectively over the last four years, I felt confident in my ability to conquer this epic flight. But when you think about it…Okay, so Ireland (that’s right, I flew to Ireland and back just last summer. My parents wouldn’t have any of my insisting that I do it the old-fashioned way and sail across the Atlantic) one-way is only seven hours. And then coming back the flight usually catches a jet stream or some type of wind current phenomenon that reduces the return trip by about an hour. All together that’s thirteen hours in the air, still shy of even one leg of this behemoth journey. All this science I don't understand. But it's just a job, five days a week.