We got out alive, fortunately, but there were a few seconds there when I thought that I wasn’t prepared enough to quickly get the iPhone out of airplane mode to make the final “I love you all” call as the plane plummeted to the ground. I decided I’d just think those thoughts really hard and that would have to suffice. It’s odd the things that go through your head while in the worst turbulence you’ve ever experienced.
I was up at 5am for a purportedly 8:35am flight (which wasn’t until 8:55am, a significant difference to someone up at 5am). I was going to Dallas for a day trip to tag along on a pitch meeting and ended up spending the day in Houston Hobby. Not a bad airport, Houston. Bully for you and your comfy seats that I never got to sit in because they were filled. When you’re trapped in an airport there are other things that go through your head - how the hell did I get here, when the hell do I get to leave, and why the hell does everyone on that ill-fated flight collectively decide that I, clearly NOT a Southwest Airlines employee, have all the information. I have never met more people in my life. Everyone was stranded and stuck and eager to pass the time and in passing, decided it was me that should pass it with them. Everyone I sat near, walked past, stood by had to talk to me. Had to. It was an imperative. Now, granted, I talked back, naturally, but it was becoming troublesome. Even during the moments alone in the bathroom while tidying my eyeliner, someone just had to talk. ”You stuck here too?”, she asked, longing to strike up a conversation about something or other.
So, after a whirlwind flight, we hit the doldrums of Houston where we languished in the horse latitudes until we were FINALLY allowed to leave on a plane that was promised to us for hours. And at 12:30am the following morning, I finally made it home.
But, y’know, all in all, I’d rather be alive in Houston than dead in Dallas.