(Almost) Home for the Holidays

When flying home for the holidays, I always fly to Houston and take the puddle-jumper connection to Victoria, Texas, 150 miles SW of Houston where my mom lives. 

I flew to Houston on Christmas day and ended up at Houston Intercontinental for the next 26 hours after Continental kept cancelling the 30-minute flights to Victoria due to lack of passengers (they kept citing “maintenance” problems.) 

There were no rental cars available to make the 150-mile drive. 

They cancelled my 3:30 pm flight on Christmas day after having delayed it every hour for five hours. Then, they cancelled the last flight out at 9:30 pm. They put us in a hotel that night and placed me on a flight at 3:30 pm the next day. I found out that there were very few passengers on that flight, so I had little assurance that they wouldn't cancel that one too. Finally, I became so frustrated that I just threw in the towel and asked to be flown back to Chicago, which they did.  

Sleigh Ride was incessantly playing in the background while I waited for my flight-in-defeat back to Chicago.

So, I never made it home for the holidays. I was 150 miles from home, but couldn't get there. I spent Christmas day eating bad Mexican food by myself in Terminal A at George W. Bush Intercontinental. Isn't that THE saddest holiday tale EVER?

I've submitted lots of documentation to Continental, requesting compensation due to me according to their own cancellation policies. I was provided with a voucher for $410 after the first flight was cancelled.  After the following flight was cancelled and having to wait an additional 15 hours, I deserve more.  Much more!

I’m a very nice guy, but being a somewhat-obsessive “people-pleaser” has seldom served me well.  So, whenever I need to assert myself, (especially at a board meeting) I always think of this Joan Crawford scene. This is my "go-to" scene. If anything, it provides me with comic relief and, moreover, reminds me of the mindset in which I need to be.

So, if Continental Airlines doesn’t accommodate me by honoring their own cancellation policy, I will go all “Joan Crawford” on them. 

Aero Horroroso

On Saturday, I’ll be flying down to Texas to spend a week with family. Flying is such good blog fodder, especially if one is flying to the small town where my mom lives, Victoria, Texas.

Victoria is located near the Texas gulf coast about 120 miles southwest of Houston. There’s only one flight a day now from Houston to Victoria and it’s on one of those little bitty bouncy airplanes with propellers. The little airline that operates the daily flight, Aero Horroroso, has a history of safety violations which makes the trip all the more exciting.

(Seriously, it’s Colgan Air and it does have a record of safety violations and run-ins with government regulators.)

Since there’s only one passenger flight per day to Victoria, the little airport has multiple functions. I’m waiting for the day when the pilot announces, “Folks, were about to make our descent into Victoria Regional Airport, Day Care and Firearm Repair Center.”

Cows and possums scurry out of the way as we land.

The nearest large city with a major airport is either San Antonio or Austin which are about 90 miles away. Aero Horroroso practically lands in my mom’s back yard so the convenience factor trumps the fright factor, for me anyway.

The thing is, I’ve had a couple of really terrifying flights between Houston and Victoria. Really, really frightening.

Once, the pilot was unsure if the landing gear was down (the indicator light wasn't working) so we had to fly back to Houston and have the people in the flight tower visually verify that we had landing gear in place. There's nothing like spending an hour wondering if you'll ever walk on terra firma again.

Another time, we flew through a line of violent thunderstorms late at night and it was, by far, the most turbulent flight I’ve ever been on. Really. It was pretty unbelievable. I was sitting in the back of the plane and ice was flying out of the ice bin.

I used to be nervous about flying, but thanks to Aero Horroroso, pretty much nothing scares me anymore. No matter how turbulent a flight gets, I’m all “Ho hum – this is nothing. . . . Where’s my drink?”