Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
So, on a last minute trip to San Diego (which, coincidentally, happened to fall during the very week that we had wanted to *be* in San Diego for the ComiCon...), I fly out as early as possible to get me there.
In Atlanta, the remnants of Hurricane Dennis don't seem to be holding things up too much. Then I board Delta flight 1793, scheduled to leave around 8:30am. It's about to leave, just waiting for paperwork and some final bags, the captain says. 8:30...8:45...captain comes on. During a walkaround, he said, a couple of tires were underinflated..."flat"...from a "warm landing" earlier. They need to change 'em, just another 25 minutes. Some time later, he comes back on and says that they found a problem with a brake when they pulled the tires off...so it'll be another 45.
We take off at around 10am, about 90 minutes late. At what point do you think the captain was going to tell us/get the tires checked if the paperwork & bags had been done faster?
On that note, the captain told everyone on the PA where his young son was sitting (42D). Just in case any terrorists may have wanted to know so they'd have a bargaining chip. *rolls eyes*
So the flight is in the air. Now I want to put the seat back...and it won't go back. Great. Overhead light? Heh...only if IT wants to go on. Flight attendant call button? Oh, sure, it goes on randomly.
(On a packed flight...everyone can hear you scream.)
Atleast the movie...Sahara...was passable.
(Yet Another Blog Brought To You From 30,000 Feet)