Flying to Santa Fe I visited Santa Fe, NM recently taking an evening flight out of Dallas on one of those tiny regional carrier “airplanes.” “Why?” I ask, “do these regional carriers always have sketchy sounding names you never head of?“ I’m thinking frequent names changes keeps them one step ahead of the National Transportation Safety Board. Honestly, I’ve never felt too comfortable boarding an aircraft that looks like four burly baggage handlers could pick it up and position it by the jetway. Not to the mention the cabin is may be 4 and half feet high tops and I practically have to crawl on all fours to get back to my seat. Oh and the seats; the last time I sat in a seat so small I was at parent-teacher conference for one of my kids in kindergarten. So we’re in the air and surprise surprise we are being bounced around like the end of kite tail. What do you expect when you build an airplane for 40 people out of little more metal that goes into 4 cases worth of coke cans. At this point the pilot comes on the PA and, in that “I’m-bored-out-of-my-mind tone” flyers must pick up in the air force academy, announces, “good ahhh evening ahhhh ladies and gentlemen, we ahhh seem to ahhh have encountered some weather.” I have two responses. “Look pal, you’re flying this souped up vacuum cleaner 6 miles above the surface of the earth at 600 mph, responsible for the lives of 40 people, you could at least ‘act’ interested” And, “where have you been lately were there’s been no weather, outer space?” Great they guy at the controls is a disinterested space cadet. Remarkably, we land intact at the tiny Santa Fe airport which is little more than an extra large parking lot 10 miles south of the city. They have no jet ways, so you get off the plane and walk down a set of roll-away stairs. I always feel like waving to the excited crowd, like some visiting dignitary, when I get off an airplane right onto the tarmac. The crowd in this case is 4 burly baggage handlers impatiently waiting to unload the last flight of the evening and get home. I forgo the wave, but I’m feeling euphoric, just like a human cannonball having survived one more shot. Then over at the terminal building, I spot my wife Margaret doing her fair share of waving. She has already spotted me. Now I do feel like a visiting dignitary.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 04:29:04 +0000
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