The Time Machine

I have always been a fan of Jules Verne, especially his "Time Machine," but I never thought I would get a chance to ride one. I did. It was a costly mistake. I am writing to you from the past. I hope you get this. Be careful of these machines. They tend to be clustered around airports and are easily accessible. They are built in Brazil by Embrerar and they only go backwards in time, never forward.

Here’s how it happened. A few of my old Air Force friends suggested a get-together for the Wichita airshow. Sure, I would go. Due to weather I would have to leave 7SW in its hangar, but no problem, I have virtually free flying privileges on Uncle U and his spartan nephews for the rest of my days. I fired up the United app to list for a flight. After an hour figuring out how to use it I found there was one seat available on the 50 seat spam can going to my old base, Houston (IAH). Back when I was jump seat eligible, that was no concern, but now it is slim pickings. I used one of my eight annual vacation passes to elevate my boarding priority and got the seat. (Don’t get snarky; I get eight vacation passes, not eight vacations. Two people going to Hawaii on a two leg trip will use all eight.)

The second leg from IAH to Wichita (ICT) was a little easier. I got there in time to join my old buds for dinner. Not a bad day. I thought this retired “non-rev” flying, or rather riding, wasn’t that bad.

The mini-reunion was great but the airshow was a pain. Don’t go to an airshow at McConnell AFB unless you enjoy standing in abysmally long four-abreast lines for hours both to get in and to get out. But the Thunderbirds provided some welcome purpose for the suffering. On the day I was to return there were ample seats going out all directions from ICT so I thought I would sleep in. Bad idea.

I got to the airport at noon to get a seat back to IAH, to find the plane had filled with paying customers. My vacation pass would do no good. It only gives me a boost above the other non-revs. Same for the Chicago and Denver flights. I checked American and Delta. I can ride them space available for a small fee. But several seats were available on the afternoon flight to IAH, so I chilled for a few hours.

Then came that so disgustingly familiar announcement that the flight would be an hour late. My mind lit off and spooled-up, crunching  the ramifications to this morbid announcement. I rechecked the schedule from IAH to home. If I got to IAH later than 8:45pm, I was—how should I say it? I won’t say it.

The plane finally got in and they handed me my boarding pass. Then the next announcement. The plane had a problem. Maintenance had been called out. I heard a collective groan go up from my fellow “fliers.” Another delay, and possibly a cancellation. I checked all my apps. No other flights would get me home tonight except for that one. Had to have it. The decision now was to let that flight go if it went beyond 6:45pm, or be stuck in IAH overnight. At least I had relatives in Wichita to bunk up with.

At 6pm they announced the problem solved and we boarded. I tried to relax as well as possible with my knees in my chest as we headed south. Then came a PA announcement from the front office. We would have to land in Dallas for a problem.

Problem? What problem?

“Ah, folks that light that came on in Wichita, that shouldn’t be on, well, it’s back on again. Don’t worry. It’s not critical, but we have to get it looked at. Sorry for the inconvenience.” My half closed eyes popped open. My brain spooled to maximum rpm. I stared at my watch. If the stop at DFW lasted more than a half hour, I was—. That word again. I would miss my second hop to home, assuming we even reached IAH.

At DFW I sat like a nervous Nelly looking at my watch while mechanics went in and out of the cockpit. I was close enough to hear some of the conversation between them and the crew. Finally, a PA call. “Good news, folks [I never used the ‘folks’ word on the PA. It sounds too…folksy], the light is out and we are about to be on our way again.”

I studied my watch and thought it might actually work. I would have only 15 minutes to get to my next flight, but it was a short walk, or in this case a sprint, to the next gate. Now if I could only trust this new development and relax, I might get through the night without a heart attack.

Then, the PA again. I was beginning to loath hearing that clicking sound when the captain keyed the mic. “Well folks, we need to put on a little bit more fuel, so we have called for a fuel truck. Shouldn’t take long.”

WHAT? FUEL? ARE YOU [that word] KIDDING ME? You knew you were going to need more fuel the minute you realized you were going to stop in DFW! Why wasn’t it being put on while your mechanic worked on the “little light” problem? I fumed. I wanted to go to the cockpit and grab the 'captain' by the lapels and slap him around, but the company frowns on retirees doing that. I looked out and saw a fuel truck arrive. I counted every minute. Then I heard someone in the cockpit say, “Uh oh! Look! It’s back on again.”

That was it. I threw off my seat belt. I would get a $200/night room at the DFW Hilton and try for a ride on American next morning to get home. Then I heard the co-pilot again saying to the captain, “Oh, wait! It’s out again.” Then laughter. Now I was wondering if I should get off to spare my life. SLAM! The door shut; the engines were spooling. I looked at my watch for the 500th time. Too late. Making it home that night wasn't the issue any more. Living to see home now trumped it.

In the air the flight attendant announced that rooms and meal vouchers would be provided by all those who missed their last connections. Fat chance, I thought, that would apply for me. None-the-less, I got in line with the rest of them at the service counter at IAH. I gave the woman my boarding pass. She smiled and said, "Let's see where I can put you." I relaxed. Then, “Oh!” she said. “You're a non-rev. Sorry, non-revs don’t get anything.” 

I suddenly had a vision of a retired United captain lying in a fetal position on a seat row in the Houston terminal at 4am. Not me, my friend. I thought about my old haunt outside the IAH airport—the Comfort Suites. I still had their number in my phone. I called. They came within minutes and gave me my usual airline discount. It seemed yesterday since I checked in there every week, sometimes twice a week to wait out short-call. It felt as if nothing had happened. I had not retired. The Embrear time machine punted me back into the past, and here I will stay because of a "little light" that’s not supposed to be on. 

I’ve got to get to sleep. The crew desk will likely be calling at 0200 in the morning for an 0700 launch. And I don’t even have my uniform with me.

This made it all worth it. Click on the image

 and turn up the volume.

We gather every couple of years to watch the bomb burst in honor or old friend, 
Willie Mays, Thunderbird Two, (1949-1982), Vance AFB Class 73-06.