My cellphone ringing awakened me. As a pilot on reserve, I am at the whims of the company. Is a pilot sick or a plane broken? Chris Boyes to the rescue. My schedule is erratic at best and the same could be said in the days leading up to Christmas. In the 6 days prior to and including Christmas, I was 'on-call.' I answered the phone while simultaneously checking the time. It was 4:00 AM. "Hi Chris? This is Laurie from scheduling. We have a trip for you leaving in 2 hours. It's a 3-day with overnights in Memphis and Cincinnati. Do you need me to read you the details?" I didn't. I could login to the scheduling website to get any information I needed. No need to waste time pretending to copy details down. In reality, everything after "show up in 2 hours" was completely irrelevant to me. After some very quick public math, I realized the end of this trip would be on Christmas Eve. "One more thing, sorry. Because you get in late on the 24th, we are moving your morning reserve to evening reserve on the 25th. Have a safe trip." Before I had time to say anything, the line was dead. It was clear that she was waiting to save the best news for last. Being the new guy, I understood. She wouldn't be getting any grief from me.
That is how I found myself walking through the entry doors of St Louis Lambert International Airport. It was eerily quiet at 5:30 AM except for the click-clack of my suitcase, cooler, and flight kit as I towed it across the tile of the Arrival-Level of the airport where I had been dropped off. Burl Ives belted "Holly Jolly Christmas" in what seemed like a concert just for me. With the terminal completely empty here, it was almost inappropriately loud.
Coffee in hand, I passed through the special "Crewmember Only" back entrance of security before I made my way to the Departures information board. Oddly enough, no one can seem to agree where St Louis should appear alphabetically in airports. Sometimes it appears before San Antonio using the non-abbreviated spelling of "Saint" but abbreviating it on the display while other times it appears after Seattle. I wouldn't have to play this little personal game of "Where's Waldo" for a few days in Houston when I finally make my way back home. Today, I had to find Chicago. I made my way to the gate, typed in my code and left the oddly quiet Christmas travelers behind me.
****
"Brakes set, Shutdown checklist," the Captain said to me as we parked in Chicago. We quickly ran through the items as I reached back to unlock the door. As it swung open, I was hit with a bitter cold unlike anything I had felt since leaving Montana several years prior. I quickly reached up to turn on the heat forcing the air conditioning units to scream to life. If you've ever flown on a small jet like ours, you've probably been keenly aware of the ear-piercing screeching present as you board from the ground. That's how we get heat/cold into the cabin.
I finished putting away some of my charts and started getting ready for our next leg as passengers deplaned. After the last one left, I did my best to bundle up and glanced down at the outside temperature gauge on our display unit. It read a chilling -13 C. After doing some quick mental math, I realized that it was less than 10 degrees Fahrenheit. As I left the warm confines of my seat, I ventured outside to do a post-flight walk-around. In the minutes I spent making sure nothing had fallen off during the flight, the whipping Chicago wind tore at my face and ears. The humid cold wind made it feel like it was well below zero. I walked back into the airplane and saw another crew standing there.
"We're taking your plane." With almost 2 hours to wait in Chicago, swapping planes isn't uncommon but usually done if there is a maintenance issue. "Ours is broken. They couldn't close the cargo door. Well, I mean yours. It's yours now."
After gathering our gear, we left the safety of our airplane and walked into the terminal. Instead of quiet, I was greeted with near-chaos. The soothing Christmas music was drowned out by humanity. At the gate, there was a line of 20 people some yelling angrily at their cellphones. One woman appeared to be pleading for her life to the gate agent as if he were her executioner. Well, I guess we found the Christmas rush. We walked to the information board to find our flight to Memphis. The 8-40" TVs pretending to be computer monitors were littered with yellows and reds. The words Delayed and Canceled made the normally bland displays ironically festive. The subzero temperatures and snow across the north and east were having devastating effects to the schedules. This was going to be a long three days.
My Captain ran off to grab some breakfast and told me to meet him at our broken airplane. I wondered off alone into the angry crowd. Most people were too engrossed in their iPods, iPads, iBooks, or iSleeping to acknowledge my existence. Some though, were intent on letting me know how displeased they were that they wouldn't get home on time with looks and, even more shockingly, with words.
"Hey MAN!" One man snarkingly barked at me from the customer service line. "Can YOU fly my airplane to Cincinnati? Or are you like the rest of these worthless pilots and are TIRED!" I pretended not to hear him as I walked through the terminal. I guess being on duty for 16 hours isn't enough for this man. I understood his frustration and also understood that engaging him would only make matters worse so I walked on.
"Excuse me sir, are you a pilot?" Another man frantically asked me. After responding affirmatively, he came back and said "Oh thank God! You can definitely help me." After a long winded story about how he sat at his gate for 6 hours without someone telling him his flight was cancelled, I unloaded a bunch of "I'm sorry but I can't help yous." I'm not sure what he thinks I do, but running an airline is not one of them. What I WANTED to say was, "How did you not get up at your departure time and ask when your flight was going to board instead of sitting there in wonder for another 4 hours." Some people you cannot help.
When I arrived at the gate, thankfully maintenance was almost finished. I was able to retreat from the festive atmosphere of Chicago O'Hare into my version of the Grinch's snowy Mount Crumpit. Or were they all living there and I retreated back to Whoville? Doesn't matter. "Before Start Checklist."
****
The story doesn't change much over the next few days only the passengers get more desperate and I become less visible. In reality, the schedule on the following day kept me in the airplane and out of the airport. On Christmas Eve, I awoke in Cincinnati, merely hours from my childhood home and where my family would be gathering tonight. Unfortunately, I would not be joining them as I began my final leg of this Christmas journey. We departed for Houston, then Oklahoma City, then back to Houston again where we had to wait almost 2 hours before our scheduled departure back to St Louis. In Houston, St Louis fell after Spokane for those searching for their gate.
I needed a break from the cockpit and, honestly, wanted to be around people so I wandered bravely into the airport to eat. At 6:30 pm, Houston was nearly a ghost town. I walked to the food court to grab a table and there I joined at least 6 other crews doing the same. It almost could have been confused for an employee cafeteria if it hadn't been for the 2 passengers eating at one of the tables. I guess most of the travelers had made it home already. As I ate my sandwich and listened to Christmas music, I started to miss my family.
After finishing my Christmas Eve dinner turkey sandwich, I made my way back to the gate. This time people smiled when they made eye contact with me. Children were in their pajamas and parents were carrying wrapped presents. One young woman smiled as she talked to a loved one on the phone and ended the conversation with, "I can't wait to see you in an hour." A group of military troops in uniform sat anxiously awaiting their flight to Cleveland. I longed to join them.
An hour before the departure, I made my way to the airplane where the Captain had been sitting the entire time playing cards on his phone. "Man, that place is empty." I said to him. "What do you think about getting out of here early?" The beaten man in the left seat jerked his head up and smiled. "I think that's a fine idea." He jumped out of his seat and nearly slid down the hand rail of the stairs before disappearing into the terminal.
I ran through my preflight checklists and flows. By 20 minutes before departure, we were waiting for 2 more people. Like children waiting at the top of the stairs on Christmas morning, the Captain and I sat, seat belts fastened, shoulder harnesses locked, looking anxiously out of the front of the airplane for the last two. They appeared, a couple and as they walked through the door, the Captain shouted to the Flight Attendant, "Close us up!" Fifteen minutes before our scheduled departure time, we were full and being pushed away from the gate. In less than 5 minutes, we were launching ourselves into the cloudless starry Christmas Eve sky to St Louis.
It wasn't long after we began descending into St Louis that I came over the intercom. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we've begun our initial descent into St Louis." After I briefed them on the weather, I finished with, "Looks like we will be able to get to the gate 30 minutes earlier than planned. Thanks for flying United and United Express."
As we pulled up to the terminal, we found the only remaining parking spot. Every other airplane was sitting dark with the jet bridge pulled away to indicate it was sitting for the night. We joined the dormant planes at the end and as passengers deplaned, they shouted Merry Christmas to us in the front. Some even thanked us for getting them home early. One mother carried her toddler over her shoulder. The excitement was too much for that little fella. As the last person walked off the airplane, we finished turning everything off and joined the passengers in the terminal.
The door closed behind us and a quick glance at the arrivals board confirmed my suspicion that we were the last flight of the night. Appropriately enough, Burl Ives had been replaced with "Silent Night" and as we passed by security, families awaited our arrival.
The mood in the terminal was of joy. We saw people running into the arms of their loved ones; some shedding tears of joy as they embraced. The sleeping boy unwrapped a present right in the waiting area and screamed with delight. His grandparents had met them with a Christmas surprise. The last couple on the airplane walked hand-in-hand and were met by the elderly parents of one. They exchanged hugs while telling the story of their journey as they walked to the baggage claim. Most emotional was that of an Army Private, fresh from his tour in Afghanistan being welcomed by balloons and posters. "Welcome Home PVT Smith!" the posters read. A group of ten people waited, teary eyed and smiling as the young man approached. A round of applause started and echoed throughout the terminal as passengers and family alike saw the young man hug and kiss his wife for the first time in months if not a year.
I walked silently around the conversations and embraces yet completely invisible to their celebrations. I picked my way through the crowd I was able to reunite and walked alone to the exit. The click-clack of my suitcase again echoed through the empty terminal except for the whoosh of the door as I passed through it and into the silent, chilled December night. This year I would not make it home for Christmas even though I tried to give my family hope that I would be. It was Christmas Eve, after all and what is Christmas Eve without a little hope.
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