Going Nowhere Fast

By Rick Horowitz

Dear Kindly Airline Boarding-Gate Lady:

I'm writing to thank you for all your help the other day with my flight from Milwaukee to Washington.

I hope you don't think I'm being forward, writing you a letter like this when we haven't been properly introduced and I don't even know your name. It's not the kind of thing I normally do -- writing to strangers, I mean, and writing "nice" instead of poking fun -- but it just seemed like the right thing to do under the circumstances.

The circumstances, I'm sure you remember, were fog. Lots of fog. Normally, when I get to an airport at 7:20 in the morning for an 8:15 flight, I figure I'll be taking off around 8:15. Not this time. This time, I could tell from all the fog on the freeway that we wouldn't be leaving anywhere near 8:15. I just had no idea how long we'd be waiting, and how long we'd be together.

Your colleague down at the check-in counter had said they wouldn't be making a decision on my flight until 8:15, so I grabbed a quick breakfast before I headed over to the gate -- your gate. A good move.

I didn't really notice you much at first. I was too busy settling in, grabbing a seat and a place to pile my carry-on things. But there you were with your microphone at 8:05, telling us that the 8:15 decision had been put off until 8:40. First they had to decide whether the plane we'd be taking to Washington could even leave Madison, where the flight was originating, to get to Milwaukee. There was lots of fog in Madison, too.

You were back at the microphone at 8:20: Nothing was moving out of Madison, you said. They wouldn't be deciding on the Washington leg of the flight until 11:15!

Now people started crowding around you, looking for answers, looking for alternate routes. Could they catch something to Chicago and make a connection there? How long would the layover be? What about their luggage? Or were they better off sitting tight and waiting for that plane from Madison? You were helpful, but realistic, as you walked them through their options. You never ruffled. You never rattled.

At 9:55, the fog was beginning to lift, and you told us that we might be able to leave by noon. At 10:40, you told us that our plane hadn't been released from Appleton yet. Appleton? Appleton, you explained. The flight from Madison had been canceled, but they had an extra plane in Appleton, and they might be able to get that one here. You'd let us know, you said.

Meanwhile, you stayed at your post, on your feet, checking your computer for the latest developments. If you ever took a bathroom break, I never noticed. If you ever had a thing to eat or drink, I never saw it.

At 11:00, you told us that the computer had the Appleton plane ready to leave for Milwaukee right that minute. If the computer was right, you said, the plane would be here by 11:35, and we could leave at 12:05. But before you got our hopes up, you wanted to make sure the plane had actually left the ground.

There was no sign of that -- and there wouldn't be for a while yet. In fact, it was 11:40 when you finally got word that the Appleton plane had just pushed away from its gate. It would arrive, you said, at 12:11.

It arrived at 12:10. And at 12:18 -- more than four hours after we were supposed to leave -- you took the microphone one more time. They were waiting for the food-service truck to arrive, you told us. Once the food was on board, they'd be ready for passengers. Ready for us. And you said one more thing: We'd be getting a new gate agent. Your shift was coming to an end.

"If you have any other questions before I leave," you offered, "let me know."

There weren't any other questions. You'd answered all our questions, all morning long. You'd stuck with us through thick (fog) and thin. There was only one thing left to do -- which is why we all broke into applause for you.

I hope you didn't think we were being forward.

Thanks for everything.

5/12/98