I spoke too soon. Thunderstorms have shut down the airspace encompassing the entire eastern seaboard. I unsuspectingly passed my phone over the boarding pass scanner and trudged into the jetway. Outside my tiny oval lens, a lazy sun unknowingly fuels a scorched airmass, stranding what I would imagine to be tens of thousands of people.
I’m now a prisoner. Living the nightmare you occasionally read about…sitting inside a hot airplane on a humid summer day, going nowhere. I was mistakenly lured into a trap. It’s now an infinite loop of renewed flight plans, second trips back to our gate to refuel, and I’m left wondering why we can’t just hit the reset button to cancel. I’ve requested to get off the airplane when we return to the gate. My desire was immediately repudiated with security concerns and FAA regs. I pulled a Dave and said “This kid ain’t goin fu*kin’ nowhere but out of this aluminum fu*kin’ tube boys…”
91 WHY Street 