Thu, June 1, 2006

One of the reasons the airline industry is currently experiencing financial difficulties is that it's an absolute nightmare to travel by air. Even a well-prepared, savvy traveler will be confronted with myriad hassles, anxieties, and disappointments in the struggle to simply get from point A to point B. Leaving aside the pitiful farce of the security screening – misguided as it is, it's not the airlines' fault – there are still countless ways to get screwed. Any vacation that includes air travel will start and end with a miserable ordeal which hangs over the beginning of a trip and leaves a sour taste after it's over.

Now more than ever, it's time to heal. So rather than just bitch about my worst-ever day of air travel (Tuesday), I'm here to bitch about it and offer solutions. You're welcome, universe.

Air Traffic Control Delays

The Scenario: I arrive at the car rental place early so I can get on the shuttle early so I can get to the airport early so I can get through security early so I can get to the gate about an hour before the scheduled departure of my flight. Upon arriving there, I'm told the flight will be delayed half an hour. "We know many of you have connections," they say. (Ya think?! On a United flight to O'Hare?) "So we're trying to get that moved up." The official explanation is that things are slow in Chicago, so ATC is holding flights at their departure cities in order to lighten the load. Theoretically this makes sense, but only if you ignore every part of the problem. In practice, it's ludicrous. This means if the traffic should dissipate in Chicago, we're still four hours away because we haven't taken off yet. And it only creates more problems downstream because now they're flooding O'Hare with a planeload of people who need their flights rebooked.

My Solution: For one thing, actually try. When I'm in or around an airport, I see lots of people running and scurrying – how often are those people in an airline uniform? We're all running around like lunatics trying to keep their schedule, forcing ourselves to be absurdly early to avoid missing their deadlines, but when do they ever hurry for us? If time's getting short, clean the planes faster, arm the doors for departure faster, whatever it takes to try to get things back on schedule. As long as airline workers are looking at that "delayed" status as a release valve, there's no incentive to try to get back on track.

Also, I think it'd be a neat idea to get the plane in the air, free up the gate at LAX, and then work out the Chicago problem in the ensuing four hours before we land. If we get there and they find a way to land us only 30 minutes late, they salvage a lot of missed connections.

Telephone Service

The Scenario: By the time I board my plane, the flight has been delayed an hour. (So much for "trying.") We taxi away from the jetway, and then the pilot comes on to tell us we'll be delayed another 25 minutes. Considering my original layover at O'Hare was only 65 minutes, it seems unlikely that I'll make my connecting flight. So I dig out my cell phone and call the number in the back of "Hemispheres" magazine. (I actually start with the automated flight info line to make sure my connecting flight hasn't also been delayed; it hasn't.) I'm greeted by one of those stupidfuckingawful "voice activated" menu systems. Seriously, who likes these? Do companies actually think so little of us that they think we'll be happier if we're provided with the illusion that we're talking to a human? Because if that's the goal, it's either a deeply flawed illusion or a remarkably retarded human.

If you've faced these things, you know exactly what I mean. They take twice as long to use as push-button systems because first the recording has to greet you in a ridiculously folksy manner, and then he has to tell you how to talk to him. ("Hi! I'll get you that flight information you're looking for. You can say, 'Arrival Information' or, 'Departure Information.'") I wonder if the system would even recognize speech if anyone talked normally into it – I'm always hissing angrily through clenched teeth, and I assume those are the voiceprints they engineer it to recognize.

He asked me for my confirmation number, which is a six digit code – in my case, R52RDY. I spoke it slowly and clearly, and he came back with, RF2RGI. He asked me to use common first names, like "R as in Ralph," and say things like, "the number two," so I did. R52RCY – closer, but is there really such a name as "Cavid?" Unfortunately, this was as close as he would get to accurately understanding my confirmation number in – I'm not kidding – six minutes of trying. I think he actually gave me a few seven- or eight-digit codes. Each time he tried, I'd have to say, "No," like I was scolding a puppy, and he'd say, "Gosh, I'm sorry I'm having such a hard time understanding you. Let's try again." Six minutes of this before he gave up and connected me to an operator. Of course it was hard for him to understand! I'm on a flaky cell phone on a plane with the A/C whooshing and people chattering and the pilot and flight attendants squawking on the intercom every 20 seconds. How many calls to United's reservation help line come in this exact situation? Maybe 30%? That's okay, though, because another 50% are from people who are standing in nice, quiet airports.

My Solution: Abolish these useless voice menu systems for good. If your target audience is people who like to talk but can't press buttons on a phone keypad, then you've missed the mark by aiming at people who have just dialed a fucking telephone. The keypad-activated systems allow you to interrupt the message as soon as you know what number to press; most voice-activated systems wait until they've played the menu before they "listen" for your input. And even then, they'll only understand it if you stick to their predetermined phrasing, and you're on a crystal clear connection with no background noise. We've got an input device right there on the keypad, and it's not that much harder to use. Factoring in how often the system misinterprets a response, the keypad system is hundreds of times better.

If you insist on keeping voice-activated menus, at least have the decency to offer a numeric input option. I've used these before ("Say 'Yes' or press 1."), and they're still slower because it takes longer to list all the options, but at least you have a way to make yourself understood. And you don't have to stand there like an idiot while people listen to you scolding a machine.

Connecting Flights

The Scenario: I finally get through to an operator, who agrees that I'll miss my connection. Unfortunately, the next flight to Jacksonville won't leave until the following morning. Tracy politely books me on that flight, and I ask her how I go about obtaining a voucher from United to pay for my hotel room for the night. She says someone at O'Hare will have to help me with that, but the policy is that United does not take responsibility for delays due to weather, because weather is "out of our control." I mention that it's certainly out of my control, and her response is: "It's out of everyone's control." Well, thanks, but I wasn't looking to build a community. I just don't see why I have to be the one who assumes responsibility. After all, I wouldn't even be in Chicago if not for them.

My Solution: How about, contingencies? Checking other carriers or other routes? I know it's a challenge having hundreds of flights operating every day, but obviously this isn't the first time weather has delayed a flight. Don't they plan ahead for this stuff?

But even contingency planning won't eradicate the problem entirely. Things will still go wrong. In that case, all I ask for is a little accountability. "Weather is not under our control."? Sure, fine. But then, what is? Mechanical failure? Pilot error? Accidents are out of everyone's control. But if you're in a business that transports people through the air, you assume the risk of weather. Just as Amtrak assumes the risk of a bridge being out. It's not your fault if it happens, but it's up to you to provide a solution, because your part of the agreement is to get me from City A to City B. I fulfilled my end. I showed up at the specified time and I took my shoes off when I was asked. If I'd had a flat tire or gotten sick and stayed home, I'd not be blaming you for these incidents outside my control. If you can't transport me from City A to City B, on the schedule we agreed upon, the reason is irrelevant. It's up to you to compensate for any additional expenses until the problem is solved. I've already stretched the budget for this trip, a healthy portion of which was the airfare, and I'm expected to shell out for another night's accommodation and two more meals? And, let's leave me out of the equation for a minute (reluctant as my ego is to allow such a thing): I'm actually pretty flexible financially, compared to a lot of travelers. Imagine a family of five taking the same trip. They're barely making ends meet on two salaries, but they've flown out to the coast to see Grandma because she's nearing the end and it does her good to see the kids. They'll be pinching pennies for months to pay for the trip, and now they have to buy dinner and breakfast for the whole brood, plus pay for a hotel room, all because United can't find another plane to send to Jacksonville after 7pm. How is that fair?

Unforeseen problems for a company running a business are just that: problems for the company, not the consumer. If you hire a caterer for your wedding reception and they find weevils in the cake mix, they don't send you to the store to buy more flour. Offering a service means assuming responsibility for the means and materials necessary to bring that service to the customer. Of course United doesn't control the weather, but it's on their end of the balance sheet. Hilton doesn't control the weather either, but if a storm puts a tree branch through the window, they'll move me to another room.

Flight Delays

The Scenario: I arrive in Chicago, ready to do battle over this hotel issue, because it's absolutely ludicrous. However, the departure board tells me my 7pm flight home has been moved to 9:49pm. I walk all the way to gate F12, where I learn that the flight has been moved to gate E2a and will depart at 8:00. I rush over to that gate, and there are no gate agents yet, despite the fact that the departure time is now only 40 minutes away. I cross the hall to the Customer Service desk, because I need to make sure I still even have a seat on this flight. While in line, I navigate the voice menu once again and learn that I am still ticketed for the Tuesday flight, so I can just get on the plane and leave at 8:00. I grab a Coke and a snack, and by the time I'm back at the gate, it's 7:50 and still no attendants. I check a nearby departure board and I learn that the flight is now leaving at 8:30 from gate C7. Strange how there's no notice of this anywhere at gate E2a.

Another long hike brings me to gate C7. The flight is moved to 8:55. I pick up a little pizza for dinner. The flight is moved to 9:00. I go to get a magazine, and return to yet another empty gate. The departure board tells me, at last, that the flight has been canceled. Back to another Customer Service line, while I confirm on the phone that I am still ticketed for the Wednesday morning flight as well. But I'll have to come in early, because I can't print my boarding pass until Wednesday, despite that I'm already in the building. (On the phone, Cindy helpfully points out that I can print my boarding pass if I have access to the Internet. Well, yes, I would have access if you'd gotten me home, but as it is I'm stranded in unconnected limbo.)

It turns out the long line I'm in isn't a general Customer Service line; I was mistaken, and it's actually a line for a canceled flight to Boise. Thankfully, I'm able to get the same information that I would have at the other line: United won't pay for a hotel, but they'll give me a number to call for low rates on last-minute bookings. Not that these rates are particularly low. It boils down to this: if you run a hotel near the airport, a rainy evening is a license to print money. And the local and state governments will be pleased at the extra occupancy tax income. Which answers my earlier question: why the hell would anyone put their airline hub in a city so susceptible to weather?

My Solution: I'm still furious about this hotel thing, but we've covered that. The solution here is: if a flight is canceled, why not handle the displaced passengers from that flight right there at the gate? That's where everyone is. That's where there's an empty desk, and (presumably) a gate agent or two. Sending everyone to one centralized Customer Service line simply adds to the misery. I walked past that line on my way out, and it included at least 80 people. At 10 o'clock at night. (My theory: they do it precisely in order to create a giant line, hoping to deter people from seeking customer service. If the customer gives up, they win.)

Hotel Shuttle

The Scenario: United isn't the only company devoted to making air travel miserable. The O'Hare airport has located its hotel shuttle stand across four lanes of traffic and down an access road. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to photograph the signage that leads the weary traveler to this place, because there's no way for me to describe how confusing it is. An overhead sign indicates that the shuttle stand is through the door below, a sign on the door says I must return to the terminal to find the stand, and a sticker on the floor in the doorway points to the left (or right) for the same thing. I find a friendly O'Hare employee, who gives me detailed directions to the shuttle stand, and after following those directions exactly, I find myself standing in traffic. I see a shuttle for my hotel, which seems to be pulling away from picking people up, so I cross to it and knock on the window. The driver flails his arms and says No. I ask him where I should go, then, and he waves frantically in a nondescript direction. I suppose I have him to thank, though, since I finally locate the shuttle stand.

On a night full of canceled flights like this, it's like a refugee camp. Dozens of people wander aimlessly – all of us crowding around each new arriving bus in hopes of finding salvation. The drivers are like the Lightoller character in Titanic: frantically trying to maintain order among a panicked mob. By the time I get to the shuttle stand, that same driver is just pulling up, and the crowd sets upon him. He starts pushing people back, turning them away, and shouting in broken English something about "Door #2." (It's not a Monty Hall reference; there are three or four doors along the shuttle stop building, and we're at Door #3 because that's where the hotel reservation agent told me to go.) It's impossible to understand what he's saying, between his accent and the loud engines and the aforementioned mob, but he seems to be saying there are multiple Holiday Inn Selects and multiple separate shuttles. I notice that his is plastered with the word "Rosemont," when I've been told to get on a shuttle for "Holiday Inn Select O'Hare." So I back away and leave him to the animals.

I call information and ask for the Holiday Inn Select O'Hare; I am promptly connected to a Radisson somewhere in the city. They're friendly enough to patch me through to 1-800-HOLIDAY (and it is beginning to feel like a bit of a holiday, this voyage – the festive celebration of Homicidal Sociopathic Rage Day). At last I'm connected to the hotel that has my reservation, and my heart sinks as he answers the phone, "Holiday Inn Select Rosemont." I confirm that I should've taken the previous shuttle after all, and I wait for the next one. When it arrives, its driver (who speaks broken English in an entirely new dialect) insists that no one will be allowed to stand during the short trip to the hotel, which means some of us must take the third shuttle. Thankfully, I'm not among them, but by now they are my brothers, and I bleed for their wounds.

My Solution: There are a lot of problems here, but it begins with the fact that everyone knows there will be a huge amount of displaced passengers coming in – they have the reservations, they see the rainstorm – and nobody does anything about it. Speed up the shuttle routes; take on more people; add a driver if you have to. It's crazy to expect people who've spent the last few hours standing in lines and waiting for bad news to stand around in the humid, drizzling rain and wait some more.

Also, I really think the hotels should prioritize friendliness, courtesy, and communication skills in their drivers. If that first guy had spent 20 seconds explaining the situation, I could've found the right place and the right shuttle much faster. If he'd stopped and clearly communicated to people what the mix-up was about Door #2 vs. Door #3, a lot of us would have found our correct shuttle more quickly.

Not to mention the signage. Dear lord, the signage.

Holiday Inn Select

The Scenario: Initially thrilled to be booked onto the top floor, I soon realize the drawback: the storm has saturated the roof, and my ceiling is leaking. (No big deal, I wasn't using my ice bucket anyway.) I jump in the shower to wash away the shame and anguish, and the shower has no water pressure because HI Select has added a "fogless mirror" in the shower as a cute little bullet point to put on their pamphlets for business travelers (leaving out the half of business travelers who don't shave their faces), and the connection where this mirror attaches to the shower head in order to heat its insides and keep it fogless is leaking. So, a mirror I don't want is siphoning off all the water, and I'm forced to shampoo my hair in a trickle.

My Solution: I don't really have a solution to this one. By this point, I thought seriously about killing myself. Not because I had it so bad – in the grand scheme, I didn't – but I was just so exhausted I didn't want to deal with any further disappointment. I fantasized about returning to the airport, stealing a gun off a security guard and shooting people until the authorities came and took me down. It seemed, oddly, easier than getting up the next day at 5:30 and going through it all again.

***

So, there you have it. You can see how an otherwise delightful trip to LA (friends! weather! Baby Mulder!) was tarnished by one day's horrific roller coaster of disappointment and discomfort. A giant company brings me to nervous breakdown, and the only recourse I really have is to write an angry letter. I'll try it, I guess. Maybe they'll pay for my hotel room; I think they should pay for the flight, too. Instead, I bet they'll pay for nothing. They don't even serve dinner on the planes any more. But they're not ashamed to ask for federal bailouts. Gross mismanagement, after all, is out of their control.

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