To the airline I had never taken before, I was really trying to keep my mind open. I was told by people before me that it was the cheapest to fly with you, and that was exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t start to hear the horror stories until after I purchased tickets. I just sat and listened to the lack of space on the airplanes and the chairs that were closer to folding chairs than armchairs. I assumed with a bad airline would come terrible people to travel with, the ones who always complain to the stewardess for something impossible, the ones who think it would be a good idea to bring a baby on board, the ones who make the airplane smell like B.O. and whatever sauce was on their lunch. I was told all these things, and I made my assumptions, but I wanted to keep my mind open. I didn’t want to listen to the woman sitting next to me on a slightly less cheap airline as she warned us. I didn’t want to hear about how friends thought they were going to die during landing or how the plane would shake so violently in the air, and no one seemed to acknowledge it beyond turning on the seatbelt sign. I was trying hard not to make any assumptions.
There were two flights with an hour transfer in-between. The first flight took off early in the morning with no problems. I slept the entire time, never being jostled awake by a screaming baby or the plane crash. I hadn’t even realized the plane was landing until the wheels touched the ground with a jolt a little more forceful than I was used to. When the seatbelt sign went off, and people got up to gather their things and exit through the back and front of the plane, I decided that everyone who talked to me previously was being dramatic. Sure, the airline wasn’t the best, but for how much I paid, it was totally fine. Passengers were shuttled from the plane onto cramped buses, driving us less than fifty feet to the nearest airport entrance. From the tarmac, I could see the surrounding mountains and smell the nearby saltwater. Tall, green trees blocked the view of sandstone apartments that made up a city of tourists and natives, all bathing in the warmth and fresh air of the tip of Italy. I wished there was more time to see the city that I read about, heard dreams about. This was the place movie stars went when vacationing, where the wine was rich and the people were cultured.
I got the time I wished for. Although, I never stepped foot outside of the airport. The hour until the next flight ticked down as my friend and I searched the airport for water that we didn’t have to pay for and WiFi that actually worked. Eventually giving up, we sat down by the gate and waited for the plane to board. The time came, and everyone gathered their bags and lined up to have boarding passes scanned and carry-ons sized. Through Gate Six, and into the glass breezeway connecting the plane to the airport. I should’ve known something was wrong when the father of two behind me started questioning his wife about the location of the plane. Five minutes of waiting in the suffocating glass case became ten and that became 20. The only thing that moved was the sun, casting shadows and blinding rays on unprotected bodies.
Twenty became 30, and 30 to 40, and my decently-charged phone was now running low on battery. With no WiFi in the breezeway, the only explanations my friend and I received were from the broken English of the flight attendants when they made announcements in Italian— and that was only if they stood near us and saw our confusion.
It took almost an hour for the airline to escort us back into the airport, and tell us that our flight hadn’t landed yet. The plane wasn’t here, and that was the only answer we got when discussing what was going on. When would it be here? They didn’t know. What happened? They weren’t telling us. Where was the plane? Not here.
The gate was getting crowded, and people were getting upset. Business Women were on the phone, complaining, and snapping pictures of the incorrect information on the gate screen. Men were pacing and demanding an answer that the airline couldn’t provide at that moment. Children were oblivious and continued to run around and scream like the world was their playground. Sitting on the cold, marble ground of the terminal, I watched the kids and decided at that moment that I would never bring something as obnoxious into this world as a young boy who entertained himself by screaming nonsense and burping for laughs.
The full flight to Malta all sat down by the gate, watching as the estimated departure time continued to be pushed back. The sun started to fall, and every time I looked at the time, I was reminded of the fact that I was supposed to be on the beach, not in an airport. The first half of the flights made me think that you couldn’t be that bad; I really thought people were just exaggerating the negative aspects of flying with you. But with one hour turning into six, I reflected on the warnings given to me and realized that no one mentioned unexplainable delays. I heard about feeling like people would die in the air and how you were exactly what I would pay for; there was never a mention of no communication and five euro vouchers given out for dinner because you were so terribly sorry with what was happening. Five euros didn’t get me a dinner; it got me a cannoli.
I was hungry, tired, and frustrated when the estimated time for the latest departure approached and didn’t change. Everyone lined up once again. Our boarding passes were scanned and bags sized. We were guided into the glass breezeway, much cooler now that the sun was close to setting. My friend and I stood there, with so many other anxious people, waiting to board the plane. Ten painful minutes passed in the breezeway, and I started considering the possibility that you would cancel the flight. I wasn’t the only one. An insurance form was being passed around, and in the fine print, I read that you would pay me back for if this flight is canceled. At that point, no money would cure the dissatisfaction you had given me.
The flight attendant made her way to the front of the breezeway, and I held my breath. I waited for her to tell everyone to go back to the airport. The entire glass room held their breath. The flight attendant opened a door for us and started to lead people down to the runway. Around me, there was a collective sigh. I didn’t let myself be relieved; I wouldn’t be relieved until the plane was in the air.
A half an hour of standing on some stairs and five minutes in a fully stuffed airport shuttle, and you finally provided a plane. I got off the bus and went to the back of the plane to board. I slid into my seat and waited. The problem for the delay was the fact that you changed the arrival time of the plane; sitting on the plane, I knew I shouldn’t be worried that something was going to go wrong, I was literally sitting in the solved problem. Even so, I didn’t breathe out until the plane ran for the sky and lifted above the clouds. The bump of the turbulence was nothing compared to staying in an airport for longer than expected. In the air, you explained yourself. The plane was unable to land so it circled until the fuel got low; still not clear for landing, you ordered the plane back to Malta for a refueling stop. You halted the plane in Malta until you knew it would be cleared for landing then you sent back the plane and all its passengers, equally distressed as those of us waiting in Italy. You said that the plane wasn’t cleared due to weather, but I remember standing in the glass breezeway and looking into the blue skies. I didn’t care for the explanation. I wanted my time back; I wanted my half-day in Malta. At least I got the night.
The flight was 20 minutes, straight up and straight down. We arrived and I was the first to clap in the back of the plane— I meant for it to be sarcastic, but others around me took it seriously and joined in with much enthusiasm.
Two days later, as I was boarding a plane to get back to the Netherlands, I saw one of your planes on the runway waiting to be boarded. I made sure to flip off the empty plane before hopping on another airline with a promise to always listen to warnings, and maybe do some research before buying tickets.