American Eagle – Putting the Turkey Back in The Skies

I’ve learned the hard way that American Airlines has “issues” – lateness, canceled flights, etc. -- that don’t make it my favorite airline. But it shines compared to its junior partner, American Eagle, the “Tubbs” to AA’s “Crocket.”

American Eagle lost my luggage last night. I should just be glad I arrived in New York, I guess. At the gate next to ours in Logan Airport, a flight to Toronto was canceled due to weather that grounded a plane somewhere else. American Eagle wouldn’t put people up in hotels for free because it was “weather related” (I can’t wait to try that excuse with MY boss) but did offer folks who had to stay over discounts at a hotel. How nice, eh?

Meanwhile, our gate was being rushed by people whose 6:40 flight to JFK was canceled. They’d been rebooked on a 10 pm flight even though there were seats available on our flight, and the folks from the earlier flight didn’t find out about our flight until we were getting on. I’m sure that plan looked good on a computer somewhere. It was a mob scene.

So I get to New York. I hung around hopefully by the luggage carousels for an hour, but no luggage. I was one of seven people on my flight who trekked into the American Airlines/American Eagle “Lost Luggage” center. Would you believe it was a model of efficiency and ingenuity? Neither would I.

Then I grabbed a cab. Mohammad, my cab driver, told me “no credit card” when we were already approaching the highway. I have been in cabs from Mexico to Goose Bay to the Czech Republic – maybe I’m just lucky, but I’ve ALWAYS had the option to pay by credit card. For some reason, even though I had the cash, this ticked me off a great deal. Probably because I was so ticked off at American Eagle. So, I tried to get out (remember, I had no luggage to worry about, so why not?). He told me that it was illegal to walk on the highways. Foiled again!

Since I paid a flat fee, Mohammad gave me a Bullitt-worthy ride into mid-town Manhattan, windows wide open, as I called the hotel for directions (Mohammad’s not from around here). As we slowed down, I noticed the city smelled like someone had urinated on sweaty old gym socks and then left it to bake in the sun for a few days. Then I realized it wasn’t the city – it was Mohammad’s cab. I’m guessing there was an incident with bodily fluids in the back seat, which is why Mohammad kept his windows down. On the highway, that masked the smell well enough, but in slow traffic, my involuntary gag reflex was kicking in. And the one pair of clothes to my name now smelled like stale pee.

To distract myself, I started composing my eulogy: “That Sean was slow and plodding when he climbed hills in Labrador, but man, he flew like an eagle through the windshield when Mohammad slammed his urine-soaked cab into the bus.”

But there was no bus. We arrived safe and fairly sound, and I gave Mohammad a good tip so he could get the cab cleaned.

Then I checked in. On the way back down, as I went to buy myself a new toothbrush, etc, I got stuck in the elevator between floors.

So you can imagine my mood when, freed from the evil elevator and finally on the streets of New York after midnight, I ran across a Brick Oven Pizza restaurant. I bought an eggplant sub. And you know, maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but that was the best eggplant sub of my life.

Welcome to New York!

P.S. I called this morning and my luggage still hasn’t shown up. How many orange suitcases with the name tag “Sean Brodrick” can there be on one night flying from Logan to JFK?

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