Christmas Adventures with the Tyrant
A less depressing Christmas tale.

There are a myriad of interesting things that happen to me when I travel. Well, they are interesting to me, at least. You can decide for yourself if they are interesting to you.

I love to travel. Love, love, love it. And contrary to the many fears about air travel these days, I love to fly. Love, love, love it. In fact, I prefer to fly over driving, walking, horseback, camel, sailing, rickshaw, you name it. If I could take a plane to work everyday, I would.

For the Christmas holiday, I flew to spend time with my parents who live out of state. I usually fly American Airlines, but this time my Dad found a great deal on Frontier Airlines. Apparently Frontier is big in some parts of the country. But it's not so much here where I live. In fact, there is only one Frontier gate in the entire gigantic airport. Nice.

I left after work and headed to my usual off-airport parking lot. Except I took the wrong freeway (as I've done in the past) and managed to take the longest possible route to said parking lot. The last time I took the wrong freeway, I made a mental note to not do that again next time. I know the right way to get there. But as is typical with my mental notes, I failed to remember it this time on the way to the same parking lot, and I did the same exact thing I did the last time.

Oh well. I had plenty of time before my flight. I decided to enjoy the scenic tour of the city's freeway system.

Upon arrival at the parking lot, I was informed that the only available parking was valet parking. I had no idea such a thing existed at a long term parking lot. It was the same price as the usual parking fee, but for valet they keep your keys. I didn't particularly like this idea, but not having time at this point to look for another lot (having taken the longest route ever to get to the lot), I nervously ventured into the lot and drove to the valet area.

Many cars were lined up here, awaiting valet. I was still unclear what this meant for my Jeep over the next few days, but there was nothing I could do about it by now. I'm used to choosing a good spot, then going through my 'leave my car in a foreign lot' ritual of making sure everything in the Jeep is out of sight, everything is locked up, and the front windshield cover is in place. I had no opportunity to do this with the valet. I had guys knocking on my window to get out of the car, another guy asking me questions about when I would be returning, and still another guy trying to pry open the back of the Jeep to get to my suitcase. I was very confused and overwhelmed.

But, I managed to remember to take the Jeep key off the ring of my other keys before turning it over to the question-asking valet guy. No need to give them full access to my house while I was away. I handed him the keys, said a quick prayer for the safety of my Jeep, then bid her farewell hoping I'd see her again in a few days. I pictured the valet guys roadtripping about town in my cool Jeep, four-wheeling in my non-4x4 SUV, bumping into things and using up all the gas in the car. I feared returning to a battered and bruised Jeep that would be mad at me for leaving her in the hands of these young guys who were undoubtedly wreckless punks with no standards about providing good and trustworthy parking service to loyal customers.

I had no control. I was worried. I feared for the Jeep.

Anyway, the parking lot shuttle took me to my gate. I can't be sure, but I may have heard the driver laugh at me as I reported to him that I was flying Frontier. He dropped me off at the lonely Frontier gate, where tumbleweeds blow by and crickets chirp in the silence.

With the heightened terror security level and the threats of busy holiday travel, it is well-known to arrive at the airport with plenty of time to make it through the long lines and the security checkpoints. As I entered the door for the Frontier check-in counter, however, I found almost no lines of people, and an eerily quiet terminal. I waited in line for less than five minutes, handed over my suitcase to the check-in lady, and received my boarding pass.

I headed over to the security screening area, removed almost all of my clothing and personal belongings, and placed them in one of those gray plastic tubs, which I'm sure are highly sanitary having been used by all kinds of people, all day, every day, since screening was invented at airports. I wandered through the metal detector, then collected my things. The security people were all very nonchalant about the entire process. I apparently posed no threat to national or airplane security, and even my colorful underwear didn't seem to phase them. I got dressed and continued on my way.

I generally like to find my gate, then wander the terminal if I have time to spare. In this instance I had about an hour to waste before boarding would begin for my flight. Most of the shops were closed in this deserted Frontier terminal, so I quickly had about all the fun I would be able to have before settling in to read a magazine and wait to get on the plane.

The plane was late arriving at the gate, so this meant my flight would be delayed. Soon enough, people began to gather at the gate, and it appeared the flight would be full after all. We waited for the plane to be ready for loading. The boarding process began with rows 16-23. I looked at my ticket. I was in row 23.

Yippee.

I hadn't realized row 23 would be the last row on the plane. I'm generally not a fan of the last row on a plane, mostly because the seats don't lean back. This last row experience, however, would soon top any other last row experience I'd ever had.

I followed the line of people onto the plane and made my way to the very, very back. I noticed my seat would thankfully be the aisle seat. I'm always a fan of the aisle seat. It's my preferred seat. But as I arrived at the butt of the plane, I noticed a small asian guy sitting in the aisle seat. I pointed to the seat and smiled to let him know that was my seat, but he just smiled back.

"23A," he said, very proud of himself and happy to be there. Unfortunately, 23A was the window seat, which I showed him on the overhead signage indicating that his 23A butt was currently in my 23C aisle seat and he needed to move. It was at this point that I realized the small asian guy didn't speak very much english. And remembering back to an hour or so ago, he was the same small asian guy that had been the other person in line at the Frontier counter, having a very awkward and unintelligible conversation with the ticket counter lady. They were trying to figure something out about something, but I don't think either one of them ever understood each other.

23A finally understood me, however, and moved inside the row to his seat. I took my seat, and promptly realized that I would be in hell for the next hour and a half.

Not only do the back row of seats on the oldest Frontier plane ever not recline, they are also the most uncomfortable seats I've ever sat in, plane or otherwise. A chair made entirely of nails, barbed wire, tacks, and sand paper would be more comfortable. The Frontier chairs are built concave to accomodate the natural curve of the spine, I suppose. But when these chairs are installed in a beyond upright position (actually leaning slightly forward), it forces you to sit like a hunchback, awkwardly bent over to fit into the curve of the seat. Not to mention, the headrest is oddly placed so that it hits most people of average height right in the back of the head. Not in the neck where it would be comfortable to lean your head back. But right in the back of the head, forcing you to either sit up perfectly straight for the entire flight, or lean your head forward while hunched over. This is something that could have possibly been relieved if the chair could lean back, but that's just not possible in the back row.

Then, there's the leg room and personal space issue. I'm used to American Airlines, with extra leg room. Here at Frontier, they apparently prefer negative leg room. They seem to have actually taken it away from the back row. It's like they put in all the seats on the plane, then realized they needed to add in one more row to make an official 'back row', so they crammed in row 23. I have long legs, and I was having a hard time. People with longer legs than mine would never have fit in that seat. Seat 22C in front of me was literally in my lap.

Leg room? Only if you don't actually have legs. Then there's plenty of room.

Incidentally, seat 22C was apparently occupied by the brother of tennis stars Venus and Serena Williams. I don't know that they have a brother, but I had the pleasure of staring in close range at the back of a corn-rowed, beaded head of someone I came to know as Sonoma Williams, for an hour and a half. Once he leaned his chair back, he might as well have been sitting in my lap.

As the plane began take off and ascent (about thirty minutes later than scheduled), I tried to get interested in my book, hoping the story I was reading would take my mind off of the scoliosis I was developing in my spine. But as the plane angled upward, I was suddenly aware of a lady stumbling down the aisle towards the back of the plane. She was not a flight attendant. I was confused. This was a bizarre and uexpected event. I thought everyone knew not to get out of their seat when the plane is pointed straight up in the air.

The flight attendants jumped into action, reminding the woman that we were still in take-off mode and that she should be seated with her seatbelt on. I immediately noticed that the lady was drunk, and she was trying to explain to the flight attendant that she thought she was going to be sick. Then I noticed she was standing right over me.

Thanks, I thought. I'm crammed in the back of a plane, and I have nowhere to go when the puke starts flying.

The flight attendant grabbed a giant plastic bag and put the lady back in her seat. I buried my head in my book to block out the situation, which wasn't hard since my head, even when lifted, was still buried in the book in my lap.

When the drinks were served, row 23 was a whole extra set of fun circumstances. Sitting hunched over, now with a crick in my neck from not having anywhere to put my head, and with Sonoma leaning back into my personal space, I pulled out the seatback tray for my Pepsi. I always prefer Coke, but thanks to Frontier, they announced they would be 'proudly serving Pepsi products.' Fortunately I didn't have enough space to make a fuss about the Pepsi. I somehow managed to balance my book, the tray, the Pepsi, and my head long enough to drink the Pepsi before the end of the flight. But as uncomfortable as it was for me, I was very thankful not to be the poor young asian guy crammed in the corner with his tray, unable to communicate in ways we would understand. Even being a tiny fellow, he looked terribly uncomfortable.

There were also no windows that far back in the plane. Where you would normally look to the side to see the clouds or the ground floating by, we could look and see plane wall. So literally, we were stuck back there as in a cocoon or a cave. Cut off from the world and too hunched over to do anything about it. I do not suffer from claustrophobia, but I came pretty close to contracting it back in row 23.

The one good thing about seat 23C was that it is conveniently close to the bathroom. Of course, the absolute worst thing about seat 23C was that it was dangerously close to the bathroom, frequented by people who seemed to hold everything they had for the day until we were mid-flight with no escape for people crammed in row 23. The smells, the sounds, the horror of person after person entering and leaving the bathroom located directly behind my seat was enough to make me want to claw my way out of the bottom of the plane and take my chances out in the ozone. Unfortunately I was too hunched over in my seat to be able to worm my way out to fresher circumstances.

Once the bathroom traffic died down, things calmed down a bit for row 23. After my Pepsi, I reached down for my purse underneath the seat. I set it down in my lap, looked for some gum, then returned the purse to the floor. I then noticed that my light khaki pants had a sticky brown spot on them. I was very confused. My Pepsi was already gone without mishap, so how had this Pepsi-like spot appeared on my pants? I picked up my purse and noticed it was dripping wet on the bottom. Nice. The floor contained what I hoped to be someone else's Pepsi, camouflaged by the dark, old carpet of the world's oldest Frontier plane. That Pepsi could have been stagnating down there for years. And now it was attached to the bottom of my purse, and the front of my pants.

I un-wedged myself from my seat in row 23 and turned around to the bathroom. I washed my hands, then grabbed some paper towels. Wedged back into my seat, I put the paper towels on the floor underneath the seat. They were immediately soaked through with brown liquid. Not sure what to do or where to put my purse to avoid the Brown Liquid of Row 23, I gave up and prayed for the flight to be over.

Soon, the pilot came over the intercom to let us know we would be landing in about twenty minutes. The tiny asian guy didn't understand what he'd said, so he turned to me and began asking me a question. I repeated what the pilot had said, motioning downward, hoping to indicate that we would be 'down' soon. The tiny asian guy seemed satisfied with my efforts. He sank back into his hole in the corner.

As we touched the ground and began our taxi to the gate, the right side of the plane suddenly went dark. In fact, the only light on in the main cabin was my overhead reading light. The rest of the plane was pitch black. It was odd.

The flight attendant came on the intercom and announced that we might notice the right side of the plane was dark. This was because they had cut power to the right engine, meaning nothing on the right side of the plane would work for the remainder of our time on the plane. I didn't quite know what to make of this. First, I was thankful they didn't decide to cut the engine while we were in the air. And second, I was suddenly the object of much interest as people turned to glare at seat 23C with my light on. I pretended not to notice. I just wanted off the plane.

Of course, having left thirty minutes late, we were at least thirty minutes late arriving at our destination. The flight attendants announced that people with connections needed to be let off the plane first, and they must hurry as the flights they needed to catch were the last flights of the day. This wasn't a problem for me since I had no connection, and I was in the butt of the plane. Everyone on the plane was already ahead of me. I could do whatever I wanted to in the back of the plane and it wouldn't affect anyone.

But I was having a tough time un-wedging myself, so I missed the opportunity to do whatever I wanted in the back of the plane.

People sat in their seats and were very accommodating to the four people needing off the plane to catch another flight. We waited patiently. . . until the flight attendants came back on with the announcement that we now needed to hurry up and get off the plane, as this was the last flight of the night and they needed to clean the plane and finish up for the evening. First they make us wait, then they rush us off.

Frontier Airlines, ladies and gentleman.

My flight home yesterday was much less eventful. When I received my boarding pass and noticed I was set for seat 23E, I promptly headed to the gate and asked the person at the counter if I could change my seat. She had one seat available, 16B, a middle seat. I gladly and enthusiastically accepted it. The counter person looked at me strangely. Make me sit with a fat guy in my lap. Make me hold three screaming babies the entire flight. Dangle me out the window. I don't care. Just don't make me sit in the back row again.

The plane took off, flew, and landed. I rode the shuttle back to the parking lot. Once there, I was taken directly to the Jeep, which was magically parked in a covered parking space. Had I parked her myself, she would have been in an uncovered and more affordable spot. When the valets park your car in a covered spot, the fee is the same as uncovered. This made me happy. She appeared to be scratch and dent free. Everything seemed in place. I still had half a tank of gas. Just as I'd left her.

The Jeep had been well taken care of.

My house was still standing when I arrived there.

I was home.

All was well.

C.T.