The following is from an archive and features a moment of humor that wasn’t humorous at the time. It happened in 2017 and from time to time, I will share some thoughts from my past and my Minnesota column archives. I was happily married at the time and now I’m happily not married, but that’s a story for perhaps a cold winter’s night in front of a warm Wyoming fire in the dead of Winter.

Anyway, as fate would have it, my wife and I flew on United the same day they were dragging a doctor of another plane at the same airport because they were overbooked. We were there.

I call it, “We flew United... And kept our seats.”

As most of you know, we traveled to New York last week for the funeral of retired FDNY firefighter, Jimmy Lanza. I can assure you that this week’s column will not be as extensive as last week. Maybe. At this moment, I still have an hour and a few blank pages and a big hole in section C of Hometown Living. I think I can do some damage.

We were going to fly into the Big Apple. It was much worse than it sounded. Actually, the apple was tasty, but getting to it… was not.

Planes freak me out. I’ll start there. Actually, maybe not the planes so much as it is the people who own the planes, fly the planes, fuel the planes and… no, wait. It’s the planes that freak me out. I mean, you could have the most conscientious pilot in the world, flying confidently at a safe altitude when the plane decides to eat a flock of geese.

Cue the nosedive. Complete with a feathered boa. 

Also, if you think too much about it and consider you are really flying in an oversized aluminum can you would need a Valium. Because, just dropping from roof level would be painful, but dropping FROM SPACE; there’s no coming back from that.

Let’s go back to being dropped off at the airport by the kids with six large bags and a purse that for all intents and purposes should say, “Redimix” on the outside. Needless to say, my wife always takes the bags that roll. Evidently, she called Dibbs from the foundations of the earth. I think it was actually in our wedding vows where I promised to love, honor, cherish and carry all the groceries and every last heavy bag without rollers.

It was established. It became law. I learned my lessons well.

And. Are you ready for this?

We flew United. (OK, I could hear the gasps all the way into next week)

On Sunday, the ninth of April. 

In the year of our Lord, 2017. 

We flew United.

The day the doctor left skid marks. In the aisle. In the arms. Of the seat police.

Actually, there must have been a full moon out that night because it seemed like every person we ran into had protruding, pointed teeth poking out through their pickle-juice scowls. And their little green flying monkeys weren’t pleasant either.

Minneapolis terminal. Oh how the excitement turned to giggles and shrieks. The first encounter began with a new United check-in electronic kiosk that you have to navigate before they even allow you to go to talk to a real person. For an impatient and “running behind” traveler, I just want to say, “THAT’S NOT FUNNY.”

It cost me an extra $35 because I found myself pushing buttons at random and gathering the spewing paper tickets like I had just won at the slots in Vegas. They could make even bigger money if they put a “swear jar” over every machine. I’m just sayin’.

Because of the delays at ticketing, (don’t hear that one very often. Yeah, right.), we were afraid that we’d never get on the plane in time, but when we got to the gate, the lines were stretched back as far as Chanhassen with people trying to check their carry-ons. Something about overbooked flights in Chicago.

And of course, when something happens in Chicago, it never stays in Chicago – and paralyses the entire world. I am now so indoctrinated that I wake up here in Minnesota and stumble to the television where I check the weather report…  FOR CHICAGO.

So, now we had all the time in the world. It was time to start worrying about catching the connecting flight in Chicago on our way to New York. But first a trip to the gift shop where I was hoping to find some horse liniment for my shoulders from carrying the non-rollered bags. I had serious strap-burn.

Passing the many specialty food shops in route to the gift shop was especially painful on a morning where the rush and panic of getting to the airport afforded me no time in my schedule for a good breakfast. Oh, did I say, “a good breakfast?” I meant to say, NO breakfast.

I don’t know why I didn’t at least stop for a pretzel to tide me over until I got to the scrumptious meal they were serving on the plane. (Threw that in just to see if you were paying attention. Psyche.)

Oh yeah. Pretzels and a medium pop in an airport will cause you to have to put up your car for collateral and give blood at terminal B, gate 36, which is where all the medical planes are hangered. And, $12 for a small bag of almonds in the gift shop? Are you KIDDING me? So, as I couldn’t find anything for aching and bruised shoulders, I opted for the $4 fun-sized bag of M&Ms and coincidentally looked up at the television monitor and saw Hershey’s stock rising steadily. It must have been a good day for chocolate. At the airport.

I got back to the gate where I immediately found Robin consoling a woman in tears, people storming the ticket counter and the loud squawks coming over the intercom begging. BEGGING people to check all carry-on luggage as, “the plane is full and we are having a hard time trying to accommodate everyone, so please leave your bag with us and we will ‘forward’ it to its final destination.”

Which isn’t a bad thing IF your final destination is really where your bag is going. Trust me. It isn’t. It will have a better vacation than you’re having – make sure you train it to take pictures. 

I had nightmares of my last trip where the luggage was lost and when they finally delivered it, it came back to us complete with all kinds of stamps on my suitcase from such exotic places as Morocco, Portugal and of course, Cleveland. I still can’t figure out where the parrot came from that popped out of my garment bag. And all my belts were missing. I don’t even want to know.

Of course, my wife and I couldn’t get seats together though I booked the flights at the same time. 

Being one of the last couples to board, it was such a treat to finally walk down that gate tunnel to the plane and walk into the warm stench of disdain from all the disgruntled and “running late” passengers. All of them, looking at their watches and then up at me as if sending me a signal that this was all my fault. My mind flashed back to the kiosk incident, but they didn’t know that, so my return glare was simply a courtesy.

Oh, and then the fun begins when you come upon someone else sitting in your seat and you try to convince them that you are the rightful owner of that seat. But then again, now we know that there is never a sure thing when you have parked your keister in a seat that you have actually paid for. The money is out of your account and has been for months – and yet, there seems to be a mysterious disclaimer floating around the mysterious “cloud” – which has now gained legendary status with Stonehenge which they can’t explain either. Do NOT get me started.

I opened up my personal Hemisphere Travel Magazine which appears on every back seat of every United plane. 

Here are a couple of quotes and my injected and inferred comments in a parenthetical form that accompany Mr. Oscar Munoz’s kind greeting to every happy passenger. 

“Every day I see our people go the extra mile for our customers and for one another. (why just last week we tossed a guy from one of our planes to make room for one of my favorite stewardesses named ‘Bunni’). First, our Shared Purpose: ‘Connecting people. (ejecting people…) Uniting the world (Inciting the world). We fly right: On the ground and in the air, we hold ourselves to higher standards in safety and reliability. (We have first aid kits available if people accidentally fall on arm rests and are bleeding from the head.) We fly friendly: Warm and welcoming is who we are. (Hostile and welcoming you to come along peaceably or we will use force to drag you off our plane is who we are. You may be wounded by “friendly” fire.)

There is much more in the Munoz dialogue. Pick up a copy – it’s a hoot. My sides literally hurt from laughing so hard.

In light of recent “incidents,” I think the CEO should add to his greeting, “If you are reading this in MY plane, and make no mistake, this IS MY plane, I would like to remind you that none of these seats are yours. Though you have paid for it with valid currency gained from a job where you put your blood, sweat and tears in exchange for real money to buy a ticket to get home or on a delightful vacation, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. I have the power to remove you. I have my speed dial set for “militia” and I am not afraid to push the button. Thank you and have a wonderful trip. To the ‘Newest spirit of United.”

Well, I am now officially out of time and out of paper, so stay tuned for next week’s column when I get to actually explain the mood in Chicago on the day that the doctor needed a doctor. I think I shall entitle that piece, “Blood on the armrest.”