My mother tells the story of the time she was flying in a small jet that encountered serious turbulence. The pilot came on the speaker and said: "If there are any really heavy passengers, could you please move to the back of the plane? We need to stabilize the tail."
I was reminded of this story when I recently traveled to Maastricht (that's the Netherlands to you) and Amsterdam. My mother's experience was almost a * MOVIE MOMENT *, the kind of scene Woody Allen might have included in one of his films (had he been a middle aged woman on her way to Vegas). I was kind of hoping that perhaps I would have my own * MOVIE MOMENT * at some point in the trip.
My search began 15 minutes into the flight from Toronto, when a pair of attendants, one carrying a first aide kit, walked past my seat. One turned to the other and said: "He's in the other aisle," and they walked back. A couple of minutes later, the pilot announced that if there was a doctor on the plane, he or she should please let one of the stewards know.
Tantalizing possibilities opened up. Was somebody seriously ill, possibly dying? What could a doctor in philosophy do in such a situation? And, perhaps the most important question of all: if you have to sit next to a corpse during a trans-Atlantic flight, can you claim their frequent flyer points?
We landed in Amsterdam without incident, so, not knowing quite how the situation was resolved, I didn't think it could qualify as my * MOVIE MOMENT *. As it happened, I had a of time to ponder the question.
Ten minutes after landing, the pilot announced that the man who moved the ramps that allowed passengers to disembark couldn't be found, but that the call had gone out and it was only a matter of time. After 40 minutes, we were asked to return to our seats: the ramp had been put in place, but the plane didn't quite line up with it, so the plane would have to be moved. Ten minutes after that, we were told that there had been a miscommunication and that the plane was in the right place but the ramp wasn't, and the man who moved the ramp would have to be found again so that he could move it into the correct position.
We finally got off the plane about an hour and a quarter after landing. This might have been a * MOVIE MOMENT *, inasmuch as I had to make a connecting flight to Maastricht, but I made with half an hour to spare. Hardly the stuff of drama.
Funnily enough, I had a similar experience on the flight back from Amsterdam to Toronto. About 10 minutes after the plane was supposed to take off, the pilot announced that due to the large number of passengers, boarding was taking longer than expected, and that we would be leaving late. After approximately half an hour, we were told that we had to wait for an errant passenger to appear. Ten minutes after that, we were told that the passenger had boarded, but that his luggage had to be stored. An hour after we were supposed to take off, the pilot announced that we were finally ready to go...but there were 10 planes in the queue ahead of us, so it may take a few minutes. We finally left about an hour and a quarter after we were supposed to.
Nice symmetry. Interesting irony, evenly distributed. Still, not terribly dramatic, so not a * MOVIE MOMENT *. That came on my flight from Maastricht back to Amsterdam.
I was delayed getting to the airport because of a problem with my hotel (they wanted me to pay my bill; my credit card company had other ideas). The cab ride from the hotel was frantic, but I got to the airport 10 minutes before the flight was set to go.
As it happened, the flight had already boarded, so the woman at the counter who issued boarding passes had to phone the pilot to see if they would let me on. Yes. Phew! Except, looking at my ticket, the woman said that I did not appear to have a voucher for the flight. So, we ran across the room to another woman, who looked up my name on her computer and said that yes, I had paid for a ticket and should be allowed to get on the plane.
My sigh of relief was premature, however: because I arrived late, I had to bring my suitcase onto the plane with me (ordinarily, it would have been stowed in the luggage compartment). When my suitcase went through the x-ray machine, it caught what appeared to be a small kite but was, of course, a pair of scissors. (I carried the scissors in order to clip articles from European newspapers - just the sort of obsessive attention to detail that makes Les Pages aux Folles what it is.)
With time ticking away, I was asked to open the suitcase and produce the scissors. The point is blunt and the handle is falling apart; I was more likely to threaten people with paper cuts than these scissors. Somebody nodded and I was told to pack everything away.
Then, it happened.
I had to run across the tarmac to make my plane. It felt like a scene out of Casablanca. In my mind's eye, I could see myself running in slow motion like the characters in Chariots of Fire, Vangelis music playing in the background. Breathless, I had my * MOVIE MOMENT *!
Okay, it wasn't perfect. After all that, I made the plane with five minutes to spare; in a perfect * MOVIE MOMENT *, the door would have slammed shut behind me and the props immediately started turning. Still, when traveling abroad, one has to expect some inconveniences.
