A Trip Through The Abattoir

A Trip Through The Abattoir

By

Leo de Natale

Illustrations by Vince Giovannucci

It was fall, 2021.

Flashback two years ago. In May, 2019 Julie and Kyle Reston had flown first class for a dude ranch horseback riding vacation in sunny Arizona. What an experience. There’s a perceived pretentiousness with many who fly first class but not the Restons. The recently retired couple had worked hard during their lifetime and felt it was time to splurge on luxury. They’d made the right decision.

It turned out 2019 was the last year air travel would be normal. After takeoff, the well manicured, obsequious female flight attendants in first class pampered their guests. First, there were the hot towels handled with tongs, a luxurious way to clean one’s hands. Next followed a complementary glass of champagne. The flight left at noon, late enough to splurge on booze.

During the five hour flight, the Restons were given a gourmet lunch served on china plates, premium silverware and linen napkins. White and red wines accompanied the meals. Alcohol flowed freely. The meal was completed with a hot fudge sundae served in an old-fashioned glass goblet and topped with nuts, marshmallow and, of course, a cherry on top. The attendants did everything with alacrity and supplied warm, complementary blankets – it gets cold at 30,000 feet.

Back in the cheap seats, travelers received a sandwich, pretzels and soft beverages in plastic cups.   Alcoholic  drinks had to be purchased.  It was class distinction before one’s eyes. The Restons learned afterwards  that attendants receive financial bonuses when first class passengers give high marks in an  online feedback survey.  Kyle admitted the service to and from Arizona was spectacular.

They had planned for another Pheonix getaway in  2020 but the curse called Covid 19 derailed that trip.  Airline tickets were cancelled and a sidetrip to the Tucson dude ranch was  placed on hold.  The ranch’s non-refundable deposit would be held in escrow for two years.   Most important, the Restons missed visiting their longtime friends who lived in Scottsdale.

Like so many Americans, their life’s activity had been completely altered by an invisible enemy. Fortunately, anti-Covid vaccines were developed in record-breaking time. Think Operation Warp Speed. By March, 2021, Kyle and Julie had been vaccinated. Life was slowly returning to a new normal.

At least the dreaded blue masks were disappearing from many aspects of life but not at airports or during in-flight travel.   One could sense a proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.  Their delayed vacation would be a reality.

In May they purchased tickets from American Airlines. The Restons again selected five-hour nonstop flights between Boston and Pheonix. Kyle contacted the ranch and reserved a four-day stay for both their friends and themselves.

Everything was in place and they antipicated their October vacation. Little did they know they’d be hurled into a good case of You Can’t Go Home Again. And it started with their flight schedule. In mid-July, the airline company notified the Restons’ their direct to Phoenix flight had been cancelled. The new flight included a one-hour stopover in Charlotte, North Carolina. Total flight time would now be eight hours.

Kyle was outraged and learned the airline industry had radically changed during the Covid crisis. He called the airlines’ toll free number and, due to apparent lack of personnel, was given a choice: he could choose to wait on hold approximately four hours or opt for a call back.  He chose the latter.   He called nine separate times and never received a return call.   He and Julie faced a brick wall.  There were no alternate telephone numbers and there was no corporate email addresses listed where a complaint could be registered.   All commercial airlines were behaving in a similar fashion.  Nobody could contact anyone.

“I know someone who works for American Airlines,” a friend of Julie’s explained. “They’re just starting to rehire people.  The airline apparently has antiquated software.  That’s why you can’t reach them. My friend told me the best time to call is at 5 am.  Any later in the day, forget about it.”

Julie followed the advice and called at 5:00.  Two hours later an agent finally responded.  Julie had read many travelers were downright hostile and verbally abusive to employees.  Julie by nature was polite.  In an even-tempered voice she asked for help.

“My husband and I really want a non-stop,” she said. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Well Mrs. Reston, I just scanned the flights and we actually have one nonstop flight on the same day,” the agent responded.  “But takeoff is at 9:45 am which means you’ll have to arrive at 6:30 for security and boarding.”

“Good, we’ll take it.”  So be it, she thought.

This meant the Restons had to rise at 4:30 am.  They contacted a local taxi company who would drive them to the airport with a pickup of 6.  Traffic flow was unpredictable on Monday mornings.

The reservation hassles were the first hint of the vagaries of today’s air travel.

The bleary-eyed Restons arrived at the airport.  What a difference two years make.

          “My God, can you believe this?”  said Julie to Kyle as they entered  Boston’s Logan Airport departure gate. “This looks like a cattle pen at a stockyard!”

Julie was referring to the scene at the terminal on an early Monday morning. They had just entered the check-in area. There were hundreds of travelers shuffling through a serpentine line awaiting initial security inspection. The line moved slowly through the retractable belt barriers. Bored travelers were wheeling their carry-ons. By 6:30 am, everyone resembled a lobotomized Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.

          “I feel as if I’m at a Kansas City abattoir and viewing blue-masked Angus steers awaiting the stun gun,” Kyle said.  “All you need is the mooing of cattle.  How inhumane.”

There was a potpourri of travelers. Some wore warmup suits; portly men and women were devouring cheeseburgers and burritos, the grease dripping down their double chins and staining the masks. Young women were sipping Starbucks coffee while wearing tight fitting ripped jeans that expose various amounts of flesh and tattoos. Older women and men wore them, too.

The overarching observation was this:  flying apparel was immaterial and irrelevant; everyone’s eyes were glued to  cell phones or laptops.  Few were conversing; texting was far more important method of communication. The entire world has aphasia.

          The Restons were spared most of the experience.  First Class airline ticket holders and were guided through a separate queue.  Like everyone, they had to place their belongings, belts, shoes and anything metallic into the now all too familiar plastic bins.  They walked through an arch-shaped screening device.  Julie passed the screening.  Kyle, however was delayed because his titanium knee replacement had sounded an alarm.  He was moved to a special arch that detected the metal knee.  He also underwent the pat down to prove he wasn’t a terrorist.

The Restons boarded the airplane and sat at seats 2 C and D. Leg room was abundant. The seats were wide but Julie noted differences.

          “These seats don’t seem to be as roomy,” she said through her blue mask.  “I remember their being wider.”

          Once aloft the 2019-2021 difference became readily apparent. One flight attendant was male; the other was female.  Neither were warm and fuzzy.   No hot towels were served. No champagne either.

          “Will breakfast be served?” Kyle asked the man. “We got up too early this morning.”

          “We’ll be serving you soon,” he flatly responded.

Within moments, the attendant walked down the aisle carrying flimsy clear plastic glasses containing water, Coca-Cola and lemonade. The Restons asked for coffee and soon were drinking coffee out of paper cups. So much for the chinaware. Finally, their “breakfast” arrived. Stale croissants with turkey, lettuce and tomato sat on paper plates. Included in the meal were trail mix and a fruit cup. That was it. There would be no hot fudge sundae served on this trip.

“Gee, things are a lot different now,” Kyle said to the attendant. “I’m sure it’s been tough on you.”

The attendant explained the changes in section designation.  American Airlines had downgraded first class to “business class”.  The niceties had been eliminated, including those cozy blankets. Also missing were the cheesy inflight American Airlines magazines crossword puzzles that had already solved and advertisements for expensive products and gadgets no one ever purchased. Now, the only advantage was seat size and leg room.  The poor bastards in coach were squeezed into narrow sardine seats and received pretzels and a drink.  No booze, no blanket, no nothing.

Even the first class passengers’ physical appearance had changed. Seated directly in front of the Restons was a middle-aged married couple. The wife was wearing the aforementioned ripped jeans. She continuously played with her pony-tailed hair. Periodically, she flipped the hair over the head rest. Kyle was staring at a glob of semi-washed hair containing a touch of gray.

The well-muscled husband also wore the same jeans style. His bald head was clean shaven and gleaming. The kicker was this man was apparently suffering from a bad case of male menopause. The cabin was cold but that didn’t stop him from wearing a tightly fitting tee shirt that exposed newly inked sleeve tattoos on both arms. It was a classic example of exhibitionism. Passengers were supposed to be impressed with a huge Elvis-head tattoo on his right arm.

Across the aisle, a nerdy guy with eyeglasses and paunch was very thirsty. Just after a 9:45 takeoff, he ordered the first of four Bloody Marys. The attendants didn’t serve drinks; they merely handed him tomato juice and vodka nips. Having had several tastes of the Beast, he weaved to the rest room located near the pilot’s cockpit.

Julie walked toward the rest room. Mr. V-8 was exiting. She discovered he’d deposited plastic cups and nips into the sink. At least he’d had the decency to not vomit, she thought.

To stretch his legs, Kyle walked through coach en route to the rear rest rooms.    The seating is barbaric, he said to himself.  They were tight enough to cut off one’s blood circulation.  And yet, some travelers were sleeping.  Kyle had always envied these people.  How do they do it, he mused.  In fact, seeing these people reminded him of the war galley scenes in the movie  Ben Hur.  The galley slaves were chained to their aisles and rowed constantly.   Those who collapsed were whipped by the galley master.  Kyle imagined hearing that crack as he returned to the first class cabin.

The Restons were engrossed in reading- a tedious task while wearing masks. Their eyeglasses continually fogged up. What a pain they said to each other. Some passengers would remove the mask while they were eating or drinking and were slow to mask up. The attendants walked by and, sometimes sternly, told the passengers to reposition their masks. Obdurate mask scofflaws could find their names on a do not fly list ban on American Airlines.

Despite the Boeing 737’s droning engines Kyle dozed off. The Restons could suddenly feel the plane’s descent. Kyle gazed out the window and in the late morning sun he saw the grey/brown mountain ranges east of Phoenix. The sun was bright and shone on the vast metropolis, Hundreds of subdevelopments appeared, each home with the obligatory in-ground swimming pool. In this part of the country, pools were de rigueur. The plane swiftly descended and, with the bounce and with a screech of its tires, safely landed.

As they walked through the gangway the welcoming heat and light shone.  It was sunny and 90 degrees and the forecast for the week was hot, dry and no rain; when they left Boston that morning it was raining and 45 degrees.

“Enjoy this, honey,” Julie said. “In a short ten days, this will quickly become a memory. In the meantime, let’s cowboy up.”

The Restons headed for the Uber station. They knew there’d be another another trip through the abattoir upon their return. For now they were living one day at a time and enjoying one moment at a time. Arizona makes that easy.