I have lost any hope of keeping an accurate count of exactly how many flights I have taken over the course of my life.
There is one that I clearly remember. I was sitting in the smoking lounge at the very back of the aircraft (this would have been in 1970 or '71) and the aircraft, on Northwest Orient Airlines, was likely to have been one of their 727-100s. We were sitting in a semi-circular group of seats around a table at the very back, and getting to the plane in Chicago for the flight to Minneapolis by walking out onto the tarmac and climbing a set of stairs. I think the only reason I remember this is because it was my first airline flight. Dad and I were travelling from Miami to Parkers Prairie alone—Mom, Mary, Denis, Chip, and whichever of the Schotzis we had at the time had left earlier for a family wedding. (But that is a whole other story...)
The rest all seem to merge into one another, unless there is a reason that they stand out. One such flight comes to mind every time I am on a plane. Specifically, the story flashes to mind when they disconnect the ground-support power and the cabin lights flicker. This moment usually passes without incident, unnoticed by most. Usually...
But then there was the time that it didn't.
It was a warm fall afternoon in Denver and I was once again on a Northwest flight (they had long-ago dropped the "Orient") from Denver to Minneapolis, connecting to Grand Rapids, MI. This would have been perhaps 1987 or '88. They disconnected the power and the entire plane went dark. The lights did not flicker; they extinguished completely.
Maybe thirty seconds later the lights came back on and the captain told us that the plane had reset when they disconnected the ground power. The good news was that the plane came right back on when they reconnected it, but the bad news was that they now had to go back through the whole preflight routine again.
Perhaps ten minutes later, the captain announced that we were ready. The lights flickered, and the plane lurched as the tug started pushing us back. But then, a couple of seconds later, the plane went dark again.
From somewhere a few rows behind me came the clear voice of a child proclaiming: "I don't like this plane, Daddy! It's a stupid plane!"
Jaded travelers all around could do little but chuckle—because this innocent child had voiced what so many of us were thinking.
Wherever your travels take you today, may they be less stupid and more spectacular.
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