like a flight out of hell


(photo via Wikimedia Commons)

Regular readers may recall that I took a trip recently.

It was a brief visit to Calgary, to visit my father for his 70th birthday. At the time, I wrote about how I was taking a risk, despite the COVID precautions in place.

I wrote this post while in Calgary, happily forgetting that every theft is a risk, COVID or no COVID. A risk to your mental health.

So Flair Airlines.

If you haven’t heard it yet, Flair is a new low-cost independent carrier serving a handful of routes in Canada. Lucky for me, one of those routes is Victoria to Calgary. They only fly on Thursdays and Sundays, but that coincided perfectly with my dad’s birthday weekend.

Now there are a few things I want to be clear about before I get into this area. I had no issues with booking, checking in or even being on planes owned by this company.

Their crew was perfectly fine, professional and more or less pleasant. The flight was very cheap, literally $ 78 round trip including tax. I came with only one piece of hand luggage and had no problems.

I’m perfectly happy to receive no in-flight service, no water, no mixed nuts, nothing at all, if that means I can get to Calgary in an hour and change Victoria.

So what was the problem? I will get there. But I want to establish that Flair, by itself, is probably not the problem here.

It won’t really be “another theft complaint.” It’s more of a commentary on “how did we get to where ‘another theft complaint’ is some kind of writing?” “

My particular entry for this genre started when I received an email notification that my flight had been delayed. One hour, 35 minutes. OK. Fine.

Another email arrived shortly after. Now delayed by three hours and 45 minutes.


Then another email.

Delayed four hours and 45 minutes.

A distant alarm bell rang in my head.

Another email.

Five hours 50 minutes.

When finally no more emails arrived, I made my way to Calgary International Airport, shrouded in inky darkness from 10 minutes to midnight. A proverbial doomsday clock.

At the boarding gate, waiting with the other confused souls, an announcement is made, informing us that our apparently delayed plane had arrived, and that we would be able to board at 12:15 am.

A haggard cheer arose.

That spirit of camaraderie was shattered moments later when the gate agent timidly informed us that there had been a medical emergency when the plane landed.

We couldn’t be CRAZY, though. Who can get upset about being late when someone is dying?

Well, in this case, suffice to say that several pieces of evidence have emerged as to the nature of this medical emergency, so I can conclude two things:

  1. It was not fatal
  2. This caused a bodily substance to be… left… on several seats.

I’m not saying this person was at fault. I’m saying there are steps that can help deal with these things, and suddenly I was very aware that Flair hadn’t stocked his plane with air sickness bags.

A steering wheel cut too far, I’m afraid.

Now, again, I didn’t get angry at the time. I did not turn into Karentron, the scourge of managers everywhere. Instead, I think I felt an overwhelming sense of inevitability.

This is how air transport… IS.

When you really think about it, it’s absolutely crazy that we counted so much to move around this ridiculously big country in a pile of tin cans with a million moving parts, attached with over a hundred strangers, each of which could. decide at any time to escape and declare himself Napoleon of the Airstream as they assault their fellow travelers with the edge of a stale sesame snap.

The point is, there is so much that can go wrong. I’m not saying you have to be afraid of air travel, but I’m saying we’ve become so numb to the normality of delays that it really begs the question: why the hell are we still doing this?

Of course, we introduced some rules regarding compensation (and I emailed Flair, because while I might not be Karen on the street, I am definitely Karen in the sheets (don’t think twice) not too much at that. Or do)) – but whatever those rules are, we know there is a constant cascade of theft saves.

And I know, I know, I live a life of privilege, my ancestors had to travel to China on ox-carts, but I can’t help but wonder: isn’t there a better way ?

Via Rail is not cutting it, especially with these namby-pamby workers rights preventing us from murdering railroad workers these days.

Highway 1 is such a punchline that it literally filled an episode of South Park like a joke.

It might be as good as it gets. Maybe flying at 4 a.m., half hallucinating on a cab ride home, that’s all we can muster.

Hi. Until we sort out the matter transporter issues (you look good with a fly head, really), I guess I’ll be riding the vomit comet once again.

One please.

Welcome to Ford on Fridays: A weekly column in which Victoria Buzz team editor Tim Ford shares his thoughts on life, love, and the pursuit of the perfect joke..

This column is for comedic purposes only. Please feel free to send your comments, thoughts and [constructive] reviews at [email protected]

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