October 28, 2003
As I write this, I am tired and cranky, and I seem to have lost a great deal of my clothing.
“Har!” you say. “Isn’t that normal for you, Mr. Boegle?”
To that, I say: Thpppppth! And I also say: What are you implying when you say it is normal for me to lose my clothing? Are you implying that I am some sort of PERVERT? Do I have to take you outside and give you the BEATING OF A LIFETIME?!?
(Pause for calming time.)
Ah. Sorry about that. You see, I am one of the thousands of travelers whose plans were seriously mucked up by the horrible fires ranging in Southern California. And while we travelers have been highly inconvenienced, it could be worse; we could be one of the folks whose lives were lost or whose home was destroyed by these blazes.
But many of us travelers are lacking such perspective on things, and even those of us who have that perspective are cranky. Because traveling in these situations is no fun.
On Sunday morning, I was gleefully leaving a cruise ship in Long Beach after a week of fun and merriment on a journey to the Mexican Riviera. It was just after we docked that I first heard about the fires from the thick, choking smoke that settled in the area.
I made my way to Los Angeles International Airport -- and realized that all hell was breaking loose. Flights were being cancelled and delayed, and we passengers were warned it could get worse. A fire was threatening an air traffic control tower, they said, and the aviation system was essentially crippled.
People started freaking out. People yelled and screamed at unfortunate airline employees, demanding that the airlines somehow find a way to get them home. Profanities flew. Tempers flared. I even saw one woman, with a young baby in her arms, throw a Frapuccino at a Starbucks worker for no apparent reason.
The vibe at LAX was one of anger.
Nonetheless, I remained at the airport, hoping my flight would be one of the few to somehow make it. At 4 p.m., my 2:10 p.m. flight was officially cancelled.
I didn’t know how long L.A. was going to be like this, and I had no place to stay. Calmly, I headed to the rental car counters, which had been abandoned. Not one employee of any of the car rental agencies was there -- they fled in fear of angry travelers, I presume -- leaving us to call employees in other locations. At the third counter, an older gentleman was finishing up a reservation; he turned around, handed the phone to me, and asked where I was heading. “Las Vegas,” I said; I have friends in Vegas, and it’s a doable drive from L.A. “Me, too,” he said.
We, two strangers, ended up splitting the cost of the car and the driving duties. Five hours later, after taking an odd route through Mojave, we made it to Vegas.
By now, it was almost 11 p.m. I went inside the airport, hoping that I could get on one of the final flights of the night to Tucson. No luck. But with the help of a friendly but exhausted Southwest Airlines employee -- she’d been working since 7 a.m. -- I ended up getting a reservation for a flight home on Monday.
That Sunday ended up being one of the weirder days I’ve ever had in my life. But the weirdest thing to see was how many humans, in times of stress or panic, go nuts.
These fires, much like the blackout in the northeast late this summer, showed an infrastructure weakness -- the evacuation of one air traffic control tower should not be able to cripple almost a half-dozen airports. Someone is to blame here.
But that someone is not any of the unfortunate people who just happened to be working at Los Angeles International Airport that day. Yes, it’s frustrating to not be able to get somewhere, be it for school or a business meeting or a birthday party or even to sleep in your own bed and see your cat after a vacation. (I was so upset at times I had to hold back tears.) But why take your frustration out on poor souls who are only trying to do their job?
As I write this, I have yet to get on that flight home. One of my checked bags, with almost all of my clothing, is unaccounted for. And I am tired and cranky. But, dammit, I still have things in perspective.
These fires have harmed people far more than I’ll ever know.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan in exile in Arizona. Jimmy’s column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.