america west

In 2005, my brother and I were flying America West from Salt Lake City, Utah to Ontario, California to visit my parents. Unfortunately, AWA (Now US Air) does not have non-stop flights between these two cities, and there is a stop-over in Phoenix. But their fares were reasonable, and we’ve never had a problem with them in the past.

Halfway through our flight from Salt Lake to Phoenix, an announcement was made that our connecting flight from Phoenix to Ontario had been cancelled. Terrific. When we landed in Phoenix, we were hustled over to the customer service desk, where a long line of people were waiting.

When we finally got up to the counter, we were told that they would fly us to LAX, and then they would send us by bus back to Ontario. The flight would be leaving in 10 minutes. Of COURSE that flight was clear on the other side of the terminal! The lady at the counter told us to find the nearest golf cart (I call those things Biddy Buggies because it’s usually only little old ladies who ride those things!), and have the driver shuttle us across the terminal. How embarrassing! Here we were, two young guys, in perfect health, riding on a biddy buggy! People were looking at my brother and I, giving us looks of disgust, like, “How lazy! Can’t you guys WALK?!!?” We didn’t know that we would be expected to tip the buggy driver, so that was another embarrassment, but fortunately I had a few bucks on me.

We were given no time to contact my parents and let them know our flight was cancelled and that we would be going to LAX instead of Ontario. We were quickly escorted onto the plane and took off for LAX.

My parents HATE driving to LAX. It is a nightmare getting in and out of that place, not to mention it’s a very scary place compared to Ontario, which is quiet and squeaky clean, but I think they would have rather driven out to LAX, than to be sitting at ONT, waiting over three hours, wondering where we were! It probably would have been quicker, too.

Anyway, we landed at LAX, and the gate agent told us to head directly to the baggage claim to get our bags, and then to get on a van that would be waiting to drive us to Ontario.

We no sooner got to the baggage claim when someone from transportation yelled at us, “Are you two going to Ontario? You need to get on that van RIGHT NOW!” We tried to explain we needed to get our luggage, which should be coming off the carousel any moment. The agent didn’t even listen to us. Instead, he hustled us into an office and said, “Oh, you lost your luggage? Well here, fill out this form and this one and that one…” “No, you don’t understand sir, our luggage isn’t lost, it just hasn’t come off the carousel yet.” “Well if you’ve lost your luggage, you need to fill-” “No, you’re not listening. Look, I’m going to go out there by the carousel and get my luggage. Give me 5 minutes, and if it’s not there, we’ll fill out these forms and be on our way.”

Luckily our luggage showed up, and we got on the van and headed back to Ontario. It took over 3 hours on the freeway, in rush hour traffic, to get from LAX to ONT! The driver was hilarious though! He was this really cool, hip black guy. This was during the time that the whole Michael Jackson trial was going on, and so for the entire 3 hour drive, the driver just went on and on, ranting and joking about Michael.

We finally got to Ontario, and the visit with my parents was nice. Fortunately the trip back home was uneventful.

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Years ago when I was a travel agent, I would fly space available. I was trying to get to Boston for a New Year’s party on what was then America West. I thought I was out of luck, as the flight I was hoping to catch filled up with the exact number of passengers as seats. I was looking at the schedule for my other options as the gate agents closed the flight. The phone rings at the podium, and one agent walks over and punches the code to open the door. A perfectly normal but slightly distressed looking woman walks off quickly.

I make eye contact with the person at the door and they wave me on. I hand them my ticket, and rush on board. Overheads are full, so my bag is quickly gate checked. Obviously there’s one seat left. Obviously it’s a middle seat. The woman in the window seat looks at me like I’m a savior of some sort, the disheveled guy on the aisle is just looking straight ahead slightly wild-eyed.

I sit, we taxi, and aisle guy starts to rock. And mutter. And twitch. Rocking, muttering, twitching. Rocking, muttering, twitching. We’re in the air (too late for me to turn back now) and he takes out the in-flight magazine. But he doesn’t read it, he shreds it. Pieces flying, pages tearing, paper everywhere. And twitching. And rocking. And muttering.

Then the snacks come. Now, twitching, tearing, rocking, muttering guy has a knife. Plastic, thank god, but a knife nonetheless. I don’t know about the voices in his head, but in my head, John Fogerty is singing about a Bad Moon Rising.

Now it’s time for drinks. What would you expect a twitching, armed, muttering, rocking mass would order to drink? Oh, it’s coffee. Neat! Caffeine!

This is about the time he turned the weird dial up to 11. Imaginary insects seemed to be buzzing his head; he would jerk out of the way at what I assumed was the last second. Now the rocking, muttering, armed, caffeinated, twitching, bug-dodging guy picks up his (thankfully empty) coffee cup in one hand, and in the other… the knife.

Repeatedly stabbing, stabbing, stabbing the cup, styrofoam pieces flying everywhere, muttering words I can’t understand but hope have nothing to do with me being next, I push against the opposite armrest. Styrofoam and magazine pile deep on the floor.

Of course, at the risk of attracting attention from this man, no one - flight attendants, passengers, anyone - is willing to say anything, or make eye contact. Occasionally, a flight attendant would pick up a few shreds of magazine, but otherwise, he’s left unmolested. I was, however, quite afraid to sleep.

About an hour later, I heard the only comprehensible words to come out of this man for the entire flight. His quote: “Pull ya over in a Greyhound, but ain’t no cops on airplanes.”

Now wide awake for the rest of the journey, I brushed myself off when we got to Boston, pulled off the small pieces of magazine sticking to my legs, and got off the plane. My bag didn’t come to the jetway upon arrival, I was directed to baggage claim instead.

About 40 minutes later (remember, I said America West) I was waiting at bag claim when I had my final sighting of the Wild Man of 9C. He walks through the terminal, up to the America West carousel, sticks his head behind the curtain separating the terminal from the tarmac, then walks through, apparently off to find his bag.

I’ve often wondered if he had a round trip. I returned on Continental just in case…

- Jon P

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After a long boy’s weekend skiing in Colorado, I was flying home to San Diego on America West. The flight had a non change stop in Vegas on the way. It was a Sunday evening, and the crowd that boarded in Vegas was typical. Many people wearing sunglasses at night, looking like they had slept a couple of hours of the previous 48. A big group of guys, still drunk and loud, a bachelor party perhaps, took up the two rows behind me. I had a window seat, a petite woman the middle next to me. The flight was full.

The last guy in line boarding the plane was huge. Not just big, but 400+ pounds big. The only seat I saw open was the aisle seat in our row. The girl next to me looked over and sighed when he put his bag down looking at the row numbers above us. No way this guy would ever fit in this coach seat; he would have problems with first class seats. I’ll give him credit as he didn’t ask to put up the armrest between my neighbor and himself. He simply put his ample rear end between the armrests and wriggled back and forth forcing his girth in.

The bachelor party group was now mumbling things and giggling behind us at what was going on. Something had to give and with a loud crack it was the entire aisle side of the seat, all of it landed in the aisle. The bachelor party group was now howling in laughter. I felt really bad for the big guy. He proceeded to pick up the seat end and held it under his arm as if it was attached and there was no problem. This caused the bachelor party group to erupt in even more laughter. The FA’s reacting to the uproar came over and took the seat end from the big guy and gave him a couple of extenders to get belted in. Now the girl next to me was in my lap. Even with the seat arm gone this guy still took up over half of her seat as well. Luckily the flight was only 45 minutes and we were able to deal with the discomfort. I feel that we all must take responsibility for ourselves in life and this guy must exercise some common sense and buy two seats.

As a former airline employee I was really surprised that they flew with that broken seat end. I’m sure there is an FAA reg or two that was violated. But by this time I just wanted to get home, and thankfully we did.

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I am on a flight from IND to PHX on America West at the time and was doing that route every week for business going on 9 months. With that much flying I was in first class looking out the window trying to find the normal ground markings for our approach into the Phoenix Valley. It was dusk and very cloudy with storms in the area. We were about 40 minutes northeast of Phoenix and descending when I saw this major blinding flash of light and then a very loud crack. I just saw lightning strike the left side engine of the 757. Everyone jumped or screamed. Since this has happened to me before going into Phoenix, I was not too alarmed. However, the fellow next to me did not move and kept staring straight ahead when I looked. Eyes wide open and no emotion. Didn’t think much of it until about one minute later when I got a whiff of why he did not move. It was 30 minutes seemingly like sitting in a gas station toilet.

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