The Beginning of the End of Chapter One

This week did not start off well. I was set to depart on a 6:40am flight out of Los Angeles to be in Minneapolis by 1:00. Problem is -- the plane that allegedly had 14 seats available was a bit of a ghost ship. The flight was supposed to be a 757, and paying passengers had been booked seats accordingly. However the flight was actually on a smaller 737. Immediately 60 people were displaced. Chaos ensued. A man was nearly in tears because he was enroute to Minneapolis to see his dying father. A line to get rebooked was 50 deep. As someone who was not a paying customer, I was in the back of this line. By the time I reached the front and asked for the jumpseat, the Delta gate agents were less than keen on helping me. A flight attendant was also looking to jumpseat, but we were met with a cold shoulder and a, "Sorry, we have to close the door." It would not have been difficult. A few key strokes, a swipe at the printer, and a badge verification were all it would have taken. Too much. They had done their job with the paying passengers and immediately signed off. And just like that, two employees couldn't get to work in Minneapolis because a few gate agents were acting like Janice in accounting. As a result, I had to call in and get pulled from the trip. While my company was understanding, I was not looking forward to being back on reserve.

I put myself on the call list. Again, I've seen the big mall and the big spoon already. I've exhausted my MSP to-do list. Around noon, I got a call! A deadhead to Appleton of all places, and then a flight back to MSP. Not too bad. I got to the airport. Ring ring. "Yeah, Delta decided to cancel that flight, you don't need to come to the airport." Reverse.

Several hours later,  I noticed an email from my airline. I had been awarded a transfer. I always figured my next base was going to be San Francisco. After all, there were only four people in front of me asking for SFO. Houston and L.A., on the other hand, had over a dozen. So I was a little surprised when the email said IAH on it--the airport code of Houston Intercontinental. No doubt I will be sitting reserve in Houston, but it will be a warmer reserve. I can stretch my legs, go for a run. I've become fluffy living off of Culver's butterburgers and cheese curds. If I do get called to fly in Houston, there will at least be some variety. And when I'm not flying I can further my efforts to befriend my niece.

If you take a look at the route map, compare Houston to Minneapolis. The routes in Houston go farther and (typically) warmer. I'll gladly trade Fort Wayne for Fort Myers, or Aberdeen for Albuquerque. In my boredom of reserve, I even wrote a poem about the transfer.

"Minneapolis?!," I shouted. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"No" said the company, and went out for a smoke.
It's three point five hours to get there one-way!
A long way from home back in sunny L.A.

I put in my time learning all sorts of things
Like CAT II approaches and de-icing the wings
To Kentucky, Iowa, and the Dakotas I flew
My teeth all a chatter, my hands turning blue

"Please, a transfer!," I wailed up to the skies
But the only response was more snow in my eyes
I had waited months for the glorious day

that I'd transfer to San Fran, Houston, or L.A.

I had always figured that San Fran would be next

With its pricey hotels, fog, and black turtlenecks.
Yet against all odds, came the LoneStar state
Free lodging indeed! . . at my sister's estate.

No it's still not quite home, but that time will come
For now I am thankful just to thaw out my bum
So cheese curds and poutine must now make their way
For burritos, beef brisket, and Mexican soufflé

Sure I'll probably be sitting reserve there at first
But that gives me time to see my niece at her worst
Off to Houston I go! Not a moment too soon
Farewell to Fargo, South Bend, and Saskatoon!

Unplanned New Years Visit to Minnetonka

Our flight was the only airplane going from Wichita to Minneapolis on New Years Day, and Nicole was lucky to grab a seat in the back. The same could not be said for flights going out of Minneapolis, but I'll get into that later...
The flight back to the far north was uneventful other than a few pockets of turbulence. It was my leg (my takeoff and landing) and I had the added pressure of
1) Flying with the Chief Pilot for Minneapolis
2) Flying with nervous Nicole in the back (as seen here)
3) My old roommate from ground school also sitting in the back...no doubt scoring my landing on a scale of 1 to 10.

Fortunately, despite the sudden crosswind gust at 20 feet above the touchdown zone, I felt I put us down fairly smoothly. Nicole tells me it was acceptable. We made good time on our way from Wichita to MSP, arriving about 30 minutes early. Because of this, I quickly listed us on an earlier United flight back to Los Angeles.

It was going to be our best odds of the day as it was only overbooked by six and we were about 7 and 8 on standby. The flight left full without taking any standby passengers and the night only went downhill from there. The next Delta flight was overbooked by 12 and we were 17 and 18 on standby. No one got on -- meaning everyone got rolled over to the next flight where we now saw ourselves at 37 and 38 on standby.

Rather than wait around for hours for the inevitable, we decided to get out of the airport, rent a car, and stay with my cousin in Minnetonka for the evening and try again the following morning. Nicole had never been to Minnesota other than the Minneapolis airport, so we did a small amount of exploring. I took Nicole to her first Culver's. Yes, technically Culver's is a Wisconsin thing, but Nicole needed to experience it while she had the chance. Culver's is getting on my crap list, though. They messed up my order twice in the last two visits. I ordered a sourdough melt and a chicken sandwich to go after my last trip and without checking the bag, I ended up with just chicken tenders and no sandwiches. Sad day for Brian! Luckily we ate in and caught their error on this visit. I can't be too upset, because as a former Culver's employee, I'm sure I made lots of errors as a confused and awkward young 15 year old wearing a belt to hold up my oversized khaki shorts.

After dinner, we observed my cousin and her parents working together to make some holiday cookies. I contributed by eating them. Now it was time to see what our flight options were looking like for the following day. United was our best bet -- overbooked by 4. We would be 1 and 2 on standby. The next option was this doozy of a Delta flight. I had to take a screenshot because I didn't think anyone would believe me. At the time of this image, there were 54 people on standby. When we arrived at the airport, TSA was moving slowly and inefficiently. The airport instated a 10 minute delay on all departures so people had more time to reach their gate.

This did not work to our advantage. As the door was about to close for the flight, our names were called AND with seats next to each other. Just then, the two people whose tickets were almost in our hands showed up at the gate. I am not a violent person, but I was possibly hoping one of them would have broken a leg in those final steps enroute to gate E10. The arrival of these latecomers left one seat in the cabin. I told Nicole to take it since her odds of getting on anything else for the rest of the day were daunting at best. On any other day I could have snagged the jumpseat, but another pilot was commuting on his way to work, so I gallantly (albeit begrudgingly) watched Nicole depart as I wished the other pilot good luck, did an about face, and walked down to the Delta gates where there were now 68 people on standby. As Nicole was taking this picture out the window of her E-175, I was launching out of Minneapolis riding sidesaddle on a 757, with one leg bent awkwardly behind me and my neck craned the other direction to see from the elevated jumpseat crammed just behind the captain's chair. There were 82 standby passengers stranded back at the gate. I felt like I was on the last chopper out of Saigon. I dared not think about the size of the standby lists as the day grew longer, but for the time being I was just thinking about a chiropractor.

Happy Thanksgiving

There has been a gap since my last post because nothing has happened. I have been sitting around in Minneapolis waiting for a call that never comes. Sitting on reserve in this distant land they call Minnesota is not always pleasant. While I ensure that my name is on the preferred call list and despite having recurring dreams of receiving a flight assignment, my phone has been silent.

Last week, I reached out to a variety of folks who were in the area in an attempt to remain social. On Tuesday, I met with a friend from LA on an interview in Minneapolis. On Wednesday, a fellow airline pilot on reserve. His name is Lorenzo, so I naturally met him for lunch at a place called "Fat Lorenzo's." It was hidden on the back side of a VA building and I can only recommend it if you like being around old people and garlic. On Thursday, I reunited with a friend from my high school. As she put it, I am in a unique position. I can arrange my own high school reunion, but only meet with the people I actually care to see. In any event, I was able to slightly break up the monotony of last week by engaging in that basic human need called conversation. This week, however, is a different story.

During my brief return to sunny Los Angeles, I was welcomed by 80 degree temperatures. Numerous people were out cycling and jogging on the beach paths. We ate outside in Long Beach wearing t-shirts. I mention all this to contrast with my return to Minnesota. Early Thanksgiving morning, I drove to the airport to pick up my EFB (electronic flight bag). On the way home, it was raining. Shortly after that, it turned to snow. And because it was a mere 28 degrees, it stuck. This created a very different image than my visit to Long Beach harbor a few days prior.

My fellow pilots were called up to do some flying on Thanksgiving and anyone else normally in town had left for the holiday. I spent the day alone snacking on muffins, macaroni, and Kix cereal . . . just like the pilgrims and native Americans. I felt a bit cooped up. On Black Friday, I decided I was going to leave the comfort of central heating and face an environment that just looked cold.

I decided to go for a run on the nearby trails in Minnetonka. I planed to head out in the heat of the day, so I asked Siri what the temperature was and even she was a bit apprehensive about what I was about to do. I put on my only long-sleeved running shirt, a pair of gloves, a hat, and a pair of swishy athletic pants that harken back to 1999. Initially I felt like a true badass. Clearly nobody was as mentally tough and fierce as I to face such bitter temperatures. . .


Wrong. There were just as many people out running and biking on the trails as there were in Los Angeles when I ventured out a few days earlier. And keep in mind that there is a layer of snow on the ground. There is evidently a market for wide snow tires for bikes in Minneapolis. Many of those out running didn't even have hats or gloves. I don't know how this is possible. It takes a certain kind of person to live here. That person is not me. Sure, you can call me weak and feeble, but just remember that it was I who went for a run when it was 25º. I deserve some sort of pat on the back . . . or a jacket.

My Way or the Skyways

Well, I am back for another week in the twin cities. Rather than continually rent and return cars, I found it slightly cheaper to rent on the long-term. When you think rugged, versatile, and tough enough to handle the harsh Minnesota winters, you do not think Volkswagen Beetle. Nevertheless, this will be my car for the next month. Those with a keen eye will notice the Georgia plates as well. So not only will I be driving a poorly designed vehicle -- it is also unlikely to have been winterized in any way, shape, or form. Nothing in this vehicle is laid out in a manner that is driver-friendly. Let me roll down the window...oops there go the windshield wipers again. Oops now the radio is scanning. Oops, now the defroster is on full blast and the hood popped open, and I somehow changed the clock. In all honesty though, I spent about 20 minutes fighting with the trunk, which would neither open nor close. I eventually pried it open from the inside by crawling into the truck from the backseat and forcing it out while holding the trunk release button on the remote. After slamming it shut, I'm now afraid to open it ever again. I am sure the Beetle and I will have many more exciting adventures like this in the coming month. I think I shall name it Beulah.

A friend of mine from L.A. was in Minneapolis for business and doing important lawyering stuff, so I thought it might be good to meet up. It was my first true trip to downtown. I soon discovered that the downtown area is canvassed in these things called skyways. And I can't really convey how ridiculous this is until you actually see it. You could walk for miles from building to building without ever setting foot outside. You may be thinking to yourself, "Gosh, that's really neat!" and shortly thereafter you may also think "Holy shit, how bad does the weather in Minneapolis get to justify building skyways around the whole city?!" It is a strange concept. They are not merely walkways from one building to the next. It's an entire city in its own right. If you need to go from your place of work to go pick up a prescription, get a haircut, grab some lunch, deposit a check, meet someone at a convention center, check-in to a hotel, or go shopping, it's all on the skyway level. It's like living in a bubble.

Admittedly, skyways would have sounded nice in D.C. on some of those cold winter days during college, but I think there's something psychologically important about getting outside, even if it is chilly out. There is another Skyway system set up in St Paul as well. This all makes me very nervous. There's no skyway system in D.C. because nobody has ever thought of building one, and so far nobody has died from not having a skyway with the exception of William Henry Harrison. So if two cities think it's a good idea to have them . . . should I invest in a parka?

Completing Week One in MSP

For my final day in Minneapolis, I drove to a place called Minnehaha Park. It claimed to have a waterfall, so I was intrigued. It was a bit blustery and overcast -- not really ideal weather to be going for a stroll, but at 49 degrees, it is important to have perspective and remember that this area of the country has the potential to be much, much colder. After a short walk, I found the falls and wandered along the river bank for a mile or so. By now pretty much everything is dead. Only a few rogue leaves cling to the trees. 

Later in the day it began to rain. This did not stop for about 20 hours. Imagine now that the temperature was 10-15º colder. It was estimated that it would have resulted in 2 1/2 FEET of snow. That doesn't sound appealing at all. I departed this land of 10,000 lakes and (I can't believe I'm saying this) unseasonably high temperatures to return to much nicer weather back in Los Angeles. It was about 80 degrees my first day back.

For a while now, Nicole has wanted to stay in this quaint looking place down the street called the Inn at Playa del Rey. It's essentially a bed-and-breakfast overlooking the Ballona Creek Wetlands -- a view that momentarily makes you forget that this is all in Los Angeles. As a treat to ourselves, we made the arduous 1 mile trip down the street to the Inn. I was happy with our decision when we found chocolate chip cookies waiting for us in the room. In fact, there was a lot of free food. Wine, cheese, and other appetizers at 5:00pm. All free. For dinner we walked down the street to Mo's Place, a dive bar that Nicole surprisingly enjoys. It is, in fact, the inspiration for Moe's Tavern in the Simpsons. 

We spent the rest of the evening playing the board game LIFE, and drinking wine. Nicole was not completely satisfied to have retired as a police officer/computer programmer with no children. I, on the other hand, with my veterinarian expertise and law degree found that my two twin daughters were a burden to my bank account from the moment they entered my life. And why the hell was I buying sailboats and going to art auctions? This is not responsible behavior.

Breakfast at the Inn consisted of fresh-baked muffins, blueberry bread, and cheese soufflé. All for free. I like free food. It was a very relaxing getaway . . . even if it was only a few blocks away from our apartment.

Mall of America, Ferris Wheels, and Surly's

Yesterday I stayed pretty close to home . . . and by home I mean someone else's home because I have been living out of a tiny suitcase for the last two weeks. I don't even have my pilot blazer. I have but two short-sleeved pilot t-shirts to my name right now. Everything else is still in L.A. hoping to find a purpose in life if I ever return. Now initially, I had it all planned out. I would have my girlfriend ferry some warmer clothes to me when she came to visit me last week over Halloween weekend. However, if you look back to Halloween weekend in this blog, I was in Charleston. You can see the issue. Yes, Nicole had looked forward to a festive pumpkin-spiced midwestern weekend of handing out candy to children and jumping in leaves and such. This was not to be when I got called up to redirect my body to South Carolina, AND to make matters worse there weren't even any trick or treaters at the house!!! Well, if that doesn't show the decline of America, I don't know what does. The YouTube comments tell me Obama is somehow to blame for all this.

Fortunately the weather has been unseasonably warm, which is fine by me. After all, the prospect of doing a walk around in North Dakota in freezing rain wearing nothing more than a short-sleeved pilot shirt is not very appealing. Around 2:00 today, and nine hours into my reserve, I ventured off to the Mall of America to see what all the fuss is about. It is indeed a mall, and I really had no purpose in being there. I didn't really intend to do any shopping. I had, in effect, become one of those mall walkers, but I played it off cool. When I got to a dead end, or in my case, a Macy's -- I did an about face, looked at my phone as if to say, "Ah, my "friends" must be waiting for me at the Nordstrom's. Let me head the opposite direction now..." I ventured briefly into a Pac Sun thinking there might be cheap board shorts, but they were only selling sweaters. I checked out the Lego store, a few clothing stores, and a Barnes & Noble. The central area of the mall has all sorts of rides. Log flumes, roller coasters, carousels etc. By far the scariest thing would have been this Dora the Explorer ferris wheel. And I don't intend that to be a joke. I have an irrational fear of ferris wheels. And you may be thinking, "But aren't you a pilot?" It's not the heights. It's that weird over-the-top feeling as you circle around. Why would anyone want that? And putting Dora on it is only going to trick some poor child into wanting to go on their first ferris wheel ride, only to be traumatized for life! Then they're going to have an irrational fear of ferris wheels and an irrational distrust of hispanic girls. I present you with an example here...Remember my post from Orlando about a particularly sassy niece?

Not so sassy anymore, is she?

Because about half of our class is still hanging out in the twin cities, I caught up with my old roommate from Salt Lake. We ventured to a place called Surly's Brewing Co. At first glance, I was a little concerned because it looks like an old industrial area that was probably condemned, but the inside expanded to a large beer hall atmosphere filled with lots of customers. By this time we were officially off the clock, so I enjoyed my first beer in more than a week. We talked about pilot things and work, work, work, BIDDING, work, work, work, DEICING, and so on. Two more days on reserve and I can finally pack new clothes. Who knows how much longer this 55 degree heat wave will last.

At my Domicile for the First Time

Out of all twelve domiciles, Minneapolis was my last choice for a base. On my initial bid, I listed every single domicile . . . and then Minneapolis. Yes, even Fresno was given higher priority. Inevitably, every person in my class received Minneapolis, regardless of what they bid for. The company email I received was almost a joke. "Congratulations! You've been awarded Minneapolis!" with not a hint of sarcasm. That was back in August. I had successfully avoided the city for nearly three months including last week's false alarm where I was sent to O'Hare in its place. But eventually, I could not avoid it any longer.

My first impressions of the airport were even worse than my lowest of expectations. The process of getting from the parking garage to the terminal was like an obstacle course. The following was the process (and I'm not even exaggerating) . . . I had to first enter the terminal by taking an escalator down, only to take another escalator up to take light rail to a different terminal, which required about a 10 minute wait. After finally arriving at the other terminal, I had to take an escalator up to take another one down to go through security, to take another escalator up to take a tram to the gates. After all of this effort, the person I was hoping to see to process my parking pass was unavailable and I had to retrace my steps back to the car. I arrived just after 11:00 and left at almost 1:00. That is what is known as inefficiency.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon driving around Minneapolis. I typed "giant spoon" into google maps and found exactly what I was looking for. The weather was a pleasant 58 degrees, but a bit breezy. I thought it was a little chilly, but evidently for Minneapolis, this is the kind of weather where you go for a run without a shirt. Many people were out cycling, walking, or jogging. I walked around a lake through some nice neighborhoods. The city itself seems nice and welcoming. The airport, on the other hand, is some kind of hell on earth. I've now spent two days on reserve and don't want to plan much for my third day. Last time I planned my day, I ended up doing four legs which included a flight to Fort Wayne, Indiana. Besides, now that I've seen the giant spoon, I'd really have to do some research for my next stop.