An End to Airline Hell?

It’s not news that flying is becoming less fun by the day. Actually, it’s not news that flying was never as easy and convenient as the airlines wanted us to believe, but it sure beats the bus. Now, like millions of other regular business travelers, I have grown accustomed to arriving extra early so that I can spend thirty-seven minutes in line to be wanded, prodded, stroked, and searched by security guards (slip them a couple of bucks and, if you’re lucky, I hear they’ll use hot oil).

I know that there are solid reasons for enhanced security. What the early arrivals have given me, however, is the extra time to wonder why the rest of the process is so difficult. After all, you can’t swing a laptop in an airport without hitting a consultant. Can’t anyone reengineer this process?

For example, think about trying to get something to eat at the airport. You may think it’s easy given the plethora of stalls, stands, and snack shacks that line the endless walkways between the check-in counter and the departure gate, but I don’t say it’s hard to find something to eat, it’s just hard to get it. And, now that the airlines have stopped feeding us the food we complained about so much, airport eating has become a necessity.

Of course there is no food service directory, so you never know what you’ll find for food on your journey through the Tolkein-like maze of the terminal. My doctor has suggested that I limit myself to no more than two complete meals a day from Starbuck’s so I cruise for something at least minimally nutritious to carry onto the flight. After too many runway-side dining experiences I have learned that nutrition is not something that comes naturally to food served in airports so it takes some work.

I’ve also learned Murphy’s Law of Airport Cuisine. For departing flights, the food gets worse as you get closer to the gate. For arriving flights, the opposite is true. I think of myself as an average business traveler. I lug a briefcase that holds eight pounds of laptop and accessories, three and a half pounds of files and other work-related reading, the day’s newspaper, eyeglasses, sunglasses, a paper-clipped bundle of receipts from the last business trip, my keys and $7.83 in loose change that I’ve accumulated because I throw it my bag rather than play the “what else that’s metal do you have in your pocket” game with the security guard at the metal detector. All told, it’s a load that guarantees my chiropractor an income for life. I pull along a wheeled suitcase that holds everything else.

Maneuvering into a self-serve line at Junk Food Hut with an overstuffed briefcase and a suitcase is like driving with a U-Haul trailer on your car at rush hour. I don’t dare leave my things by a chair that I hope to occupy because a sweet, manufactured voice broadcast from loudspeakers every few minutes reminds me that unattended items are considered a safety threat and will be confiscated by the authorities for immediate destruction. I always thought that you shouldn’t leave luggage sitting unattended because someone might steal it, but I guess that thinking is just too 20th century. Now that anyone could be an international terrorist I have to worry about the police making off with my socks and undies.

Either way, my baggage and I must remain a unit as I pick up an orange plastic tray and attempt to fetch my meal. I grab an individual mini-pizza from a shiny metal warming stand while balancing the briefcase, the suitcase, and the tray. I stand in back of six other people and pity the women around me who manage to do all of this in heels. Finally, at the end of the line, I find someone ready to help me. “You wanna drink?” he asks in a voice bursting with indifference. “Large decaf. Milk, no sugar,” I reply, sagging under the weight of my load. The rushing throng of travelers buzzes like swarming locusts on a summer afternoon, but the hollow sound of an empty Styrofoam cup hitting the tray resonates above the din. “Coffee’s behind you.” He turns slightly to the person behind me. “You wanna drink?”

I fumble with my wallet to pay a ransom to his cohort at the register and slalom my way across the seating area to another counter marked “Beverages” in warm, cheery, modern letters. There, balancing the briefcase, the suitcase, the tray with pizza and the tottering empty cup, I must pour coffee, add milk, stir, and cover. Can’t forget napkins. And have to keep the receipt from blowing off the tray. Finally, I set down like a helicopter for a brief moment to rebalance my cargo. With a prayer to my dry cleaner, I jam the receipt into my pocket, stuff the napkins into my briefcase, and double-check the lid on the coffee.

OK, fifteen minutes to boarding. I’m by Gate A3 and, let’s see, my flight departs from Gate A147. We’re off. Feeling like a cruise ship waiter in a gale, I maneuver toward my far-off awaiting aircraft, bobbing and weaving with my precious payload. The briefcase fits atop the suitcase that I pull with my right hand. I have the pizza balanced on top of the coffee cup in my left. How, I wonder, will I ever pull out my boarding pass?

However, once on the moving sidewalk, I can ignore the colorful ads from consulting firms and think of the many simple things that could make this whole process – from check-in to in-flight meal – easier, more pleasant, and even more profitable. Here are six.

First, let’s talk about check in. At 6’3” with a 34” inseam, I am an exit row fanatic. That extra legroom is far closer to necessity than luxury, yet my chances of getting it are purely a matter of chance because the seats aren’t preassigned (the airline has to make sure that you are able bodied and thus assigns them at check in). Some charge extra exit row fees -- an upgrade where you are required to help in case of disaster that you have to pay for. Why not offer exit row certification? I would fork over $99.95 to take a three- or four-hour course so that I would actually know what opening an exit door is all about so long as it would qualify me to request a exit row seat when I book my ticket. The certification would come with a solemn pledge that I not show up on crutches and expect to sit there. The airline would get better-trained emergency assistance and tall people like me would get a more comfortable ride.

Second, hasn’t anyone at an airline ever been to a trade show? When I check in, why not give me everything in a little plastic pouch on a lanyard that can go around my neck? Even the picture ID, once checked, could slide into the front. The information on my checked luggage could be bar coded onto my receipt. The gate agent could then retrieve the plastic pouch at boarding and simply hand me back my boarding receipt and ID. No fumbling in pockets or searching madly in handbags for anyone, not to mention the environmental benefits of eliminating all of those paper folders.

Third, let’s move to security. How about large plastic bottles into which I can dump their change as I approach the metal detector? The proceeds could go to support the victims of terrorism worldwide. If most people are like me, they’d be happy to toss in their 79 cents and the sum could easily result in millions of dollars for people in need. This is in place at Heathrow but I haven't seen it elsewhere. And could we please all acknowledge that the chances of someone hijacking an airplane with a nail file or corkscrew are all but nil? A cup of hot coffee is a greater threat (especially the coffee they serve onboard).

OK, now on to my beloved food. Question to the airlines: why not just let me preorder some food? I know that you aren’t making any money. You know I have to eat. So, why not offer a simple meal for a $10 surcharge -- but let me guarantee that there will be what I want waiting? They've figured out the selling part but you haven't lived until you get on a long flight and find out that they run out of everything two rows in front of you. They could serve it onboard like the old days or just hand me a box meal at the gate. If there’s an “M” on my boarding pass, I paid for a meal and I get one. Everybody’s happy.

If that’s too complicated, let’s move onto Plan B. We live in take-out nation. If the airlines won’t deliver the food, why can’t someone else? Take-out kiosks could let me place an order for food that could be delivered to me at the gate. I just punch in my name and flight to ensure that there’s enough time to deliver and I can sit back and wait, with my luggage safely beside me, for my junk food of choice.

Finally, a plea to the policy makers of corporate America: shouldn’t the right to fly business or first class be determined by total miles flown for the company rather than rank in the organization? The people who regularly show up at five in the morning for a seven o’clock flight away from their families – whether salespeople, mid-level managers, or top executives -- are most deserving of the shorter lines, greater leg room, and better food that comes with upgraded seating. And, best of all, the Senior Vice President who only flies two or three times a year needs to experience first-hand what the rest of us go through all of the time.