Smoke. Electrical friction. The smell of plastic burning. These are not what you want to experience at 32,000 feet in the air in a metal bird. But I did. Thankfully I survived to tell you the story.
I was on my way back from one of my most favorite places on Earth after a perfection of a vacation. The plan was to take off from Nice, France and fly directly to JFK. An hour into the flight, I had changed into my sweatshirt, ordered "It's Complicated" and was enjoying the warm selection of almonds and cashews when flight attendants began acting the way you hope they never do - running through the aisles talking to each other in hush tones while ignoring any semblance of composure that they were trained to keep. As a nervous flyer in general (I have gotten much better compared to my younger self who gasped at any bump of turbulence), I immediately knew that the smoke filling the cabin was not part of the nine hour flight. The captain came on the PA system and told everyone to stay calm, ordered the flight attendants to take their seats, and explained to us in a Xanax-calm voice that we were making an emergency landing in Paris due to some electrical problem. He assured us that he could still fly the plane even after he shut down all of the electronics. Great, I thought. I was seated in 1G and so luckily was sheltered from the mass hysteria that was wafting behind me or I too would have collapsed. My seatmate in 1F had reclined all of the way before the electrical shutdown and so he appeared to be sleeping through the whole fiasco, although in reality he was praying. I began to say my prayers, trying to breath through the firing of engines that roared as we came into a full dive for the runway. My stomach was on the floor. I have never felt so much force in a landing in my life - there was no possible way we could land at the speed we were going. No way. We were going to crash. God bless my family. I was about to write a text message telling them I loved them when I realized my phone was in the overhead compartment. Shoot. I went back to praying. God bless Mommy and Daddy...and then we were on the ground. I opened my eyes, held onto the wall in front of me as I was propelled forward, the seat belt cinching my waist but not much else. I noticed fire engines were chasing us on either side down the runway. I wasn't sure we were going to be able to stop. But we did. My body relaxed back into the seat and my lip started to quiver.
After the emergency response team checked the body of the plane for traces of fire (we were clear) we taxied to a staging area where we waited until engineers came aboard and came to the conclusion that they needed to evacuate the plane in order to diagnose the problem. You don't need to be an engineer to figure that one out! I happily got off to a waiting bus that read on the ticker in the front "San Francisco" - not sure what that was about but considering the day so far, I felt like I was in the twilight zone. We proceeded to security. We had to go back through in order to get to gate 36 where we were told to await further instructions. But the security team noticed the tickets reading: Nice to JFK and told us we were in the wrong airport. Uh - hello? It's called communication. There were 250 people with the same ticket, who had just gotten off a smoking plane. After much bantering, a few screaming exchanges, and 30 minutes of waiting, management came over and let us through. Shoes off, jacket off, jewelry off - I should have worn my footed pajamas.
Without an international cell phone, I used the phone card my brother had handed me hours earlier in case of emergency. "Sal, take it. Just in case you get stuck." How did he know? Tears filled my eyes as my Mom's voice came through the heavily bacteria-lathen phone. I wish I had packed disinfectant wipes. I assured her that I was fine and that we were on standby until further notice. Hours later, after I had visited every shop in the Charles de Gaul airport (they have fantastic shopping by the way) and walked for what seemed like miles, I returned to gate 36 where they were handing out free sandwiches. This can not be a good sign, I thought. So back to my walk I went. Another hour went by and I noticed a fellow passenger walk by who kindly alerted me of the good news. They were boarding in 20 minutes! Well I was delighted and concerned. Did I dare get back on that plane that was filled with smoke hours earlier?
I did. I returned to my seat where my friend the flight attendant had freshened my water and greeted me with a sympathetic smile. "Everything is safe and fixed. You need not worry." I smiled back and nodded. We took off without my seat mate who had decided to abandon ship and fly Air France. I settled back and turned on "It's Complicated". We were flying smooth. I napped and had lunch. All was well.
Until we hit Maine and then the heavens which we were in turned angry. The flight attendants were instructed by a worn-off-Xanax first officer to stop service at once and take any open seat. We were in the middle of a storm. My once turbulent-fearing self returned as I gripped my seat, the side of the plane, and my blanket. We tossed around in the sky with sounds of glasses breaking in the galley. Perfect, I thought.
When we landed in New York applause erupted throughout the cabin. Even the flight attendants were cheering. I nearly kissed the pilot as I got off. But not so fast. My smooch would have to wait. We sat on the tarmac for an hour and a half, sans AC. No gate. NO @%$#%! GATE?! I envisioned myself having a mental breakdown right then and there. Headline, "Girl goes crazy after near death experience in the heat of an airplane!" Nope. I would breath and I would wait.
As I opened the door that night to my sweltering apartment, I melted to the floor in happiness. And then I turned the AC on full blast.
