So the
adventure begins. Lovely seats. A perfect Valentine's day.
Then the pilot says, an hour and a half into the flight, 'I don't know if any
of you have noticed that we've been dumping fuel but we seem to have a problem
and we're heading back to LAX. What????? Husband and I look at one another
incredulous. What???? We were so happy we hadn't even noticed we were heading
in the wrong direction. What??? Time passes. Nervous energy ratchets up. The extremely
polite captain once again makes an announcement.
So, we seem to have another problem. We're landing with quite a bit of fuel and
LAX is fogged in so we're going to...... drum roll, Las Vegas. There are few
places in the world I dislike as much as Las Vegas.
Plane lands uneventfully, and we're taxiing, except we're in the wrong place.
We're not at Heathrow. We are not with our friends. We are not going to feel
the dampness of life giving moisture on our faces.
Strange, I look out the window and see all the pretty flashing lights on the
tarmac. Oh my. They all seem to be heading towards our plane. As the emergency
vehicles surround us, we head to the gate.
Seems toxic fumes invaded the plane from somewhere unidentifiable. Two
crew blacked out, and had to be removed by stretcher. We are all ferried to a
horrible hotel casino that smells like ancient maraschino cherries, cigarette
smoke and spent lives. And it is here that we await our fate... wait for
direction from British Airways... wait for someone to tell us when the hell
we'll be getting to LHR.
Then the pilot says, an hour and a half into the flight, 'I don't know if any of you have noticed that we've been dumping fuel but we seem to have a problem and we're heading back to LAX. What????? Husband and I look at one another incredulous. What???? We were so happy we hadn't even noticed we were heading in the wrong direction. What??? Time passes. Nervous energy ratchets up. The extremely polite captain once again makes an announcement.
So, we seem to have another problem. We're landing with quite a bit of fuel and LAX is fogged in so we're going to...... drum roll, Las Vegas. There are few places in the world I dislike as much as Las Vegas.
Plane lands uneventfully, and we're taxiing, except we're in the wrong place. We're not at Heathrow. We are not with our friends. We are not going to feel the dampness of life giving moisture on our faces.
Strange, I look out the window and see all the pretty flashing lights on the tarmac. Oh my. They all seem to be heading towards our plane. As the emergency vehicles surround us, we head to the gate.
Seems toxic fumes invaded the plane from somewhere unidentifiable. Two crew blacked out, and had to be removed by stretcher. We are all ferried to a horrible hotel casino that smells like ancient maraschino cherries, cigarette smoke and spent lives. And it is here that we await our fate... wait for direction from British Airways... wait for someone to tell us when the hell we'll be getting to LHR.
