An Incident at Hector Field

   A few years ago we saw a strange sight at the Fargo airport. We were flying to Minneapolis and then on to Boston to visit my family. We stayed in Moorhead the night before with Teresa's brother Pete then got up at an ungodly hour to catch our five a.m. flight. The strange sight we saw was a group of people in shorts, flip flops and Hawaiian shirts. Many of them were drunk. This was the middle of February and it was about ten below zero outside and the sun wasn't due up for another three hours.

   Teresa has sharp hearing and reported to me that these were teachers en route to a ship in Florida that would take them on a cruise of the Caribbean islands. She could not determine whether they were from Moorhead or Fargo.

  This may be unfair, but I'm guessing they put on their summer clothes right after school yesterday and hit their favorite bar. Being organized people, they likely had done all their packing previously so they could squeeze every minute of fun out of their winter break.  Milling around the terminal, they had the exuberant look of people who had been up all night. Who wouldn't want to leave the Minnesota or North Dakota winter for a week of 70 degree weather?

   When you dress in shorts in February, you have to know where your next warm spot is. Sure it's fun to be wild and crazy as you walk from the parking lot to the terminal, because you know the terminal will be nice and warm. You also know the jet will be nice and warm too. Well here's where the fun stopped. First of all, the jetway would not work, so we had to walk down onto the tarmac and over to the stairway onto the jet. The teachers were all grouped behind us, and slowly the jokes and jollity gave way to grumbling and grousing. "Why don't they shut the door?" one of them wondered. I could understand his concern. Even fully dressed and with a heavy winter coat, I too wished they'd shut the door. The stewardess explained that there was a problem with the manifest. Her list of passengers had to tally with a list on the computer, and the computer, like the jetway, was refusing to work this morning. 

   The minutes ticked by. The crew was not allowed to closed the door, let alone take off, until the computer was revived. Now we heard of a new concern for the teachers. They had a short layover between arrival in Minneapolis and the departure of their flight to Florida.  "I wish we had driven to  Minneapolis," someone muttered. Minneapolis is a good four hour drive from Fargo. You only want to drive it if you're going to miss your connection.

   Finally, the phone rang. The stewardess gave the thumbs up as she closed the cabin door. Everyone cheered. "Let's go!" the loudest of the teachers shouted. He had a flight to catch and a drink to order. But we couldn't take off quite yet. A heavy, frosty mist hung in the air and we had to get our wings deiced. Back and forth went the deicer truck, spraying us down, obscuring our view out the window. At last, the truck pulled away. "Now kick her in the ass!" yelled the man in the palm tree print. But the truck came back to give us another dose. "Good," I thought. I didn't want to end my days face down in central Minnesota. But the reveler behind us was willing to take his chances and began swearing. His friends tried to quiet him down for fear the flight would be further delayed while security was called.

   A few minute later we were in the air. The cruisers were quiet now, hoping they would make their connection. When we landed, the stewardess let them out first. As we walked through the terminal I saw them at their gate, lined up to board their flight. I hoped they would have a good time and not forget the valuable lessons learned out on the freezing tarmac. Lessons to be passed on to the young people in their charge.

Do it again!