Maine Mishap

A tourist group from Northern California chartered our airline for a flight to Europe. Their trip originated in Oakland and terminated in Gatwick, England, thirty miles south of London. We had a refueling stop in Maine before the jet headed across the Atlantic.

Nonstop liquor flowed, and the passengers became highly vocal and energized. They laughed, sang, and called out to each other, moving from seat to seat and joking with friends.

They settled down as we approached Bangor. Being from New England, I loved our Maine layovers. It gave me plenty of time to enjoy lobster dinners and shop for antiques. This time we landed for refueling only.

The passengers returned to their seats, strapped themselves in, and prepared for landing. I sat in my assigned seat, on the aisle in the rear section of the plane.

Just as we touched down I heard an explosion. The right-hand, aft window exit had opened. A bright orange banner streamed from the wing.

The jet raced down the runway as all flight attendants stayed fastened in their seats. Bells went off in the cockpit. As soon as the jet slowed, engineer Bill Stringer emerged. He wore a concerned expression on his face. The opening of the aft window exit compromised and activated the chute in the wing, simulating an evacuation.

Bill and I approached the nearby passengers and asked, “What happened?”

”I was hot, so I opened the window,” answered a man in a high state of inebriation. In his defiant stupor, he seemed to think his action was appropriate and even funny.

“After the passengers get off, the captain will need to talk with you,” Bill said. “What’s your name?”

“John Smith,” he smirked and turned his back on Bill. I thought the engineer was going to grab his jacket and yank him out of his seat. But he kept his cool and walked back to the cockpit.

No one can open an emergency exit when a plane is in the air. The aircraft pressure makes it impossible. But once the jet lands, the pressure is released. That’s when “John Smith” snapped the lever to the open position.

Mr. Smith deplaned with the other passengers and mingled in the crowd, trying to hide. While we waited to hear the prognosis of our flight, local officials escorted him to a side office. The captain and engineer confronted him while police officers took notes.

We spent five hours in the Bangor terminal waiting for a replacement evacuation chute to be sent from Washington, D.C. Besides wasting time and inconveniencing passengers, it cost our airline thousands of dollars to replace and install the new slide.

As the hours passed, people in the tour group grumbled. Many had missed connecting flights. The Bangor terminal was small and had only a few chairs. The tourists began to slide to the floor, sitting with their backs against the cold wall.

Finally we were instructed to reboard. We walked to our assigned stations and watched the passengers board the jet like sleepy sheep. They returned to their original seats and fell fast asleep.

On the flight to England I asked Evelyn, the senior flight attendant, what would happen to Mr. Smith.

“Mr. Smith is an attorney. If our airline sues him, he said he’d sue us right back.”

“What could he sue for?” I questioned.

“Supposedly he didn’t know that it wasn’t a window,” she said.

Mr. Smith informed the local police that our plane did not have an appropriate sign. We needed a notice stating that the exit should only be opened in an emergency. Today, planes have signs that say just that. Because our plane did not, there were no repercussions for Mr. Smith.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27