I was in the back of the airplane, nestled in for the ride home in row 7. Having just finished a red-eye flight, I was happy to turn a blind eye to everything, lay my head against the sidewall, and doze my way back to Atlanta. I was in full zombie mode, having disengaged my brain the moment I walked off my flight from Phoenix. Even though I was seven rows back from the front and completely uninvolved with the present flight, I sensed something wasn't in order as departure time came and went. The jet bridge was still connected, and a couple calls between the aft galley and the flight deck rang back and forth. It was the airline equivalent of Cousin Eddie cheerfully delivering the bad news to Clark Griswold: None of the toilets would flush. In the sort of move that would make the company proud, the captain climbed from his seat, picked up the handset in the forward galley, and faced the rows of faces who were ready to be on their way south. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We've got a minor issue with our lavatories-they're both inop-and we've got maintenance on the way to give things a look-see. Hopefully, we'll be on our way soon, but we'll be delayed here for a few minutes at least. Sit tight for now. Thanks."
展开▼
