Ah, the joys of air travel. The poor guy who got dragged off a United Airlines flight the other day is just the latest example of passenger mistreatment. Incidents like these also compel many frequent flyers to share their own horror stories from the not-so-friendly skies, and I, for one, have a doozy:

It was Friday the 13th of January, 2012. My family and I were returning to frigid Toronto from Costa Rica on Continental Airlines flight 5199. Just after 10 pm, as the CRJ700 began its bumpy descent toward Pearson International, we received some shocking news: “Just to let everyone know,” the flight attendant chirped over the intercom, “we’ll deplane using the stairs tonight, so please watch your step and be sure to use the handrail.”

We were wearing light sweaters and jeans — donned during our layover in Houston — and flip flops. The kids, aged 2 and 5, were also sporting light pants and tops. We had planned for a chilly dash from Terminal 1 to our waiting SUV, which my father in law had generously piloted to Pearson. There were winter jackets for all of us in the trunk, which I was to briskly retrieve at the appointed curbside meeting spot.
What we had not planned for — not even considered, really — was the possibility of deplaning using the stairs.

A few minutes before the outrageous in-flight announcement, we had been informed that the weather in Toronto was overcast and windy, with a temperature of minus 12. Quickly realizing we were not dressed for any amount of time outdoors, I asked the attendant, “So, er, we have to go outside?”

He nodded. “Yes sir, we’ll be using the stairs.”

“I know,” I said, "but there will be a shuttle bus or something, right?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But there’s a tunnel or something nearby, right?”

“Um, I think the tunnel is about 100 yards away.”

I stared at him incredulously. Then he added, “and I don’t think the tunnel is heated.”

“How long is the tunnel?” I asked, fearing the worst.

“Oh, you’ll be walking for a while,” came his vague reply.

Wrapping our sweaters around the girls, we watched as every other passenger on the plane — most of whom had come from Houston and were dressed appropriately — fled down the stairs and tromped briskly across the snowy tarmac toward the tunnel. I could feel my tropical tan being blasted off my skin as I stepped out of the plane and into the freezing night. I ran down the stairs, hastily assembled the kids’ stroller, grabbed our 2-year-old out of my wife’s arms and crammed her in. It felt decidedly surreal as I trucked across the tarmac pushing the stroller — kind of like a scene from The Last Place on Earth.


The tunnel offered little respite from the cold, so I quickly looked over my shoulder to make sure a polar bear had not taken my wife and firstborn before sprinting toward the heated tunnel another 200 metres or so away. I threw open the double doors, raced inside and immediately knelt down to check on the little one. Her lips were blue, her eyes wide and she was shivering all over. I plucked her out of the stroller and hugged her tightly, and seconds later she smiled with what looked like relief when her mom and sister burst into the warm tunnel.

It was then that I thought back to my final words as we left the plane: “We must look like pretty neglectful parents,” I said to the sympathetic crew, one of whom replied, “Not at all. There’s no way you could have known.”

Here lies the crux of my beef with the airline formerly known as Continental: Had we known this situation was even remotely possible, we could have planned accordingly. I have flown into Pearson many dozens of times, and have never deplaned using the stairs, let alone in the middle of January. Maybe the financially troubled airline was somehow forced, either logistically or financially, into using this ridiculous setup by an airport with some of the highest landing fees in the world. But had this possibility been flagged at check-in or at the gate in Liberia or Houston, we could have pulled extra clothing from our checked bags or purchased some Houston Texans sweatshirts at the airport. But no one said anything until it was much too late. Heck, the plane didn’t even have blankets on board.

Sending two underdressed adults into the chilly night is cruel, but forcing two small children into freezing conditions without adequate clothing borders on criminal.

In yet another example of airlines nickel-and-diming passengers with in-flight charges, InterWest Airways has announced plans to introduce fees for life vests, oxygen masks and the use of those inflatable slides that deploy when commercial aircraft ditch in water.

"With our competitors charging for basics like food, beverages, blankets and luggage, we feel the time is right to roll out a reasonable fee structure for our on-board life-saving equipment," said InterWest CEO Avril Dysloofa during a press conference at the company's headquarters in Chattanooga, Tenn.

The move is the latest in a steady stream of supplemental in-flight charges that started with meals and refreshments and has grown to encompass entertainment, pillows, blankets and carry-on luggage. Ireland-based Ryanair has even suggested that passengers should pay extra to use aircraft toilets. 

InterWest's pre-flight safety demonstrations will continue as usual, Dysloofa explained, but are now followed by complimentary screenings of Alive and Castaway. Passengers will then have the opportunity to purchase reusable life vests for $49.99 via seat-back touch-screens.

"Any passenger who enjoys boating or water sports — or appreciates the extra in-flight security of a personal flotation device — will find our vests deliver excellent value," she added.

For another $49.99, passengers will be issued keys to unlock the overheard compartments from which oxygen masks tumble in the event of a loss of air pressure. "Flight attendants will of course be on hand to assist children, dwarfs and vertically-challenged passengers who are unable to reach the locks from a seated position," Dysloofa added.

Lastly, colour-coded wristbands will identify passengers who have paid $49.99 for the convenience of using the inflatable emergency exit slides. "Not only are the slides invaluable tools for avoiding a watery or fiery death, but they beat the pants off anything at Wild Water Kingdom," Dysloofa said.

Officials from the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration were quick to comment. "IntraWest has really stumped us here," admitted spokeswoman Pauline Yorlegg. "I mean, who would have thought an airline would go this far? We don't have policy in place to prevent these fees, so I guess InterWest can go ahead until we draft something."

The announcement came amid celebrations surrounding InterWest's 10th anniversary. Fireworks followed the press conference, along with the unfurling of a giant banner emblazoned with the words: "Happy April Fool's Day!"

Gotcha? The scary thing is, it's not that unbelievable...

There’s a hobby for every taste: Stamp collecting, watercolour painting, My Little Pony role-play, sneaking onto commercial airline flights…

Say what? While there’s no convention for the latter (yet), the predilection for boarding planes sans ticket now has a standard bearer (and possible keynote speaker?) in Marilyn Hartman (pictured). According to news reports, Hartman, 64, was arrested at Chicago O'Hare International Airport recently after she was found in a restricted area without a ticket and with no legitimate reason for being there. Police charged her with misdemeanour criminal trespass and ordered her to appear in court on May 29.

The retired legal secretary has been arrested several times for attempting to stow away on flights – and has occasionally succeeded. Last year, for instance, she was jailed for sneaking onto a Southwest Airlines flight from San Jose to Los Angeles. (Which raises the question: Why would anyone want to sneak onto a Southwest Airlines flight? She must really be nuts.)

Hartman gets points for the frequency of her stowaway attempts, but loses points for style. Loitering in a departure lounge may be effective, but it lacks the freaky creativity of these three incidents:

Disguise in the skies: Airline passengers are told what to do if the cabin pressure drops or if a plane ditches in water, but what's the protocol for someone taking their face off? In 2010, an unnamed 20-something Asian man reportedly boarded an Air Canada 747 in Hong Kong disguised as an elderly Caucasian male. His disconcertingly realistic prosthetic mask (picture below) tricked staff at the gate — a 55-year-old American accomplice switched boarding passes with him — but flight attendants were apparently tipped off by his youthful hands en route to Vancouver. When questioned, he went into the bathroom and removed the outfit, emerging as a (presumably sweaty) refugee claimant and pulling the plug on what the Canada Border Services Agency called an “unbelievable case of concealment.”

Dead on departure: Even the bumbling duo in the Weekend at Bernie's movies never tried to get the titular corpse (pictured below) onto a commercial airliner. But that's just what Gitta Jarant and daughter Anke Anusic reportedly tried to do with the deceased body of Jarant’s 91-year-old husband, Kurt Willi Jarant, on their way to Berlin from Liverpool, England, in April, 2010. The women brought Kurt to John Lennon International in a wheelchair — and sporting sunglasses, of course — and when questioned about his condition claimed he was just sleeping (Monty Python fans will mention a dead parrot right about now). The women were arrested for failing to report a death — they were suspecting of trying to circumvent the costs associated with transporting a body — but authorities eventually decided not to prosecute. 

Wheel well wonder: Lastly, there are the increasingly frequent, and often tragic, cases of stowaways who hide in the wheel wells of aircraft. An especially miraculous case took place last year, when a teenaged runaway survived a five-hour flight from California to Hawaii. The 16-year-old Californian lad apparently passed out before temperatures in the wheel well plunged below minus 60 degrees – a.k.a. a warm February afternoon in Winnipeg – but regained consciousness about an hour after touchdown in Maui, where he was spotted by ground crews on the tarmac. There was no word on whether he had to pay for any of blankets he received…

I checked in for an upcoming Air Canada flight from Toronto to Kamloops,  B.C., earlier today, and for the first time in my life had the distinct displeasure of shelling out $25 (plus tax) for luggage that will not leave the country (I hope).
I'll have to do the same on the way back, too. I suppose I could have crammed a week's worth of clothing and gear into my carry-on -- stay tuned for more on my time at Sun Peaks, Kicking Horse and Revelstoke -- but then I'd have to ski topless or bottomless, or go the full monty like our friend pictured above, and nobody wants that. (Canada's ski industry can't be thrilled about new airline fees that make ski vacations less affordable, but that's another story.)
I have spent years bemoaning the rise of airline fees for previously complimentary services like in-flight meals, movies, blankets and pillows. Then came charges for checked luggage, first on flights to the States, and since November on WestJet's and AC's domestic routes as well.
All these extra fees once seemed understandable: Airlines were getting hammered financially in the wake of 9/11, jet fuel was relatively expensive, and passengers, for the most part, shopped for tickets based on price and little else. In short, carriers were looking to make a buck wherever they could, causing fees to jump by 1,200 per cent since 2007.
These days, however, I'm feeling a lot less sympathy. Oil prices have plummeted, yet many airlines have stated that there will be no corresponding reductions in fares or even in fuel surcharges. U.S. airlines, meanwhile, are projected to post a profit of around $20-billion in 2014. Air Canada, for its part, recently reported the best quarter in its history.    
Then there was my own ridiculous run-in with Air Transat earlier this year, and outrageous traveller tales like that of an Edmonton woman who faced a $1,000 fee when her Air France flight to Ebola-ravaged Sierra Leona got cancelled. Crazy, right? 
So I was already feeling decidedly surly towards air carriers before reading Tim Wu's brilliant story in the New Yorker. Wu calls out airlines for the “calculated misery” that degrades basic free services to the point where people want to pay to escape it.
It's sad that economy airline service has fallen so far since the turn of the century, but it's truly contemptible that airlines are using these low standards to introduce more fees. 
January is a time for idealistic resolutions, however, and in that spirit I propose that airline fees become a two-way street. Flyers pay for non-essential goods, services and upgrades, and airlines pay -- in the form of vouchers, cash credits or frequent-flyer miles -- when these "extras" fall short. A few examples:

WE PAY: For checked bags (insert sound of teeth grinding here).
THEY PAY: When those checked bags arrive late, not at all, or badly singed.
WE PAY: For a deli sandwich mid-flight.
THEY PAY: When said deli sandwich possesses the taste and texture of a boarding pass.
WE PAY: For blankets and pillows.
THEY PAY: When a flight attendant wakes us up more than, say, five times to tell us about the in-flight duty free shopping. ($105.99 for a camera pen? Sold!)
WE PAY: For in-flight movies.
THEY PAY: When the only options are Jack & Jill, New Year's Eve , or anything directed by Michael Bay.

Will this ever happen? Will I complete an Olympic triathlon? Such is the nature of resolutions...

The latest edition of Bloomberg Businessweek's "Airport Frustration Index" tabs YYZ as the seventh most aggravating air hub in North America. New York Laguardia is (deservedly) No. 1, followed by Newark Liberty, Washington Dulles, Chicago O'Hare, New York JFK and L.A. International.

Each airport received a frustration score of 1-100 based on the time it takes to get there; how easy it is to clear security; the quality of terminals and restrooms; amenities; and how often flights take off on schedule. Pearson gets hammered on the average drive time to and from downtown, which the study found to be 75 minutes (that's around $80 in an airport limo), the third-longest commute in North America. The Union Pearson Express rail link (pictured), slated to open in the spring of 2015, aims to cut this to around 25 minutes, which should improve YYZ's score. The one-way fares, meanwhile, look like they will come in at around $30 from downtown, which is outrageous. (More on this when the fare is actually announced.)

All other factors, besides on-time departures, are consolidated in a "Time at the terminal" category, where YYZ ranks seventh-worst. This is a bit like comparing passport-renewal offices -- they are all horrible -- but this rating seems a little unfair. I've never thought Pearson to be especially unpleasant. Perhaps survey respondents were in foul moods after the wretched, expensive commute.

The good news for Pearson -- and for all the Canadian airports listed -- is that on-time departures are relatively solid. (As the survey rightly notes: "Ultimately, the thing everyone wants most from any airport is to leave it.") No Canuck hub is among the worst 25 in this area (Toronto was 26th, at 81 per cent), with Ottawa, Vancouver and Montreal Trudeau tied for the three best on-time departure rates (at 85 per cent).

"O Canada" update, anyone? "The True North strong and free (and relatively reliable when it comes to airport departures)..." Sing it with me!

You know that Seinfeld episode where George plays Trivial Pursuit with the Bubble Boy and insists that a misprint -- "the Moops" instead of "the Moors" -- is a correct answer? That's how I felt midway through my phone conversation with Air Transat's supervisor of seat-selection.

Five days after my open letter to the airline's after-sales team, we quickly established that:
1. Phone tag has no redeeming qualities.
2. Requiring me to email scanned copies of boarding passes was pointless and unnecessary. 
3. Customer relations personnel need to be more attentive to meeting the needs of families when aircraft are changed at the last minute...etc.

Yes, yes and yes. "But what about the refund?" I asked, reiterating the only point I have been trying to make: When a family pays to sit together, and the aircraft and seat layouts change -- making it impossible for the family to sit together -- the family should at least get their money back. Simple.

I know all about the refund runaround. We all do. It is customer relations' job to avoid giving money back. I get that. But when you pay for something, and you don't get that thing, well, the end result isn't debatable.

Apparently, however, these situations need to be looked at "on a case-by-case basis," the supervisor said, allowing that "we need to be better at applying our judgement."

"There's no judgement involved," I countered, again stating the obvious: Groups travelling together book seats together because they want to sit together. If they can't sit together, but paid to do so, they should get a refund. Automatically. It doesn't matter if the seat numbers are the same, as they were with us. It's the intent of the booking that must be honoured. 

"What would be ideal would be to advise you of the change in advance so we can make arrangements before you get to the airport," the supervisor continued.

"But that doesn't matter," I replied, pointing out that I wouldn't rebook a family flight at the last minute unless we were slated to dangle from a wing. "The Moops" indeed.

Gradually, however, we started making progress. "We will take more caution to analyze cases and listen to passengers based on their reasoning," the supervisor said, "instead of saying, 'Nope, you were rebooked as equivalent' -- meaning with the same seat number -- 'so you're not entitled to a refund.'"

It soon became clear that this was as far as I was going to get: Air Transat won't automatically grant refunds in cases like ours, but they won't automatically dismiss them either. 

Is that progress? It is if you believe this will actually happen. Just to be sure, please email me if Air Transat turns you down for a refund in a case like this, and I'll remind them of their pledge.

At 6:58 p.m., almost exactly three hours after Wednesday's open letter was published, Air Transat's response came via Twitter: "I'm sorry to read this, Adam. I've transferred your post to our Customer Relations. My colleagues will get in touch w/ you soon."
Customer Relations really did spring into action. The next morning, a very nice-sounding woman telephoned to apologize in a sincere, non-Rob Fordian way, and to assure me that my $80 would be refunded in the next few days. She read my post -- "all of it," she added wearily -- and said she understood my frustration. 
But she didn't seem to understand my post. I explained that I don't want my money back until the airline changes its ridiculous seat-selection refund policy. 
Transat may review the policy at the end of the year, she replied. 
"And I may start at quarterback for the New England Patriots next weekend," I thought. 
The only way to make any headway on the issue, it seems, is to go straight to the top. After all, I assume my towering journalistic stature, legendary handsomeness and tens and tens of readers prompted Transat's relatively speedy response.
Knowing that Tom and Gisele (pictured) are on Mars until next Sunday, we decided that Air Transat's director of seat-selection would have to do.
And that is where things stand. Stay tuned...

Dear Air Transat after-sales team,

Thank you for your latest correspondence regarding Customer File No. 4846625. After all the other correspondence, which required me to scan and email copies of boarding passes, compose several other messages, and wait on hold for around 45 minutes, I was relieved to see the “Refund request for advanced seat selection” subject line appear in my inbox this morning.

As I explained to a customer service representative (pictured at left) more than three weeks ago, I paid $80 for your seat-selection service so my two daughters, aged 4 and 7, could sit with their parents — both their parents — on your Aug. 4 overnight flight from Toronto to Paris.

Your website clearly indicated that the aircraft involved, an Airbus330-300, featured a 2-4-2 seat configuration — that is, two seats on the outside of each aisle and four together in the middle. Indeed, we departed on Aug. 4 specifically because the aircraft allowed us to sit together.

Imagine our surprise when, upon boarding the plane, we discovered that its replacement, an Airbus 330-200, featured a 3-3-3 layout.

Granted, we did have the same seat numbers we had purchased, but the aisle now separated one of us from the rest. My wife and I tried to switch seats so we could both sit next to one daughter, but we were told this wasn’t possible. We couldn’t very well put a small child in an aisle seat all by herself, so my wife, bless her, sat between the kids in the middle section while I flew solo on the other side of the aisle.

Do you know what it’s like taking a red-eye flight with two small children in aisle seats on either side of you? My wife didn’t sleep a wink, what with beverage carts and passengers bumping our kids’ outstretched extremities. My flight was no picnic, but suffice it to say that the experience ranks just below childbirth on the list of spousal sacrifices I can never repay.

If nothing else, I’ll definitely buy her something nice with the seat-selection refund, despite the fact that I just received this:

Good day,

We acknowledge receipt of your refund request for the following seat selection. Unfortunately no refund can be processed in the file because equivalent seats were given after the aircraft substitution. Originally you booked row 9 on Airbus330-300 where the configuration is 2x4x2 and you selected 4 seats in the middle section before the wings, after the aircraft change we assigned equivalent seats on Airbus 330-200 where the configuration is different and we do not have a row 9 complete, the configuration is 3x3x3, we assigned row16 the middle section and aisle across before the wings as well. Please see below our Terms and Conditions:

"Subject to operational requirements, it may be necessary to change the aircraft type operating your flight. Should this occur, we will try to match your seat request on the substituted aircraft. This, however, cannot be guaranteed. Air Transat will then assign you an equivalent seat. If we cannot assign you an equivalent seat, we will contact you to ask about your seating preferences. In the event that we are unable to assign you an equivalent seat, you may be entitled to a refund…”

Thank you for telling me what I already know about the flight. I also know the definition of “equivalent”: “Corresponding or virtually identical especially in effect or function.”

It’s pretty obvious that being separated from the rest of my family is not "equivalent" to sitting with them (especially in effect or function). This is not open to interpretation – it is a fact.

The thing is, we weren't the only family affected by the aircraft switch. Another foursome, with an infant no less, had paid to have access to the bassinet at the front of the coach cabin, which the new aircraft lacked. Thankfully, the mother was moved to a window seat to make nursing easier, but I have to wonder: Were they denied a refund too? Maybe they gave up when faced with the shocking run-around I'm experiencing. If that is the case, shame on you.

You know what? I don’t want my money back any more. I don’t want you to read this, and think, “This Adam Bisby is incredibly gifted, handsome and eloquent, and he’s got tens and tens of readers, so we had better give him his money back tout suite.”

It’s not about the $80 any more. What I want is for you to change your ridiculous terms and conditions. Do the right thing here, and I will accept my hard-earned $80 — along with one of those self-inflating life vests I’ve always wanted — and hand it straight to the woman who really deserves it (and plenty more besides).

Sincerely,

Adam “Customer File No. 4846625” Bisby