Today, I couldn’t help but to think of the little fella in the white suit on Fantasy Island. I don’t know his real name. I think… on the island… they called him Tattoo. Little Tattoo would yell… “Da Plane! Da Plane!”

Well, that was me today. Yelling at…. “da plane, da plane.” Except for I may have added some choice expletives.

However, I had to be careful. Call me superstitious….. but I didn’t want to curse too much at the broken plane that would ultimately be carrying us 25,000 feet up into the air. Those sorts of things come back to bite you on the ankles. So… not an excessive amount of ill wishes for the aforementioned broken-down-sorry-ass-plane.

What should have been a hop, skip, and a jump down to the Towne named for Charles II, King of England….. turned out to be an all day affair.

On our connector, the plane decided it was time for a technical difficulty. The nice lady from US Airways told us they were going to take it up in the air for some kind of a test run, and then we would know more. A few hours later, the thing gets back from its “test run”….. (I am highly suspicious of this little jaunt…) I mean, Charleston was just a 30 minute flight…. why not load us up and test run the thing down that-a-way?

I know…. I know. Better safe than sorry. But haven’t you ever had the inclination to be a test pilot? Fly fast, fly brave. Well….I’ve had such a propensity . And today was my nearest chance. At any rate…. they brought Da Plane back to the gate, and began to work on it…. right there for God and everyone else to see. Now things are getting long. People are stacking up in the waiting area. Folks are getting downright irritable.

So the Airplane Mechanics make there way out to the problem-plane. They hoist themselves up to the engine area, and start tinkering away.

At that point, I think it is a great idea to yell out….“What the heck? Does that guy have a big tube of Super Glue? Oh my gosh! Hey….LOOK at THAT…. is that duct tape? Tell me…. he is NOT using duct tape on that thing…..” All of this, with my nose and palms pressed against the window glass… peering out toward the tarmac.

I thought it was just what we needed to break the despondency at Gate E24. Heads turned. Nerves crackled audibly. And then the glaring poison-dart-glances began to come my way. Dolefully, I slumped off to Burger King and got a Whopper. I felt slightly better after. (Mayonnaise has great healing properties.)

We eventually boarded that limp-biscuit plane. And, it got us here. A new appreciation for the phrase…”Better Late Than Never.” So just like ol’ Ricardo Montalban, and his little sidekick Tattoo, that young Pilot and Co-pilot had their white suits on…. and made my wishes come true. Back safe and sound…. to Home……. Sweet, Sweet, Home. On Da Plane.