well, that was sudden

an unexpected reminder that we're all in this together

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Last week, Marcus, Alex, and I left for a short getaway to Cozumel, Mexico. Our intent was to have some time away from the news, the noise, and enjoy some sun, sand, and the Caribbean Sea. So at 6:30 a.m. last Wednesday, we headed to the airport for four days of turquoise-sea bliss.

All went smoothly, and by 9:30, we were boarding our United Airlines flight #1919 direct to Cozumel. It was a relatively full flight of vacationers, no doubt all looking forward to a few margarita-fueled days. The plane pulled away from the gate, and we were on our way.

Air traffic was busy that morning, so there was a bit of a queue for takeoff. We inched toward the runway. Marcus and Alex fell asleep. I pulled out my camera to film takeoff.

The plane moved into position at the top of the runway. It stopped. I focused my camera, and we began accelerating.

Halfway down the runway, the pilots slammed on the brakes. “That’s not good,” I said, turning off my camera. Marcus and Alex woke up. Other passengers looked around, alarmed, clutching their armrests. The plane fishtailed slightly before coming to a full stop. (You can see the moment it all went down in the video below.)

The plane was silent. Flight attendants made their way down the aisle: “Are you okay?" they asked each row as they passed. Everyone nodded their assent. Someone asked, “What happened?” “We don’t know yet,” they answered. “Let’s let the pilots do their thing, then we’ll let you know.”

The plane remained still. Fire trucks and emergency crews appeared outside, lights flashing. As it happened, Marcus, Alex, and I were seated in the emergency exit, and it dawned on me that there was the distinct possibility that — as we’d promised the flight attendant before we left the gate — we’d have to help folks evacuate. I put my camera away.

After a few minutes, the PA system clicked on:

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. Thanks for your patience. As we were about to take off, there was some smoke. Rather than have a fire emergency while we were in the air, we made the rapid decision to reject takeoff. We’ll be returning to the gate with an emergency crew escort. Once we’re back at the gate, please remain seated to let the maintenance crew aboard as we check the plane. We’ll give you an update as soon as we can.”

A few more minutes passed, and then we began moving again, with the fire trucks at our side. All passengers remained silent. Finally, we stopped at the gate. A maintenance crew came on board, and after about fifteen minutes, the flight attendants announced over the PA system that we needed to grab all of our belongings and evacuate the plane. In silence, we did as we were told.

After about a half hour at the gate, the crew confirmed that the flight would continue, albeit on a different plane. The pilots warned us not to wander too far from the gate, and while they were filling out their paperwork, they invited anyone who had questions to feel free to approach them and ask whatever they wanted. I noticed no one took them up on their offer, leaving them to do their work in peace.

About two hours later, we boarded a new plane. As Marcus, Alex, and I were getting settled in, a flight attendant stopped in the row in front of us.

“Well, this is a long day for you,” I smiled.

She laughed. “It is!” she agreed. “But we’re trained for this.”

“Well, you all did a great job,” I said. “Thank you so much. I assume the pilots got some sort of alert or alarm about smoke, or something?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “The flight deck actually filled with smoke,” she answered, with a wry smile. “It’s, you know, not supposed to do that.”

“I imagine not!” I said, with wide eyes. “Well, you were all really great,” I repeated. “Completely calm and professional.”

“Thank you,” she smiled kindly. “Again, that’s what we’re trained for.”

This time, the flight took off without incident — except everyone on board clapped with relief when the plane finally leapt into the air. (They clapped again when the plane touched down safely in Cozumel.) And I’m not going to lie: that first margarita we enjoyed once we’d finally checked in to our hotel went down smoother than any has ever done.

The rest of our holiday was lovely. But even though we’re back safely in Houston now, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the behaviour of everyone on that flight last Wednesday. Everyone, including the passengers, was calm, focused, and ready to act if needed. In fact, one of the passengers on the flight happened to be staying at our hotel, and when I bumped into her, we naturally talked about what happened. “I can’t help but think that the catastrophe caused by the flooding in Central Texas last week was on everyone’s mind,” she said. “It’s like we all knew that disaster can happen at any moment. It was just natural that our collective instinct was to be ready to take care of each other if we had to.”

She might have been right, but even if she wasn’t — even if no one was thinking about anything other than what was happening in that very moment — there was no denying that it felt like every adult on that plane was ready to help everyone else on that plane. The feeling of intense community was palpable. And honestly, I’ve seen this happen before: eight years ago, during Hurricane Harvey. And because of both of these incidents, I believe that when it really counts, we are more likely to care for each other than not.

It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it? I wonder what it would take for all of us to feel that communal compassion for each other without the catalyst of fear.

Anyway, my point is this: let’s take care of each other, everyone.

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