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Pilgrim of the dead
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By Steve Van Beek
[10/26/99]

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She crawls out of bed, showers, dons a pair of pressed jeans and a nice-looking blouse, kisses her sleeping husband goodbye, grabs her bulging Travel-Pro, hops into her Toyota and heads toward the airport for the first leg of a commute that involves three airports, 2,500 miles, a little luck and a foregone acceptance of the dreaded center seat.

Susan is an airline employee commuter. There are thousands of U.S. crew members just like her. She lives in one city, works out of another and uses her employee travel privileges to fly between the two. When she finally reaches her flight base (an airport where crew member flights originate and terminate) at Miami International Airport, she'll take a nap and wake in time to work a nine-hour all-nighter to Rio de Janeiro.

But first things first. Susan is still in Fresno. She's praying there's an empty seat on the 6 a.m. American Eagle flight to Los Angeles.

Dressed in civilian clothes, a look of stifled anguish pasted on her face, Susan waits near the departure gate. Waiting is the worst part for an airline commuter. For a variety of reasons -- most real, some imagined -- airline employees never know if we'll be allowed to board a flight. It could be that all seats are taken. Perhaps excess cargo created a weight restriction. Maybe the agent doesn't like the way we look. (Employees, referred to as "non-revenue" passengers, must adhere to a dress code that often seems left up to an agent's interpretation).

Whatever the reasons for non-revenue jitters, full-fare passengers have no sympathy. Nor should they. Uncertainty is the price employees pay for flying at a fraction of the standard ticket rate. But when commuting crew members are standing at the departure gate, waiting to hear their name called from the standby list, logic sometimes goes out the window and panic comes right in. Am I going to get bumped? Will the next flight get me to base in time to sign in for my work-flight? Why did that non-revenue passenger get a boarding pass already? Didn't I check in before him? Why the hell am I commuting in the first place? Why? Why? Why?

Love, an allegiance to Memphis or Colorado Springs or a small town in Georgia, a spouse with a higher-paying job, better schools for the kids, a lower cost of living -- these are just some of the reasons airline crew members choose to live in cities that have no flight base. Susan Anderson could easily transfer to American's Los Angeles base -- a seemingly obvious choice considering it's just a short flight away from Fresno, and a few hours away by car. But like most commuters, there's a method to her madness. "In L.A., my seniority will be pretty low," she says. "I'd end up flying lousy trips that will keep me away from home more than if I commute to Miami."

So, four or five times each month, she waits at the departure gate in Fresno. She waits to hear her name called for the one-hour American Eagle flight to Los Angeles. Half the time, every space on the 34-seat propeller plane is occupied by full-fare passengers. When this happens, she has one more chance on the 7:15. If this one is full, she's forced to make the 215-mile trek to Los Angeles in her Toyota. Aside from the obvious fatigue, this means pulling into LAX in just enough time to catch the 1:30 p.m. flight. The 1:30 arrives in Miami at 9:26 p.m. -- just 49 minutes before she's late for sign-in (crew members must sign in to the company computer one hour before departure). If the flight is delayed, even by a few minutes, she'll be late. If the plane is really late, she'll be slapped with a missed trip -- a serious no-no in an industry where on-time performance is a company mantra.

Next page | Will she make it?