Daily Bow: Flying the Unfriendly Skies

Sartre once famously wrote that hell is other people. Sartre clearly lived in a different time and place, because, as many musicians can attest, hell is not other people.

Hell is trying to travel with a musical instrument.

Where to begin? Strap yourselves in; it’s a long ride, and it gets bumpy.

Let’s start here: I am a cellist, and I have been a cellist for all of my adult life and then some. In order to do anything: obtain my musical education, go home for the holidays, play concerts, or take all-important job auditions, I must travel with my cello. I have been traveling with my cello for as long as I’ve been playing it, although, at the behest of airlines everywhere, the manner in which I travel with my instrument–which is not so much an instrument as my whole life–has changed over the years. At first, when I was starting out and in my early college years, I took the now-unthinkable risk of checking my cello, which entailed a huge amount of packing materials, safeguards, written instructions to TSA employees on how to safely repack the instrument and close the case(s), and several very expensive investments in the ever-changing best-available flight cases. Somehow, the cello managed to escape all checked flights intact, but I have numerous friends who have checked their cellos only to receive a cello-shaped coffin filled with odd-sized fragments of wood, severed cello necks, and loose strings at their final destination. For some, that’s when they start checking the cello. For me, it happened after the time Continental Airlines lost my cello for an 18-hour period. I waited at my mom’s house on the first night of my long-anticipated Christmas break from college, sick to my stomach and shaking, until the people from Continental delivered my cello to me at 3 AM.

This is how I reached the Modern Era of flying with a cello. The Modern Era, as we shall call it, of flying with instruments is one of unmitigated hostility, murkiness, convolution, and needless restriction. Cellists are no longer outraged at the thought of having to purchase a seat for an instrument, although when you think about it, they should be. The fact that airlines can’t be bothered to use any kind of care at all for an item obviously marked “FRAGILE” in several languages should be at least mildly frustrating, but it isn’t. Cellists and other players of similarly sized instruments everywhere have simply quietly and numbly accepted that this is How Things Work Now, and we dutifully shell out twice the airfare of everyone else on the plane so we can have Cello [Your Last Name Here] safely seated at the window next to us. Most people think that this solves the problem.

It doesn’t. Try as you may to follow every last protocol for flying with a cello, the results are often completely unpredictable.

Here’s the standard and widely accepted operating procedure for flying with a cello, as set out by the airlines and confirmed by a general consensus within the cello-playing and large-instrument-playing community:

1. Book seat for yourself and a passenger named Cello with your last name. (Figuring out a sex and date of birth for your instrument are on you.)
2. Arrive at airport early to go through security with the cello and to speak to the gate agents who arrive exactly one hour before take-off.
3. Speak to gate agents, making sure to be as friendly and polite as possible, to either double-check correct seats or get switched to correct seats.
4. Board plane, ideally pre-boarding to avoid cello-wrangling nightmare; ask for seat belt extender to belt cello in for flight.

As many of us have been led to believe by various airline employees in various positions, this should be a foolproof way to do it, but it’s not. Even when very strictly adhered to, this protocol leads more often than not to an infinite variety of issues, some of which result in the cellist and the (paid, ticketed) cello being ejected from a flight. That’s what happened to me on an Alaska Airlines flight this past Wednesday, and that’s almost what happened to Paul Katz on a recent flight to LA. It’s an experience that reduced the renowned teacher and cellist to tears. Here’s what happened to me, and it’s not just a horror story: it’s a daily occurrence with musicians.

I always check with the gate agent regarding seat assignments as soon as I get to a gate. On Wednesday, I was greeted with the (expected) news that the cello and I would need to sit in the bulkhead row at the front of coach class. As cellists and many other musicians have come to learn, the bulkhead row is essentially impossible to book online ahead of time. The only way to get it for sure it to purchase seats on the phone with the airline–a practice that incurs an extra booking fee, which essentially penalizes people for making the effort to sit in the seat to which they and their instruments are legally relegated: it’s a fee for following the law. I had even called Alaska Airlines twice in the week leading up to my trip to confirm that the seats I had booked were acceptable. I was told that they were. Even had they not been, the usual experience I have accumulated over years of flying with the cello have taught me that getting the right bulkhead seats is as simple as the gate agent rearranging the seating with a few keystrokes. The bulkhead seats are often reserved for handicapped passengers, and, as long as there is at least two free seats, there is usually no conflict. On Wednesday’s flight, though, I was supposedly fine to sit in a non-bulkhead seat.

I was suspicious, because on my American Airlines flight to Seattle a few months earlier, I had been made a public spectacle of as I was first pre-boarded and seated in an approved window seat combination, then made to leave the plane with my cello against the flow of oncoming traffic, made to stand on the jet-way as everyone got onto the plane as I cried tears of frustration and humiliation (sample comment from fellow passengers: “Well, I guess that’s what she gets for trying to sneak that on board.”) and the flight attendants squabbled amongst themselves about whether the cello could sit in any row, the back or bulkhead rows, just the bulkhead row, or whether I would simply not be allowed on the plane. Particularly visible in the American Airlines experience was the fact that the flight attendants each had complete conviction that their way was the right way. This is a recurring and problematic theme: no one person associated with any airline has the complete or definitive information regarding flying with instruments, and no one set of flight agents reaches a consensus amongst its members. The confusion this creates is unimaginable. Eventually, that time I was allowed to sit in the bulkhead seat.

On Wednesday’s flight, I wasn’t even allowed to set foot on the jet-way, as the agents informed me that the only place I could sit on this aircraft was in first class. This was also a familiar situation: it had happened to me on a United flight on different aircraft, and I have religiously avoided booking on 757’s ever since. I was allowed to fly on that United flight only the the grace of a fellow passenger: a gentleman from first class offered to watch my cello as it was seated next to him in an empty first class seat. I spent the whole flight looking like a nervous prairie dog as I kept watch. On Wednesday’s flight, which was on a 737-800, I was told that I had two options: book seats for my party in first class or gate-check my instrument. When I incredulously repeated, “You need me to buy last-minute first-class tickets for a cello that I already have tickets for?,” the agent snapped that I couldn’t do that because the plane left in 40 minutes–as if it had been my ridiculous idea in the first place. I told her I had cleared my seats and the cello’s passage with the Alaska Airlines headquarters two days prior to departure. This didn’t faze anybody. The gate agent then told me that my tickets were booked “totally wrong” because they were booked as if a person was sitting there. I told her that in previous cases–all previous cases, in fact–I was told by other agents of all other airlines that they simply made a change in the flight manifest once I was checked in at the gate, so no one would think that a person was in the seat if the flight went down. I was told that I cannot get on any flight with any airline with a ticket booked for “Cello Hu.” I was then told that, because I would not gate-check my instrument, I would not be allowed on that flight, and there were no more flights to Chicago that day. I am leaving for Chicago on Saturday, three days after my planned travel time. After I complete my re-booked flight, there will be no more flights with Alaska Airlines for me or Cello Hu.

Nor, for that matter, will there be for Alfred Gratta, a cellist with the Florida Orchestra. Gratta took a flight to Washington for his regular summer position at the Bellingham Festival of Music. The plane was a small one, and the flight attendants wouldn’t let him use the seat he bought for his cello, as the case wouldn’t fit into the seat easily. Says Gratta:

They had me bring my cello off the plane to the outside near the galley and hoist the cello up to a storage area on the outside of the plane where they roped it in somehow. I was a complete nervous wreck the entire flight, but luckily my cello arrived in one piece. The problem was that Horizon promised the cost of the seat would be refunded, but I had to go through Delta, since they were the ones who booked the flight. Of course, Delta refused, so I had to fight it out with [Horizon code-share partner] Alaska, who eventually offered me ticket vouchers for future flights, which is why I decided to fly with them again the next summer.

The next summer, Gratta booked his flights with the vouchers from the previous experience. What ensued was Part II of what he refers to as his Alaskan Nightmare. The issue started when he was forced to give up the bulkhead seat due to overbooking of the bulkhead row. Here’s how he tells it:

The attendants, gate agent and pilot were arguing about language in the manual, and finally the head flight attendant took charge and refused to allow my cello sit in one of the empty bulkhead seats in first class. When we arrived, they brought my cello up from the hold to the jet-way. I immediately noticed my case was sopping wet with condensation and freezing cold. I opened it up to find that my bridge had fallen down and the condensation had gotten inside all over the wood/varnish and all the strings had come down as well. My cello was severely damaged by lack of pressure/freezing temperatures. I had to FIGHT with the gate agents and airline management. I refused to leave the airport until I received a commitment from the airlines IN WRITING that they were responsible for the damage and would pay for any necessary repair. It took over three hours to get this accomplished and I had to fight and threaten to get an attorney involved.

The damage was so extensive that the repairs required major work. Gratta ended up with about $5,000 worth of damage to his cello, which the airline reluctantly paid for. The real cost of the trip, though was more extensive. Say Gratta, “The amount of stress and anxiety this caused on the way to and during the first two weeks of the festival were beyond anything I had ever experienced in my entire 30 years in the profession. This situation could have been avoided completely and I am terrified to fly with my cello on any airline again in the future. How am I supposed to get myself and my instrument across the country safely when necessary for work?”

The experience isn’t limited to cellists. Take the story of Dallas-based violinist Glen McDaniel. He flew Southwest and found no space for his violin in the overhead compartment. An apparently solicitous flight attendant offered to put his violin in the captain’s closet, which McDaniel gratefully accepted. Turns out, that’s not where the violin went at all. McDaniel on a whim decided to go up to the front to check in on the violin before takeoff:

At that moment, she points toward the aircraft’s door, and I look down to see my violin – my life, really – on a conveyor belt about to be dropped into the bottom of this plane like it’s some piece of regular luggage. I don’t quite remember what I said to this woman at that point because I’m pretty sure I went into some sort of blinding rage…. What I do remember, though, is yelling, “GET THAT OFF OF THAT BELT.  NOW.”

I was kicked off of the plane, but for what? Being lied to? ….I tried raising hell when I got back in the terminal, but really, what can you do? At that point, flight and gate attendants are like God in the world of air transportation, and they know it and definitely act on it. I haven’t flown Southwest since then. They, in my mind, no longer exist.

These experiences are so common that the American Federation of Musicians lobbied for, and finally helped to pass, a federal bill that requires the Federal Aviation Administration to adopt standardized rules for passengers traveling with instruments of all sizes. Previously, airlines have been able to set their own policy regarding air travel with musical instruments, and that has served to breed rampant confusion and disenfranchisement for musicians. The new law gave many musicians hope that things would get better. A statement from the AFM website says:

Additionally, the bill sets standard weight and size requirements for checked instruments, and permits musicians to purchase a seat for oversized instruments, such as cellos, that are too delicate to be checked. Existing law allowed each airline to set their own policy regarding musical instruments, and size requirements varied widely for both carry-on and checked baggage. The American Federation of Musicians (AFM) has been lobbying Congress to enact such a policy for nearly a decade.

After the passage of this policy, though, things have yet to get better, partly because the changes will not go into effect for another two years. In the meantime, airlines are still actively disenfranchising traveling musicians. Take this statement from WestJet’s spokesman Robert Palmer, which he sent to the Boston Globe after Paul Katz published his article about his WestJet-American Airlines code-share experience:

Although seats may not be purchased for instruments, we will accept small instruments as part of the carry-on baggage allowance. Exceptions may be made for irregular-sized instruments. All instruments must be stowed in the overhead compartment, under the seat or in other approved locations. This is left to the discretion of the cabin crew and Customer Service Agent upon checking flight and baggage loads. Instruments may also be accepted in checked baggage when they are properly packed. There is no rule banning cellos or any other specific musical instrument. However, they must be able to be stowed in the overhead bins. If they are too large or of an odd shape, they must go below the wing. You cannot buy a seat for a musical instrument because the seat and its restraint system are designed and rated for a person.

This statement and policy is in direct contradiction of the terms set out by the latest FAA bill. And there is no recourse for a traveling musician to take in the two years it will take for the bill to come into effect. Until then musicians are held hostage to the whims of airline personnel, who often have never encountered these situations. So what is there to do? One tuba player I know is so frustrated by flying experiences that he simply drives to all auditions, no matter how many days it takes. This approach is not feasible for everyone or, really, for him. But he has been driven to the end of his rope by the treatment that airlines give musicians. We’re not asking for special treatment. We are simply asking that we be respected and treated like their other paying customers, and we are asking to get the service we pay for when we follow the airline’s own policies and instructions. Petitions for change circulate the world over, replete with horror stories from thousands of musicians.

Here’s a plea to all airlines everywhere: consider making an option to travel with an instrument that needs a seat part of the online booking experience. All we ask is that you create a clear and consistent protocol for us to follow, and we will. We pay the extra seat fee without complaining, but even when we do that and do everything you ask, we are consistently turned away from flights. Here’s a promise for the airlines: if your airline steps up to become the first airline with clear, easy-to-follow procedures for booking passage for an instrument that work seamlessly and smoothly, we will all fly your airline exclusively and consistently. We cost you no extra money when we bring our cellos, tubas, and other large instruments with us; we pay your for your seats and for the privilege of not having our livelihood destroyed by your baggage handlers. All we ask is to get where we’re going with our instruments intact on the date that we paid to travel.

We’re tired of being trampled on and disenfranchised. It needs to end now. Musicians, share your stories here: airlines need to hear them.

UPDATE: It’s Friday morning, and the cello and I have a flight booked for 8:40 tomorrow morning. The flight was booked first class as compensation for having been barred from the flight. I tried to check in online and was greeted with a message that told me I was not able to check in online because there was an extra amount due. For my compensatory flight three days later than originally planned. I called to sort the issue out, and this is what I discovered: despite assurances from Wednesday’s gate agent that everything would be fine, there was no documentation of the transaction that occurred on Wednesday. The customer service agents at Alaska were confused as to why I had not paid the difference in fare, and, to boot, the tickets were not booked correctly. As it stands right now, the supervisor at Alaska documented everything and I am supposedly going to be fine to check in on tomorrow morning’s flight–I just have to go to the counter and to get the boarding passes. I’ll go tomorrow, keeping in mind that I was told I would encounter no problems three times now: when I called before my original flight, when I re-booked at the gate for the original flight, and now this. Cross your fingers that Wednesday’s Bow will be written from Evanston. If not, expect to hear more on this.