Here Is My Worst Flight Story in All of Its Glory

I don’t buy into the idea of the journey being an essential part of travel. I hate the journey. If I could teleport myself to where I’m going and avoid air travel altogether, that would be ideal.

Apart from the screaming babies and the screaming men and the screaming flight attendants sick of everyone’s nonsense, there are times when flying becomes scary, too.

This story I’m about to tell you got me to swear off LOT Polish Airlines for over 15 years. You know it’s about to get serious.

We had the best intentions.

When my mom and I decided that it was finally time for me to get out to Poland on a mother-daughter trip, the country both she and my dad were from, I was psyched.

This would also be the first trip with just the two of us. Despite our differences, it was meaningful for me to do this with her. I wanted her to show me where she came from, where my dad came from, and, in connection, where I came from.

READ MORE: I get into all the fun and not-so-fun moments we had on that trip elsewhere. You can read all of that later!

A general itinerary was planned and we booked flights on LOT, the Polish airline for the fall. Is it one of the worst airlines in America? Not at all. If you ask Poles, it’s the BEST.

Note: When you’re Polish, you tend to want to support Polish businesses. Even though they’re part of the Star Alliance now, LOT will always be the preferred carrier for a true Pole.

That’s especially true for a Pole from Chicago, a city that still boasts a deep connection with the Polish community.

I was still living in Chicago at the time, which worked in my favor for this particular adventure. Flights to Poland from Chicago were frequent and often full.

Arriving at the airport, we were pleased to find that our flight was on time.

Despite some weird signage at check-in warning people that chainsaws were not allowed in your any form of luggage, we got to the boarding area without incident.

Seated and as comfortable as we were going to be on our long-haul flight, my mom in the aisle and me in the middle, we heard an announcement crackle on. We came to find out that the captain of the flight was retiring after this last leg.

There was a whole to-do outside where it appeared that bottles of booze were being broken against the airplane, signaling the captain’s final flight. Everyone clapped. Poles love a reason to celebrate.

The plane took off, and I pulled out some gum to alleviate the pressure in my ears. I rifled around for the paperback I brought, and my mom pulled out a crossword puzzle.

READ MORE: Flights can be boring AF. Here are some creative ways to pass the time.

A short time after the safety demonstration, we were treated to a movie on the screens scattered throughout the airplane.

Note: This aircraft didn’t yet have in-seat entertainment, which should really paint a picture for the young people in my audience.

My mom was her usual self, at one point talking about how it’s impossible for her to fall asleep on airlines, after which she softly began the inevitable snoring next to me.

Service came through with snacks and drinks. Alcohol was free of charge, but we were keeping it classy with some ginger ale.

All of a sudden, things got alarming.

It was that feeling you get when you’re on a rollercoaster and the air comes out from underneath you.

Your stomach drops along with the gravity, and it’s either thrilling because you’re on a rollercoaster or scary as hell because you’re on an airplane.

This was more than turbulence. The flight attendants scurried back to their seats, telling us all to buckle up in Polish and English.

We felt another drop. This one seemed longer.

The passengers in the cabin were either moaning from the stress of it all or resigned to the fact that we were all going to die. One man started helping himself to the mini bottles of vodka on the drink cart.

Whether it was the nerves or the sensation I was feeling in my belly, I started getting nauseous.

I tried to do some deep breathing that I’m sure I read about somewhere to curb the bile that was coming up my throat until I couldn’t any longer. I climbed out of my seat, over my mom, and into the bathroom to do what I needed to do.

I lurched back to my seat after avoiding eye contact with anyone near the lavatory. Several passengers in line looked quite green themselves. My mom passed me those paper bags you don’t think you’ll ever use.

I considered using it as a breathing tool because things were not going well by this point.

Vodka guy was still having himself a time at the cart.

As all of this was happening, we didn’t hear a word from the crew as to what was going on. We had no idea whether we were getting off this plane in one piece or in pieces.

“She threw up,” my mother told a flight attendant in passing, in effect squashing any chance at getting some answers at that moment.

The sensation continued.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

The vomit crept up again.

Then the captain came on.

“We have problem. We go back,” he said to whoever would listen in his broken English.

That was it.

No one elaborated.

“We go back” seemed like the proper thing to do, what with all of the nausea and the tapped drink cart. 

Fun fact: I found out later that it was an issue with the autopilot on the airplane, which I guess acts like a car’s cruise control. The retiring captain and his first officer were flying the aircraft manually, which led to those drops and dips as we precariously reached the open ocean past the East Coast.

As we originated in Chicago, that meant we were nearly three hours into the flight at this point.

And we had to go back.

Transparency was mid.

We never got any additional information from the crew or the airline.

The trip back was awful. Never mind how sick I was still feeling. My mom, a pessimist, said it was likely our trip would now be canceled. Who in their right mind would want to get on an airplane again after this scenario, she mused.

We landed back at O’Hare.

I’m not sure what time it was, but it was likely quite late, as this was to be an overnight flight. It was a zoo of angry Poles — because that’s typically who flies on LOT — who crowded around the agents’ desks at the gate.

Rightfully so, they were demanding answers as to what exactly went down on that airplane.

If I didn’t have friends in the airline industry, I would have honestly never known what exactly happened, that the autopilot was the issue. The crew stuck with the story that it was a vague mechanical problem and put us on a flight going out the next day.

After a quick discussion with my mom, I told her that despite what happened, I still really wanted to go to Poland. My first time there needed to be with her. I don’t much believe in fate or signs, so didn’t take our failed adventure so far as a reason that we should cancel.

She acquiesced on the condition that we choose a later flight.

The replacement flight was booked for the next morning, and we were assuming that it would be with the same crew.

As we weren’t impressed by that crew, we wanted to leave enough time between the landing of the original flight and the do-over flight to make sure we had a fresh crew.

We wanted a fresh plane and a better chance to actually get to where we needed to be, without incident. So we got ourselves on a flight the next afternoon.

Nerves were rattled, but the vibes were positive.

We didn’t push for anything else from the gate agents. We just wanted to get to Poland safely, have the trip we had planned, and put this ridiculous experience behind us.

The mob surrounding us was not as accommodating. Many were demanding the airline return their bags immediately, as some had already moved to cancel their trips. I don’t blame them for that. It was traumatizing.

“I have no more underwear! I need my underwear!” one man yelled into the void.

It was a different man than vodka guy, who I assume was napping somewhere. I couldn’t find him in the crowd.

“Tell us what happened!” a woman yelled at the agents, who were really just muttering amongst themselves. They were addressing little else other than putting passengers on the flight the next morning.

It was all so weird.

Was this some kind of coverup? Would I wake up the next morning realizing it was all just a bad dream?

We got home, quite shaken, and attempted to sleep. My mother never sleeps if you ask her, so it’s likely she told me the next morning that she didn’t sleep a wink.

Coffee consumed, we had a few hours at home to collect ourselves. We got to the airport a little weary but resolved that we were going to make this life-changing trip happen.

Things started as they had the day prior. Boarding was uneventful. We found our seats, and that’s when I realized something that, if I believed in fate, would have been a sick twist on it.

Fate, you wicked witch.

This was the same crew we had the day before.

Despite going on a different flight than was recommended to us, we still had the same crew. I could recognize their faces anywhere.

And there he was.

The same pilot was at the helm of this airplane, too, greeting everyone as we came on.

To be honest, if I hadn’t learned that it was a mechanical issue the night before, I might have assumed we had to return to Chicago because the captain was drunk. He had been celebrating his final flight, after all.

Apparently he needed a do-over from what went down last night. How could he retire on a failed flight like that? He had to redeem himself.

I looked at my mom, who realized the same just moments later.

Heads hanging down, we decided we might as well join our luggage on the aircraft and soldier on. How likely would back-to-back airplane incidents be?

We were safer today than we ever were, we told ourselves, even though it felt like Groundhog Day, what with the same crew and the same retirement celebration.

We didn’t clap this time.

The passengers were all different. They had no idea what went down the night before. It was such a strange position to be in.

Most of the folks from our original flight were likely on the suggested replacement that left that morning, or at home eating tiny sandwiches as they relived the horrors.

We could’ve been halfway to Poland by now had we taken their suggestion. Instead, here we were.

I asked a flight attendant passing by if this was the same airplane as the night before, something I had already brought up to the reservations agent when we rebooked.

Whatever they booked us on, a condition of our travel was that we had to be on a different plane.

“Oh, of course, it’s a different plane,” she responded.

Fun fact: It was the same response I got last night.

I mean, would they tell me any different, even if it wasn’t true? They probably remembered my face from what I did in the lavatory.

We made. By golly, we made it.

The flight concluded without incident.

I’d like to say we willed it to.

I was so bent on making sure the trip happened, though, that I didn’t consider the effects of that trip on my future travel. All jokes aside, I was left pretty shaken.

I still grab onto the leg of Brian or whoever’s nearby at takeoff and landing whether it’s a one-hour flight or overnight journey.

That can get awkward.

Perhaps those movies I choose to watch are a way for me to distract myself from every bump and rumble that causes me to break out into a sweat on an airplane.

I was now forever changed, a nervous flyer.

But was it worth it?

Well, we made it there. I’d say that’s a win.

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