Ted must die.

Ted is United Airline's economy division. So it doesn't surprise me (though it disturbs me) that my few experiences with them have involved some of the the most threadbare and worn-looking airplanes I have ever flown. The first two times I flew Ted, it was no worse than that.

RH and I showed up at the Phoenix airport on Friday, went to the little electronic check-in machine, punched in the magic number, and got "Canceled. Would you like us to stick you on a flight four hours later?" If you answered no, you had to wait in line for a human being. Now, understand, this isn't just the inconvenience of it, or the fact that sitting around an airport for an extra four hours with a broken foot is an excellent excuse for people to run their suitcases into it. In this case, since we were only going out for a two-day jaunt spread out over three calendar days, we would effectively miss an entire day of the event.

They could not find one other airplane flying from Phoenix to San Diego leaving in less than that four hours that they could wedge us onto. The lady in line before us? Yes. But not us. Then, when the four-hours-later flight was meant to be arriving, we found it delayed another 45 minutes by weather coming out of Denver. It was 9:30 PM by the time we got into San Francisco, 10:20 by the time we reached our hotel, and 11:30 before we got supper.

Okay, but these things happen. Presumably even to the best of airlines. Wait till you get a load of the flight back.

They loaded us onto the plane, and as the designated take-off time approached, we were informed that certain things (flight paths, etc.) had to be programmed into the plane, and that would take about 25 minutes. Funny, they usually do that prior to take-off time.

After 25 minutes, the plane starts taxi-ing . . . and is making the most god-awful sounds. The guy next to me hit the call button and asked the flight attendant if that was normal. The flight attendant said yes. When I asked what it was, I was told it was mechanical noises. Y'know what? They're not supposed to sound like that. The volume and awful impression of parts squealling past each other with a sound of distressed metal was really alarming. And I fly a lot, so it's not like I don't have a baseline to judge from.

We get to the end of the taxiway and we sit. And wait. Eventually, the captain comes on and says they're having some kind of a problem they're trying to fix. So we wait. For another 20 minutes. By this time, I know we're not going up, and am actually relieved they're not sending us up in something making those noises.

No, no, it gets better. The captain comes on and says yes, we're going back to the gate, but what's broken is a switch. Which isn't a big deal by itself, but it's the particular switch that lets them toggle back and forth through the various instrument readings. Kind of like driving your car without the speedometer and fuel gauge, only much, much worse.

At the gate, the fasten seatbelt sign is turned off and everyone stands up. We're told we're waiting for a gate agent. Five or ten minutes later, we're asked to sit again. Turns out, maintenance has a replacement part in stock and they're trying to fix the plane while we're still in it. At this point, we've been confined to our seats in this plane on the ground for two hours. This means no bathroom. The natives are getting restless.

Twenty-five minutes later, we're told the part has been replaced and they're waiting for the release form that the captain, the maintenance guy, and somebody elase have to sign, all agreeing that they think the plane is safe to fly. Nice that they think so. None of this addresses the alarming noises.

We get off the ground three hours late. I'm envisioning Eagle by this point and willing us safely into the air. Crow is sitting on my left shoulder making smart-ass remarks.

The flight itself? Not too bad. Then, as we're coming in for a landing, I feel a thump. Landings do not feel like this. I am now attempting to brake the plane with mental power alone, since the gods-awful noises only occurred while on the ground and I've decided they have something to do with the wheels. Raven has a few choice words about this. Crow just laughs.

We don't brake, and after awhile, it occurs to me that we're still in the air. What the hell? Fully ten minutes later, the captain comes on and bothers to tell us that we just did a touch and go. Something about a long approach, but that's okay, they're clearing runway seven, which is longer, and we'll be coming in on that shortly.

I look at RH. That awful thump was a touch-and-go? He says he's got the tower chatter on his headphones coming out of the seat arm. Oh yeah, that was a touch and go. He can hear the tower directing us to runway seven. Five minutes later, we land. It still feels like landing in an aluminum brick, but it's recognizably a landing, and since we walked away from it, I suppose that qualifies it as a good one.

Here's what gets me. They knew what type of plane it was, even if it was three hours late. They had to know what length of runway it needed. Either the tower fucked up, or the pilot fucked up--in which case I would've thought he'd just take another pass at it--or yeah, there was something really wrong with that plane.

I have reached the point where I don't trust Ted. I would pay some extra money and go to some extra inconvenience to avoid Ted. AirTran Airways impressed me as the most nickle-and-dime, pennies-and-minutes airline I've ever flown, but the planes seemed in good repair and everything ran smoothly, if very very tight. Ted . . . Ted has managed to not impress me on a completely different order of magnitude.