White Knuckles

Our flight back home was the last one out for the night. As we boarded, the pilot announced that the plane was headed to Nashville. All the Washington, DC-bound passengers looked up, then at the person next to them. "Did he just say Nashville?"

A minute later, the pilot made a second announcement. "Sorry, folks, if that sounded like I said we were headed to Nashville. I actually said National. But it's been a long day."

Calling us folks did not make his explanation any more reassuring. I began to wonder if we should try getting off the plane.

As we taxied down the run way, we heard a weird thunk. It’s not paranoia when the flight attendants look worried, too. Our flight attendant disappeared for a minute, and when she came back, she whispered to us that the pilot took out a light on the runway but that he didn’t want her to tell the whole cabin. I bet he didn't.

At this point, we were in the air, so getting off no longer seemed like the safest option, although I did consider it.

One very tense hour later, we landed, unscathed, in the right city. Folks, if you happen to fly out of Boston at night and the runway seems a little dark, you'll know why.