LETTING GO OF Go!

The aspiring Taoist in me is trying to let go of the rage over the debacle of Sunday night's cancelled return red-eye flight on Go!, the pesky upstart airline that is held by local folks partly culpable in the death of Aloha, a tradition in inter-island travel. (Although I probably won't fully let it go until I send a letter of protest to the airline, not the sort of thing I usually do, but feel compelled to now.)

It's a tough business, and Aloha was in trouble anyway, the yin or yang, who knows, of a classic Hawaii duopoly. But when cheap flights on small equipment became available, along with some possibly shady business strategizing on the mainland-based carrier's part, Aloha eventually collapsed and the new player in the duopoly was Go! (It's like a board game on tarmac.)

Over the past several years, I flew a couple of the new neighbor island routes, partly because I enjoy the smaller planes, and there is a tropical retro-feel to boarding after walking out on the tarmac instead of marching down a jetway.

Now that I think of it, other places I have enjoyed that unique feeling were Palm Springs and the now defunct Kai Tak airport in Hong Kong where you might disembark a 747 on the runway pretty much in the middle of town. It's more organic, not so homogenized...all jetways are the same, but to be actually out on the ground with the plane stirs my Sagittarian blood.

So for this trip I didn't think to choose the bigger player and even older tradition than Aloha, Hawaiian, opting for the smaller commuter terminal and timing that was convenient for my weekend jaunt to Maui, looking forward to a private film festival with my friend. (She usually has a stack of DVDs for us and her tastes are a little different than mine: she likes British romantic comedies with a twist, and Tim Burton. They're always fun.)

The weekend was over too soon, and my friend delivered me at 8 p.m. to Kahului for my 9 p.m. 20-minute flight back to Honolulu. There was no line at the Go! counter when I tried to check in; I was informed the flight, the last of the night, had been cancelled. I should wait over on some benches while they figured out what to do; she would come and get me. The agent let it slip that there were only 12 persons booked; they had to wait to see if they could get 30 for a flight. Something was up and I think she probably shouldn't have told me that. (It smells illegal. But I haven't read the mouseprint on my reservation.)

I set myself up on the outdoor bench, under a 100% full moon, sent an email and watched part of a Jumong episode on my iPad. At about ten to nine, I thought I might go see if anything was happening. Would they have a plane? Would they put me on a Hawaiian flight? What?

At the counter, the rest of the dozen passengers were gathered (the agent had not come to get me), all in a dangerous mood of rage and resignation. The agent announced the flight was indeed cancelled but they were doing all they could to accommodate us. Which wasn't much. The agents were about as accommodating as the Han emperor when Puyo needed assistance. WWJD? (What Would Jumong Do?)

"You can get a refund and then go find another flight (at 9 p.m. in Kahului) or I can book you for the morning." Someone pointed out, not so politely, that the airline had made no attempt to alert anyone when they KNEW the flight was cancelled (apparently at 7 p.m.); they made no attempt to assist in other arrangements for flight or hotel arrangements. We were advised if we weren't happy, we could write to the head office and "try to get a free round trip or something." WE could try??? This is customer dis-service.

I decided to call my friend, opting to enjoy one more gin and tonic and some more talk, and leave in the morning. I had to cancel a Monday morning doctor's appointment, but no big deal really. (Although that entailed its own struggle with automated messaging...I may have left an obscene muttering on the answering machine when I had trouble navigating the menu with my cell phone.) But I felt bad for the woman who had to return home Sunday to pick up her child from a baby sitter; another woman who had to go to work on Oahu that night;a tourist couple who had already checked out of their hotel and returned their rental car. Maui at night can be desolate and the airport actually closes after midnight.

As the group got more and more emotional --even I complained loudly about the lack of Aloha spirit on the part of the airline that actually wanted to use that name--an airport security officer, a cop, arrived to hover around the 12 angry men and women.

One person opted to take the suggested 8 a.m. flight out

"Well, you 'll have to come in before 7; we'll put you on standby, it's fully booked." WTF??

Several of us waited while others' refunds were processed; I don't know how those folks, some with children, got home. I opted for the open 10:30 a.m flight so my friend wouldn't have to fight the early morning traffic. (There IS a rush hour on laid-back Maui.)

My friend came back to the airport, fortunately from Kihei, just a few miles away, and not, say, very distant Lahaina or remote Hana. We went back to enjoy the full moon from her lanai. "I knew we hadn't had a proper goodbye when I dropped you off," she said.

Next morning, I arrived in plenty of time, about 9 a.m. for the 10:30 flight. I had to be assertive about my checked bag--the only "accommodation" the airline had made for us was to waive the $10/bag charge for us who were inconvenienced (after someone demanded that courtesy), but I had to remind the ticket agent who then had to get manager approval. (I wouldn't have checked the bag except that I'd bought a large jar of expensive and presumably dangerous body butter that wouldn't have made it through TSA security.) Then I settled in at the gate, enjoying free wifi to watch YouTube videos of Vincent Zhao kicking his way through the new airport in Hong Kong, when, despite my noise-isolating earbuds, I heard the announcement.

"Go! Flight 1003 to Honolulu will be delayed. The plane is still on Oahu." It was only a half-hour delay (but really, the flight itself is just 20 minutes.)

Eventually, I got off the rock. Luckily, I work near the airport and my baggage was minimal so I was able to walk -- also about 20 minutes-- to my office. I didn't have my car since on Friday my husband had dropped me at my office, from which I caught a ride to the terminal with a friend. As I walked, I repeated a mantra--"Go! never again." I also thought about the airline's in-flight magazine's letter from the CEO in which he reminisced about the past four years doing business as an ambitious low-fare airline in Hawaii, making reference to "our.. goal..to offer...the highest quality, friendliest, and most reliable service." I mentioned this to a co-worker, even more mellow than I try to be, who routinely flies to and from Maui (on Hawaiian).

"That's just PR," he reminded me. Well, yes, but it does lead to cognitive dissonance, something marketing and advertising departments try to avoid. Go! has yet to make its goal. Maybe that's why corporate America is so goal-focused: something to achieve in the future, not necessary to deliver now. At least they didn't send my bag to Hilo; that would have been the last straw.

Lineage is a much regarded concept in martial arts about credibility and authenticity of training and style. It was a travesty of lineage when Go! actually petitioned to use the Aloha trademark after the bankrupt line's planes were sold and its gates were closed. It would be like some Hollywood pseudo-martial artist-actor killing the last of the Wang family and then claiming Wang lineage.

This airline's lineage is poor. From now on, I choose authentic heritage in the islands: I'll fly Hawaiian.