My experience on the red eye

As a techno warlock, I don't fly often. If I need to chat someone up in New York or London, I call 'em on the phone or send them e-mail. But family reunions are different, and this month I found myself boarding a red-eye flight on America West for California, with a 2 AM connection in Las Vegas.

As I took my seat one thing stood out. On the back of the seat in front of me, above the tray table, was an LCD screen, about 8 by 5 inches. As I settled into the seat, I read its message:

"Hello. This is FLIGHT-LINK ... your Entertainment and Communication Center."

Intuitively, I understood what was happening. The airline had installed a network of simple computers, one at every passenger seat. Only one thing was less than obvious -- where the keyboard was. How did you input instructions?

While FLIGHT-LINK led me through a series of slides telling me all the things I could do with it -- check out sports scores, stock quotes, reserve rental cars, read recent movie and record reviews -- I poked the screen, in hopes it was one of those touchscreen models. I even felt around in the barf bag pouch. Nothing.

All the while I was getting more intrigued at the capabilities. You could send text faxes, page passengers, play games, and make voice and data calls, right there from the seat back in front of you! But you have to figure out where the input device is.

A gentleman sat down beside me, and evidently FLIGHT-LINK was old hat to him. He reached down under his seat-arm, pulled a remote-on-a-cable from it, and slid it back in. His screen went black, he closed his eyes and in a matter of moments was sound asleep. The plane was still on the ground.

Well, this is a red-eye flight, I told myself. I pulled my remote out of the arm-rest. One side had a little teeny blister-button keyboard on it, and the other side was a little teeny telephone. The whole thing was no bigger than a small box of Dots.

Before settling in, I played with FLIGHT-LINK, admiring the miniaturization, the programming, and the entrepreneurial insight behind it. Flying can be tedious and yes, a little scary sometimes. For people who aren't into magazines, or who crave something more interactive and real-time, FLIGHT-LINK could be a godsend.

And a potentially profitable one for an airline like America West, successfully emerging from bankruptcy protection. Air phone calls cost about $5 per minute, and just about every service FLIGHT-LINK offers is on a fee basis. Keep travelers happy with (and spending money on) FLIGHT-LINK, and the airline can focus precious post-deregulation bucks on safety and efficiency.

Soon I had done enough admiring, and it was time to go night-night. I returned my remote to the arm-rest, expecting my screen to blacken. It didn't.

No matter how I pushed the remote back in, FLIGHT-LINK stayed onscreen. I looked at my neighbor, snoozing peacefully beside me, his remote tucked away, his screen enviably blank. I even touched his remote, ever so carefully, to see if his worked differently. His worked. Mine didn't.

I asked the flight attendant if anyone aboard could fix my computer, or if there were empty seats where FLIGHT-LINK could be shut of. Guess what -- there are no network administrators to fix things 20,000 feet over Sioux City, Iowa, at 1:30 a.m. No empty seats, either.

I tried to get some needed shut-eye, and I did doze off for a few minutes. But every 30 seconds a new combination of screen phosphors, designed by professionals skilled in the art of keeping people awake, pried my eyes open. Call ahead and discuss your business meeting, the FLIGHT-LINK screen suggested. Play FLIGHT-LINK Lotto, only $4.95. Hey, wouldn't now be a good time to rent FLIGHT-LINK headphones and enjoy the upbeat music of Al Hirt?

I wanted to complain to someone how unfair it was. But I knew I would just be whining. You could almost hear the attendants whisper, "He's overtired."

I was clamping my eyes shut now, but they kept popping open anyway. I tried looking this way, I tried looking that. No good. Where had I had this feeling before -- think! Then it came to me. I was standing, in a men's room, as men are wont to do, staring at advertisements placed strategically at eye level. I was a prisoner of the FLIGHT-LINK screen.

I know it was not America West's desire to keep me up all the way to Las Vegas. That did them no good whatsoever. Yet that was the effect. They have taken a brave, expensive step toward networking the flying traveler, and are just now learning it is a high-maintenance, high-annoyance endeavor.

As for me, I'm sound asleep in the Las Vegas terminal, bloodshot and slumped in a plastic chair. Slot machines pumping, silver dollars tumbling through space, grandmothers screaming when the cherries line up. Paradise, you are not lost.

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