One of the phrases I despise originated in some airplane cockpit after the stewardess had consumed too many lukewarm cups of hazelnut coffee. “Please wait to deplane,” says the speaker system static as passengers bend their necks like flamingos under the baggage compartments overhead, trying to fathom how “deplane” became a verb.

That thought crossed my mind the other night when all I wanted in the whole world was to deplane. Snow whipped past the lighted wings, and wind gusts jostled the aircraft as we tried a first approach into Bangor, then a second. Each time, the runway appeared … and then vanished as the engines roared and the plane climbed to circle again.

Travelers who had been laughing and chatting for several hours sat stiff, strapped in their seats. They became far quieter than the night outside their tiny, oval windows. Horizontal snow continued, and the plane was agitated left and right, up and down, as if in a heavy-soil cycle on the washing machine.

Having no affinity for flying in the first place, I was terrified and quivered like a short-hair pointer spotting a grouse. No doubt, my teeth were ground and some fillings were loosened before the plane finally landed at another airport, and we beleaguered passengers were told “to deplane.”

And that was all we were told, as if a gag order had been issued by some airline tribunal somewhere in the friendly or not-so-friendly skies. Tell them nothing, directed the decree, and maybe they will all “deairport.”

Anyone in a uniform suddenly disappeared while helpless passengers – one young woman was seven months pregnant – crowded around an empty ticket counter waiting for any announcement.

By now, it was midnight. Parents with two small children hailed a taxi and left for the nearest motel. An elderly woman slumped against the wall for support while she waited. A few passengers cradled cell phones between their jaws and shoulders; others closed in at the counter and requested – this time loudly – assistance.

When a harried, limp airline employee informed passengers a bus would take everyone back to Bangor, the concept of “customer care” was challenged, to say the least. Why would anyone at 1 a.m. travel four or five hours on the Maine Turnpike during a spring snowstorm when the state police had issued road advisories? The repeated question was answered with a simple statement: That – only that – was what the airline was prepared to do. No transportation to hotels was offered, nor even a listing of area accommodations. No later flight would be provided, nor reimbursement for expenses.

As one after another passenger called taxis, left the airport, and finally found rooms on that snowy night, which had now turned to morning, came the realization of the price we have paid as consumers.

We have been served peanuts instead of meals. We have been offered hot towels instead of prompt schedules. We have seen ticket prices, and delays, increase. We have been given little assistance and even less information. Customer service, customer care, indeed.

This is one infrequent flyer who is deplaning.