Getting Here Part II

Thursday, July 28, 2011 | 6 Comment(s)

I rarely get super pissed.  I don’t “see red” very often.

But, after going through security and getting to our gate, I had an interaction that pretty much put me into emotional hibernation for the rest of the day.

Like any normal human, after getting to our gate, I went to the customer assistance desk to try and check out if there were, in fact, any other options to get us to our destination without taking a tour of east coast airports.  This seems eminently reasonable to me.  It not that I didn’t think US Airways woman #1 was trying to screw us, or wasn’t good at her job, or any of that.  I just figured that she was doing reroute after reroute that morning and perhaps the constancy of panic stricken stink-faced customers (I can only assume that my “I woke up at 5am” face is approximately a stink face to others) may have prevented her from exploring all options. 

I find the service desk and there are two people already in line.  The first is a woman who is currently talking to the slightly over middle aged man behind the counter.  He seems to be helping her.  This is heartening.  He’s helping her so good, actually, that she’s up there for what seems like 20 minutes.  Hey, at least progress is being made.  I sit on the floor in line.  The person in front of me is a 15 or 16-year-old boy who seems mostly disoriented.  After the woman finally clears, he gets to the front and essentially asks directions to his gate.  I can’t believe that he waited this long to ask that.  Not my problem.  I get to the front and I, mostly calmly, explain my situation to him.  He looks me straight in the eye and just says, “nope, nothing I can do.” 

BUT YOU DID EVEN FUCKING LOOK AT YOUR COMPUTER!!! He didn’t even pay me a flinch of attention.   I ask him if he realizes how insulting it seems to not even attempt to check my options.  His reply is, essentially, “This is not my first day.  I know the flights (FROM ALL CARIERS!!?!?!).” 

This is unacceptable to me. It’s not the lack of options that pisses me off.  Its that i’ve obviously been screwed, and he simply doesn’t give a shit.  He doesn’t even give a shit enough to spend a second of his work time on exploring the problem.  He is, I suspect, secretly enjoying sticking it to me. 

I wish I could continue with how I used my wit and cutting sarcasm to inflict verbal repercussions back toward this man.  But, on days where im up at 5am, I sacrifice these tools for the good of consciousness.  I also have never been great at expressing fiery anger.  I seldom scream (in anger [I scream for my softball team ad nausea]).   And so, that switch inside me which has two settings, “fuck some shit up” and  “chill that shit down” flicked downward, and I sucked it up and in to hibernation mode. 

To be all FOX news here, that is fair and balanced, I must add that as all of this is going down with the puss encrusted ass hat service rep, another US Airways employee, Shannon, was being unbelievably accommodating to mmf near our gate.  Turns out that when she actually looked into our situation on her computer, she saw that the flight after ours to Charlotte was actually now leaving ahead of us, and the 30min difference between the two flights arrivals would be extremely important in us making our connecting flight to Miami.  This is additionally crucial in that the one place I really didn’t want to spend that night was Charlotte, because its one of the few places I really don’t know anyone—and therefore we would have to bunk up at a motel etc etc.  Shannon (we <3 you Shannon) looked out for us and we were the first people to be switched to the earlier flight.  She friggin saved the day is what she did.  And she saved US Airways from a nasty nasty letter.  From this point on, mmf was our point person the rest of the day.

Because I want to cruise to happier and more interesting topics, I am going to bullet point the rest of the disaster of this day.

-Twice when we arrived at our gate, mmf and I had to deal with passengers who decided that they realllllllllly needed to cut a few lines while exiting.  I actually had a young lady who was sitting at the window cut across me and another passenger (middle and aisle) to stand in the aisle as soon as the seat belt chime went “ding.”   Wrong day missy.  Really?”  I ask her.  “I have to make my connection,” she replies.   “Thank goodness you’re the only one with that problem,” I respond.  (good morning wit and sarcasm, apparently you were waiting for me in Charlotte).  Because on this day people are evil, this doesn’t stop her from plowing to the aisle.  She waits there, for an extended period of time as my smile grows and grows.  A poor woman travelling with 2 small kids (martyr) is getting assistance from a friendly passenger—struggling to juggle her children and luggage.  I get the satisfaction of watching this girls face crinkle as she realizes shes going nowhere fast.

- The second cutter is a middle aged guy who thinks he’s gonna pull a fly by on mmf.  Because I’m on the window for this one, I decide to start singing (pretty loudly) a song dedicated to the “yellow-shirted guy” which essentially lays out how inconsiderate and asinine it would be to try take advantage of an elderly couple needing a few extra seconds to get out of their row and push ahead of them and us.  He doesn’t look directly at me.  But he heard me.  Mmf throws a body block and takes pains to assist the older couple with their overhead luggage.  There are times when mmf being an evil genius is just plain sexy, and boxing out that dude was one of those times.  

- On the flight to Miami, across the aisle, we have essentially a couple out of the Miami version of jersey shore.  They are douchetastic.  More importantly, the guy has this itsy bitsy habit whereby he, very loudly, lifts the phlegm up from his throat and then nose-wrangles it back down with a snort.   Every 15 seconds.  Thank goodness for noise cancelling headphones.

- Our final flight showed a movie.  The movie was Jane Eyre.  I could play this off like “duh, everyone whose anyone read that book in high school,” but the truth is I read little to nothing in high school (in 10th grade I did a book report on Yakov Smirnoff’s Coming to America.  You can google him).  I probably figured Jane Eyre was the sequel of The Scarlett Letter, and Pearl scared me so badly the first time, I couldn’t take another dose.  Mmf has read the book.  But it was so long ago that she has forgotten the ending—and she decided to watch the flick.

As we are descending, the loudspeaker cuts in over the film and mmf tells me that they’ve just spoke over the most crucial scene.  Turns out she shouldn’t have worried about it since there is still 15 or so minutes left to go as the screens go blank and we taxi to the gate.  Oopsie.  Did we show a 1 hr and 45 minute film on a 1 hr and 30 min flight.  I mean, the final scenes are usually the least important one’s anyway.  Long story medium, if you remember how that book ends, you should email mmf.


  1. Did I understand correctly? Some woman literally *climbed over you* to beat you out into the aisle?

  2. @Mel:) Mutual

    @John You are correct. She was a cute lil thang and as soon as the ding went she literally pushed past and crawl around me and another man, still seated, to get to the aisle first. to wait there.

  3. dont forget the teenaged boy (from multiple rows back) who tried to cut/push between us in the aisle, until you looked him full on and said, do you mind if exit the plane with my mmf?

  4. @mmf. Ahh yes. how could i forget.

  5. jane is so upset when she finds out, on the eve of her wedding, that Mr. Dorchester has a bipolar wife hidden in the attic that she runs away, spends a few years living and working in a one room schoolhouse where this weird younger dude falls in love with her and she spurns him, and then she goes back to Mr. Dorchester's house and it's in ruins and so is he, he is in a wheelchair and he's gone pretty mad and blind, but they are finally able to be together in the twilight of his life and somehow the old maid is still alive.