I Hate Flying…

I fucking HATE flying. It’s not the flying part that gets me. It’s the fucking incompetent airports. Everytime I fly, it seems the airport is amazed so many people decided to fly that day.

“What are all these people doing here?”


“Holy turd-knocker sandwich! Somebody call the airlines!”

“We are the airlines.”


I get to the airport at 12:30. My flight is at 3:07pm. Plenty of time. I grab me a beer and some hot wings and people watch for an hour. There are some pretty messed up people walking around airports. I have found out there is always someone that looks just idiotic. Like purple bell-bottoms and a top hat, or shorts with boots, or a Che Guevara shirt with.. well, anything. But I digress… I pay my bill and walk down to my gate. Check in, get my boarding pass and have a seat, settle in to read some Conan. It is 1:45pm.

At around 2:30pm, they gate attendant says there are storms over Atlanta and flights are on hold. Expect a delay.

3:15pm, delay confirmed. Flight time now is unknown.

4:15pm, flight time set at 6:30pm. My connecting flight is at 8:27pm and it is just over an hour flight. I’m good.

6:15pm, we begin boarding. For those of you that fly, here is a quandry for ya… Say you are in zone 3. They call, “Boarding now for Zone 1. Zone 1 only.” Do you stand up? If you do, you’re a moron. Why?! So you can be first in line when they get around to Zone 3? WHY? So you can get in the plane and sit down? STAY SITTING DOWN IN THE FUCKING TERMINAL THEN, DUMBASS!!! I fucking hate seeing that. “Ooo, gotta be first!” Fuck you, idiot. But I digress…

So we get on the plane. Everyone is on, ready for take-off. It is 6:30pm.

Captain: “Uhhhhhh… we have a little delay, folks. Atlanta is packed and we are awaiting a flight plan. Uhhhhhh.. should be out of here in 10-15 minutes. Thanks for your patience.”

6:50pm, we take off. Should be on the ground by 8:00pm. I still have almost 30 minutes. I figure I’ll be OK.

Atlanta is packed. So much so that we circle the airport a few times waiting to land. We touch down at 8:13pm. Now I’m getting a little scared.

Captain: Uhhhhh… there is still a plane at our gate, they should be backing out in just a few minutes. We should be gateside in about 15 minutes, folks. Thanks for your patience.

Me: Eat a fat one, Captain.

8:28pm, we pull up to the gate. The flight attendant comes over teh speaker and asks that anyone that is staying in Atlanta to stay seated and let the people with connecting flights have the right of way. She appreciates our patience. The ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ light goes off and everyone motherfucker on the motherfucking plane stands up. Apparently, we ALL have connecting flights. I am seated in row #36. The chances of me getting out anytime soon: -4%.

I’m thinking that, since Atlanta is so screwed, maybe my flight has been delayed as well. I get off the plane and see that I am right, it was delayed. By 8 minutes. Really? That makes me miss it by just over 15 minutes. Well fuck me running…

So, where do I go? To the gate I just left? To the gate where my plane just took off? I don’t know. As I am wandering around the airport, I see a sign that says, “Delta Airlines Service”. Since I am flying Delta, that sounds like the place to be. So I walk up… and see about 50 other people had the same idea. I get in line.

When my turn comes, I get the rudest, most incompetent person that Delta has ever given a paycheck. She tells me I have been bumped and there is not another flight until tomorrow at 8:30pm. Twenty-four hours. I ask if there is anything she can do. She points me to another line, then tells me the wait for the line is about and hour and a half, and that they probably can’t help, then laughs and says, “I wouldn’t want to stand in no line like that then ain’t nobody helps me.” I figure she was the top of her GED class. And by top, I mean bottom. Dejected, I agree to her terms. She tells me to go downstairs and get a hotel voucher at the shuttles. So, I make my way downstairs.

I go to the wrong place. I ask people for help. They look at me like I done killed they momma. This one lady, who is wearing (I shit you not) a Michael Jackson-style mask,  tells me:

Her: I can’t takes you no where if you ain’t no where you going!

Me: I don’t know where I’m supposed to be going. Can you help me?

Her: Who I look like?!

Me: Uh, Michael Jackson?

Finally, I ask a civilian guy, like me. Not a Delta employee, not an airport employee, just a guy standing around, waiting on a shuttle. He tells me where to go. Exactly. I thank him. We share ‘the look’. I know where he has been. He knows where I’m going. We bond.

I go to another Delta counter. Not to many people. I walk up to a Delta employee, who is on the phone (his personal cell phone). I start to ask about the voucher, but he interupts me:

Him: Sir, you gonna have to go over there. We closed.

I look to where he is pointing.

Sweet Mother of Ringo. Apparently, Delta Airlines has screwed over about a million people tonight. And they are all in line. In front of me.

And unknown amount of time passes. I feel like a zombie. A highly pissed off zombie. Finally, I get a hotel voucher. Go out to the shuttles, get one to my hotel. Hey guess what! The hotel voucher is only for $50. the hotel is more than $50. Yay.

I ask for a late check out since I don’t have to be at the airport until 8:30pm. The lady at the front desk tells me to go fuck myself. I say OK and walk to my room.

It is now 1:30am. I am in my dirty clothes. Will be until tomorrow night. I’m eating a greasy cheesesteak and a can of Pepsi. I need to change into my sweat pants, kick back and chill. I need to be home.

Next time, I am fucking driving.

Published in: on May 21, 2010 at 11:40 pm  Comments (5)  

McMother’s Day

Mother’s Day. The day I get up and make my world-famous cheese omelet for my wife. I get up and get in the kitchen and start cooking. I got the eggs cracked in a bowl, the butter in the frying pan and the cheese at the ready.

The wife calls to me, “What are you doing?”

Me: “Making you breakfast.”

Her: “What?”

Me: (ready for the excited gasp) “Cheese omelet!” (I’m famous for this FYI)

Her: “No.”

Me: “Huh?” (again, world fucking famous)

Her: “Can you go to McDonald’s instead?”

Me: (relieved… I’m kinda famous for my McDonald’s trips as well) “Sure.What do you want?”

Her: “Just coffee and some hash browns.”

So I finish the eggs since I can’t just let ’em go to waste. I just make scrambled eggs with no cheese. Pretty bland. The wife eats them anyway.

Jake and I jump in the car and head to Mickey D’s. I’m pulling into the parking lot and some lady blows past in front of me. She didn’t even see me. She was Asian. Happy Mother’s Day, stereotype! Due to her cutting me off, two cars get ahead of me in the drive thru lane. The line stretches back to the front door and I am now blocking a guy that parked right up front. You know that motherfucker was thinking when he parked, “Yes! Right by the front door! Yay me, good parking job!” Then he comes out all full on McGriddles and black coffee (he looked like the black coffee kind of guy) and was all, “Well shit my pants and call me Sugar. Now I’m blocked in.” Eventually the line moves and I pull up to order. The speaker blasts at me, “Hello and welcome to McDonald’s! Would you care for a nice mocha frappe’ today?” I know it’s a recording, but I always say, “No thank you.” Then I feel like an idiot for being friendly to a speaker. Then a real person speaks.

Real person: “Can I take your order?”

Me: “Yes, can I get three biscuits and gravy (hey, there a buck each…), a medium Coke and a large coffee please?”

Real person: “Is your order correct on the screen?”

The screen shows a picture of a black kid playing with a transformer, then shifts to an old white man eating a burger.

Me: “Yes, can I get extra gravy on my old white man?”

(I really didn’t say that)

I pull forward and give my money to the check out girl. She gives me my change and wishes me a Happy Mother’s Day. I decide against crawling through the window and assaulting her. I pull forward and the lady at the window tells me something no one ever wants to hear at the drive-thru:

Food lady: “Pull forward please and we’ll bring your order out to you.”

I fucking hate that. Did it surprise you McDonald’s that people would be coming to eat breakfast? Did someone suddenly scream out, “We have a biscuit emergency! BISCUIT EMERGENCY!” and shut down the run? Stop the biscuit presses? Now I have to pull up and block the sidewalk to people have to walk through the grass to get to the door. And they glare at me. Like I decided, “Fuck it, let’s park 10 feet from the drive-thru window and have a picnic! Whadda ya say!”

Eventually, I get my food and start to pull out of the parking lot, homeward bound. I got my biscuits and gravy, my Coke… got Jake his biscuits and gravy (he wanted a Sprite, but read the post previous to this on why he didn’t get it)… and I got the wife her coffee and… fuck. I forgot her hash browns. The only reason I went, for her, for Mother’s Day. And I forget the hash browns.

I pull back around to the drive-thru entrance. And lo and behold, there is only one car! Saints be praised! (Say that with a thick Scottish accent for full effect.) I get behind this guy and wait my turn.

You know those big picture menus that McDonald’s puts up before you get to the window? There is no speaker, its just there for you to look at while waiting in line? Well, this guy is just sitting there. Waiting. No one in front of him. I figure he just had a brain fart and will pull up in a few seconds.

<few seconds go by>

I’m still waiting. Do I honk or pull around him? Nah, that is rather dickish. He’ll get a clue soon.


Still waiting. So I stick my hand out of the window and wave it. In the conext of things, this makes no sense. Is the guy supposed to see me waving and think, “Oh, I see this gentleman behind me is giving me the universal signal for ‘You are at the wrong place, sir. Pull forward.'” and pull forward? No, he probably thinks I’m just stupid. Regardless, he pulls up. This McDonald’s has two speakers to order from. The second is obviously for someone second in line. They are labeled with a huge “#1” and “#2”. At #2, there is a recording that says, “Please pull forward.” So what does this guy do? Here is a multiple choice test:

A. Pull Forward

B. Sit there

C. Turn into Megatron

It was ‘B’. Yeah, I was hoping for ‘C’ as well…

Again, what is etiquette in this? I know he should pull up. No one is going to take his order. If I honk, its kind of helping him. Maybe I should honk. I ask Jake. He says yes. He’s ten. I wait. I hear the speaker (for the second time) say, “Please pull forward.” This time he does. Crisis = averted.

Now, you would figure a guy that has started at two fucking menus would be all about ordering him some food. I knew what I wanted when I left the house. I mean, it’s McDonald’s ya know. Make the fucking leap. But he doesn’t have a clue what he wants. I think he tries to order lunch. That is a common mistake… no one know when McDonald’s changes from breakfast to lunch. So I normally wouldn’t hold it against him. But he is trying to order lunch from Wendy’s.

I kid.

Seriously, this guy takes forever to order. And when I pull up, his order is still blinking on the screen. Dude got a southern chicken biscuit and a cup of coffee. Really? It took you five minutes and three menus to decide on that? My hatred for mankind just rose exponentially. That means “a lot”.

This time when the recorded voice if I’d like a mocha frappe’. I say, “No thank you, robot. That is not acceptable!” A few seconds go by. Then “Can I take your order?” I just realized they either don’t hear what you say or don’t care. This is going in my pocket for future funtimes.

I order my single hash brown and pull up.

Hey, it’s Mr. Clueless at the first window! He is just sitting there. No way they haven’t taken his money already. Does he think this is the window to pay AND get your food? Hasn’t this guy been to a drive-thru since 1987? Jeez. I think he is trying to barter for his food.

Money lady: “$4.28 please sir.”

Mr. Clueless: “What say we come at this from another angle. I will mow your yard AND bring you a nice chicken, still of birthing age.”

Money lady: “No.. sir… just $4.28 please.”

Mr. Clueless: “OK, I see. What say I bring a dozen fresh, brown eggs as well. Does that sweeten the pot?”

Money lady: “Sir… I… uh… $4.28, please.”

Mr. Clueless: “You drive a hard bargain, young lady. OK, lets do this. Yard mowed, chicken, a dozen eggs AND I come inside and entertain your customers with my rendition of “Mr. Bojangles”. What do you say!?”

Whatever happens, he eventually pulls up and gets his food. Finally! I pull up to the window, awaiting my lone hash brown(s).

Food lady: “Can you pull up sir? We’ll bring your order right out.”

I am updating my blog from the county jail, awaiting my wife to come pick me up.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Published in: on May 9, 2010 at 10:10 am  Comments (2)