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.