When it comes to my ability to tolerate plane travel, I’ve really come a long way in the last couple years; I now travel often enough that I can take the ups and downs pretty gracefully. I barely notice my fellow travelers and their beastly children anymore, long lines and pushy people no longer phase me, and I’ve learned to deal with the fact that I always end up next to someone who wants to engage in the most excruciating small talk possible over the course of a 4-hour flight. However, as with all things, there is an end point. Usually in the shape of a brick wall so you can slam your head against it a few times because that shit would feel better than what you’re actually dealing with.
Over the past few
weeks I have traveled enough that if I were infected with some type of
contagious disease, half the world would have caught it by now from me
specifically. Throughout all of this travel, I have remained calm. I was calm
for 8 hours of transatlantic plane time, screaming babies and all. I was calm
for the 4 flights that followed that flight within the next week. I was calm
when 3 of those flights had me in a plane for a total of 14 hours in one 24-hour
period. I was calm in the customs line that would have wrapped around Florida
and calm when the customs officer made me unpack my entire bag to satisfy his
damn curiosity about the cigars I had purchased in Spain. I was calm both times
that my body was adjusting to an 8-hour jetlag. I was calm when I asked my
family to endure a 6-hour round trip car ride to get me to the airport and I
was calm when I woke up at 6:40 am to start that trip.
Then my calm ran out. I walked up to the digital departure
and arrival screen after enduring TSA’s flaw-filled security checks for the 7th
time in three weeks. I found my flight and scanned the line for my gate number.
It was then, when I saw the word “cancelled”, scrawled in red where my gate
number should have been, that I lost my patience. Pure, unadulterated rage
washed over me as I used every last bit of inhibition I possessed to stop
myself from falling on the floor and screaming. I WAS IN THE HOME STRETCH AFTER
HOURS OF OVERTIME AND SOMEONE JUST STOLE HOME BASE.
Someone was going to pay for this. And by someone I mean
many ones and by pay for this I mean unknowingly be the object of my irritation
and therefore the subject of my very angrily typed blog. Take that, world.
To begin, this one goes out to the American Airlines
representative who picked up the phone when I called about this cancellation,
since no one bothered to call me:
Hello, Tasha with American Airlines. Thanks for picking up
the phone after 12.5 minutes of your automated system asking me what I wanted
without the apparent ability to understand the words “cancelled” or “flight”. Thanks
for offering me a “courtesy” replacement flight at 11:59 PM at this timely hour of 11 AM.
As much as I’ve come to feel that airports are like home, I think I’ll decline
your courteous offer to spend the next 12 hours in the SLC airport waiting for
a redeye to Philadelphia. Yes, I am going to stay on this phone until you offer
me something earlier. No, I don’t believe you that there are no other options
for me. I don’t believe you because I have a laptop, an Internet connection,
and Travelocity. I see other flights here. You are giving one of those to me.
Also, if I had it my way, you would be calling it an apology flight, not a
courtesy flight. Courtesy is giving me first class so I can drink enough free
booze to forget this happened.
...Got a 'courtesy' flight at a more appropriate but still annoyingly delayed time. Felt annoyed for duration of flight despite consumption of peanut butter M&Ms...
To the passenger sitting 3 seats to my left: Hello, sir. I
am currently listening to the mind-numbing hum of a Boeing 737 charging through
the airways at 400+ miles an hour. The fact that this level of noise is not
sufficient enough to mask the sound of your CHEWING from ACROSS THE AISLE is a
problem. I’m not entirely sure what the consequences are for murder in the
first degree when you’re airborne, but we're about to find out if you don’t put
that bag of chips away immediately.
To the child sitting directly in front of me: Hello, small
child. Let’s just get this out there: I don’t think you’re cute. I don’t think
your antics are charming. I don’t think that you turning around in your seat to
stare at me slyly from the corner of your eye is adorable. I also don’t think
it is particularly adorable that, after turning to stare at me, you move on to
flopping around in your seat like a hooked fish, causing everything on my tray
table, which is attached to the back of your chair, to go flying. On the
contrary, it makes me want to lock you in the bathroom for the duration of the
flight. No, I don’t want to see the app you are using that teaches you
how to put make-up on Barbie’s face. Do a puzzle or something. Actually, I
don’t care what you do, just stop involving me in it. If you are under the age of 18 and you aren’t
related to me, I can’t be responsible for my actions if you annoy me any
further. I don’t have the energy to muster tolerance for other people’s
ratchety little monsters, society be damned.
To the mother of the child sitting behind me: It’s cute that
your child is only sitting behind me because you decided you needed some extra
room for your bags or your other kid or something and so, midflight, you
banished him to the vacant seat behind mine. I am super happy watching you nap
right now while your kid kicks my seat and yells so loud that I can’t hear
Nelly rapping St. Louis gold through my headphones (which I initiated in order
to drown out the chip chomper on my left, thank you very much). This just in
from someone who has never raised a child: I think you’re doing it wrong. So
there.
To the flight attendants: CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I AM IN A
BRATTY CHILD SANDWICH HERE? FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, STOP GIVING THEM SODA.
To the passenger next to me: Staaaaaahhhhp asking me about my
life. It makes me feel like I have to ask you about your life, and I don’t care
about your life. I’m sorry about that, but I’m very tired and super annoyed and
it’s hard to muster the appropriate facial expressions for your many stories.
You are taking up the entire armrest, you can’t have that AND my attention for four hours. Also, I saw you snapchatting during takeoff. If this plane crashes due
to your insolent refusal to switch on airplane mode, I’m using your body as a
shield.
To American Airlines: Hello, oh titan of industry. You are
the worst. If you’re going to ask me
for my e-mail, phone number, my first-and-yet-to-be-born child, and everything
in between when I purchase a ticket to board your aircraft, the least your lazy
butt can do is contact me in some way if you’re going to wake up and decide you
don’t want to operate that particular aircraft on the particular day that I
paid to be on it. I watched the news, chumps, and the weather was fine.
Also this:
1) You suck for not having snacks on any of your
domestic flights. If you’re going to strand me in the airport at this fragile
time in my life, I WANT PRETZELS. And Biscoff cookies. Maybe borrow some from Delta.
2) The weird fog that always comes out of your plane’s air
conditioning vents makes me uncomfortable.
3) Your tendency to delay, like, 73% of your flights due to
“mechanical problems” also makes me very uncomfortable.
4) Your in-flight
WiFi never, ever works.
5) You forced me to put away my laptop JUST when Hotstepper started playing on Itunes, and then you didn’t land the plane for another TWENTY minutes. I
cannot abide this nefarious behavior.
That is all.
