My Airline Hate Curse

The furthest I’d been by last May 2012 was the Caribbean, so my yearning to go farther away and “feel” the air and walk the ground of places across vast oceans separating America from essentially the entire world, had become almost an ache.

There’s not much that discourages me. So I throughly planned my month-long European escape, realizing how lucky I was to do such a thing, but honestly at the same time feeling that I deserved it. London and Paris had been in my sights

long before puberty. As I learned and grew, I wanted it all but Europe first with Salzburg, Vienna and Prague part of the first trip, too.

First, let me point out — all airlines, flight attendants and their personnel hate me regardless of how much I may smile. Always and now globally. On a flight in 2005, I some how made it to the “no fly list” literally between Dallas and another place in the middle. I got coffee; I got yelled at while rounding the corner. I think George Bush knew my political beliefs, opinions and penciled my name, incorrectly spelled, but same nonetheless on the list. That debacle delayed the entire flight. I’m not the one who incorrectly created such things. After going through more of an ID check, Bush had to let me fly.

It consistently comes back to me, so essentially they hate the way I pack, the time I arrive and I could go on. I understand new security and I fly through it, perhaps for reasons I’ll let one imagine. However, beginning my Euro trip, a gray and green clothed some one on a power trip stops me to put my new carry-on in an absurd tiny suitcase cradle born in the 1970s. First of all, no. Second, do not discriminate against me. Third, it was as if she had some person counter; ‘number 23, you’re out so pay us to stow your luggage.’ Again, no. She tried to block me as I walked to the counter that beholds people in real uniforms. They laugh and let me through.

Walking aboard the plane with such “spacious room,” flight attendants looked at me and my bag with such scolding eyes I just smiled and moved forward. As I knew it would, my bag fit and no one was harmed; well except perhaps the feelings of girl-on-a-power-trip. I’m not going to apologize for bending or pushing lines where I and/or others view as ridiculous, greedy or just plain wrong.

Surprisingly the airlines are greedy and long for your dollar; they want my personal space, dollars for my luggage and all fuel and taxes paid by travelers. However, they dose out the alcohol free, especially champagne and wine to whomever gets it first or pulls the bottle from their hands. I was on the aisle, so one can imagine what I did.

Finally, I landed at Heathrow despite the aging, polluting aluminum tube. Now I love the British but that airport may as well have the three or four parts separated among the entire United Kingdom. I’m a fairly intelligent chap, can follow arrows and read “our” language while being flown, bused and might as well carried to the proper terminal for the flight to Milan, therefore after all that I then relaxed and waited for six hours before my next flight.

Now again, when British Airlines doesn’t show my flight on the board, fine. I ask, then told two hours before would show my gate. Nope. Asked and they said gate whatever. Since I cannot get away from my phone or internet very much, I sat where I could plug. I stood up for a few minutes while said phone, ‘walked away.’ I hadn’t even really made it on the damn continent.

Knowing I had enough time to search for it and then report it stolen, it then showed up at some foreign exchange. Bloody hell but, well…there you go as my phone was cut off.

Apparently ‘phone stolen’ security had alerted the flight that I was occupied because after walking a brisk pace, the flight attendant standing at the gate sees me and shouts, scolding me for being tardy and having stopped for coffee still in my hands. At the same time, yells “we’re waiting for you and you stop for coffee?” You know…if she only knew what was about to come out of my mouth. I stopped well before. I’m far nicer, and not a jerk but I have and will always have a mouth that doses it out if another does the same. You know, thanks for slightly holding the flight, but fuck you with a smile.

As she closed the gate…again more flack after the “late, coffee lecture,” another bit about my bag. At least I appreciate the more up front British than the rolling of eyes and blocking I earlier received. You have a problem, then say it. Too bad, it was staying with me and surprisingly, they had room for it over my seat. Again. I did offer a glib thanks for holding the doors. Fly faster.

My flight from Prague to Milan, was quite pleasant. They wanted my luggage stowed, free. Yes please. I’m slightly cheap.

If there is some chronic condition, disease or syndrome one can have with airlines, then perhaps I have it. I won’t deny it and try my best to follow the rules. But again since I had to take four flights to the plains of Montana in 2004, it set the spell.