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You Should Probably Not Ever Take My Advice

It turns out that it is not such a good idea to yell at the airlines the night before you are going to take a flight.

I turned up at the airport at 7 a.m. to find out that my flight to Boston was cancelled. Not delayed. Cancelled. Kaput. And no one had bothered to actually post this on the internet where I could have seen the information before I left the house. Not that I checked. But that’s beside the point.

I will not bore you with the story of me standing in line in front of reservations while I simultaneously attempted to call reservations. Suffice it to say that I got a seat on a later flight.

None of the ticketing agents seemed to find it a problem that my later flight was due to arrive twenty minutes after my connecting flight in Dallas was due to leave.

“It’s gonna be tight, but you might make it,” one of them assured me. Uh huh.

Shockingly, I missed my connecting flight. I stood in another line to try to get the next flight to Boston. I was told that I was on standby and to listen for my name.

Now, you might find this surprising, but I don’t use the last name “Firepants” when I travel. I use a clever pseudonym, bestowed on me by my husband, which no one can spell, much less pronounce. So, when people say, “Listen for your name,” they might as well say, “Listen for when I say the Pledge of Allegiance in Ukrainaian” because I’ve got to listen to everything said for the next hour in the hopes that I will recognize the new, butchered version of my name.

This time, though, my correctly pronounced name was called in a record five minutes. I jumped to the counter, amazed that things finally seemed to be going my way. The woman at the counter checked my non-Firepants identification. And issued me a ticket. I went back to my seat, and sighed in relief.

Until I looked at my ticket. Wrong name. First and last. Both wrong.

How could this be? I showed her my i.d.! Why do these people make me dig through every pocket in my super duper carry on bag to find my i.d. if they are just going to give me the wrong ticket anyway?

And, now that I had the wrong ticket, I had a huge moral conundrum. Hmmm.

I thought about getting to Boston before midnight. I thought about sleeping in the Dallas airport. I thought about how Wonderbutt would handle this situation.

And I ate the ticket. Because I knew the darn airline wasn’t going to feed me.

Sigh. I didn’t eat the ticket. I went back to the counter, where a rather long line had suddenly developed, was berated when I went to the front immediately to return the wrong ticket so the poor lady who tried to get it would not be turned away, and slunk back to my seat as a Standby again.

They called me back. Complete mispronouncing my name. But when I got the new ticket, everything was right.

The moral of this story is that you should not eat tickets that don’t have the right name on them. And do not buy fake i.d.’s in Mexico.

I’m just sayin’.

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Beware the Wrath of Mrs. Cap’n Firepants

This is going to be a Yelling Post.  It is that time of the month, and I am sorry if that is T.M.I.  but I feel that I should give you fair warning.

First of all, I would like to yell at the veteran bloggers out there who either A.) did not warn me that there is some kind of summer slump that completely decimates your number of readers, or 2.) did not tell me that the quality of my writing has plummeted so deeply that I am shedding fans faster than Wonderbutt can pee all over my new furniture.

Secondly, I am yelling at Apple.  Or Adobe.  Or all technology companies.  To Flash or not to Flash.  I don’t care.  But come up with a friggin’ consensus.  Because of your shenanigans, I have to bring my 10 million pound laptop to my conference in Cambridge next week.

Which leads to me airline companies.  It’s not all of you.  Just the one that I happen to be flying tomorrow that charges for people to check one bag.  I would say your name, but you will have my life and, more importantly, my luggage in your hands tomorrow.  You took away my meals.  You took away my free wings and my tour of the cockpit.  And now you want me to pay to check one suitcase!!!!!!!  Which I would not have to bring if I did not have to bring my laptop.  Because I was planning to bring my super lite iPad.

My laptop not only weighs 10 million pounds, but it is antiquated.  Plus, I dropped it a couple of years ago, and the back button has never been the same.  But, now I have to bring the laptop because my conference at Harvard requires access to “Flash-enabled” websites.  Which means my brilliant idea of taking one personal item and a carry-on is out the window.  Because I HATE dragging a Bunch of Stuff with me when I have to change planes – and a 10 million pound laptop plus a full carry-on falls within my definition of a Bunch of Stuff.

So, now I must check a bag.  And pay $25 for that checked bag.  Going and coming.  And they will probably lose it.  And then I will be stuck at Harvard with an antique laptop and no clean underwear.  And everyone at Harvard will laugh at me.  Because of the horribly old laptop.  They won’t know about the underwear.  I hope.

The airport Stormtroopers better not got through my antique underwear.
photo credit: pasukaru76 via photo pin cc

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