| |
| Writings Discussion Authors Help Search Home |
My fun adventures in Atlanta airport... By: PJ Caroon on 10/22/2001; 8:19 PM **ok ok... so i'm not the best writer. Its Ok to publish this* They say getting there is half the fun. I dont know who they are, but they obviously have no idea what theyre talking about. One of my worst travelling experiences happened this Christmas break on the way to Wisconsin. We had a wonderful two-week stay with friends and family for a white Christmas in the dairy state which was much more fun than the trip there. We left on a Friday right after exams. Not surprisingly, I began my packing on Thursday night. The exam went uneventfully, except for my mom having to bring my backpack which held vital papers I needed to turn in or suffer a penalty. We returned home to load the bags in the car, which took longer than expected when my mom knocked over one of her Dicken,s Village houses with her purse. T. Puddlewicks Spectacles would have to lie in a million pieces on the floor for two weeks, as we were running late. I got to sit in the back, crushed between my moms oversized floral suitcase and the door. We arrived at the Baton Rouge Metro Airport/ construction zone early that afternoon. Luckily, the flight had been delayed an hour. An hour gave us time to relax. Looking back, I believe that hour delay was an omen of things to come. We boarded, took our seats and just settled in when a large German man tried to sit in the seat between us, and discovered that the fit was less that perfect. Ze planes, zey are getting smaller. He said. Uh huh. Thats right.. I thought. There went my armrest for the flight. The flight to Atlanta had relatively little turbulence, but any that existed was not detectable over the ear splitting squealing of the baby next to us. Why they allow those things to fly without sedatives or something I will never understand. We landed in Atlanta at about 3:00pm Eastern time. The flight took off at around 4:30, so I figured I had plenty of time to go to Charlies Steakery, my favorite eatery on the B concourse of that airport. I guess I happened to walk across the concourse at about the same time as several major flights arrived, because my journey was not unlike that of a salmon trying to swim up a raging river. After I got there, the line was about two gates long (airport distance measure), and at the rate it was moving I wouldnt get the food before boarding time. So I walked back to our gate, feeling defeated, hungry, and with a huge headache. When I arrived at the gate, Mom informed me that the flight had been delayed twenty minutes, as the previous flight was delayed coming out of Boston or something. It was as if the airport was mocking me. So, I settled in my seat and munched on some yummy cookies I had the foresight to purchase at Baton Rouge Metro. As I ate them, I came to realization that they werent all that yummy. I sat and waited. Boarding time came and went. Then the announcement came that the flight had been moved back an hour. At least I could go get myself a cheese steak. I strolled back to the gate, sandwich and fries in hand, when I noticed there was something different. The flight. Instead of my flight, it was some flight to Chicago, and the people at the gate definitely were not the same ones as when I had left. I checked the gate number. It was the same. Was I hallucinating? No, as I found out they had changed the gates while I was gone, and apparently they only bother to announce at the gate itself and not the entire concourse. So I went to our new gate, which was closer to the main commercial section of the concourse. And with a new gate came a new, and later, departure time. After I finished my sandwich, I sat and waited some more at the new gate. I grew bored easily and soon was in search of something to occupy myself. I headed over to the large newsstand in search of a crossword book. One would think that in an airport newsstand of that size, there would be a crossword book. However, not with my luck. There was one word search and about fifty fill-ins. I opted for the word search and went back to the gate. The airport decided to do another funny lets switch the gates while he is gone joke on PJ. I wasnt amused. I procured the location of the new gate and walked over there. Sure enough the flight had been delayed all the way until 9:00pm that night. After several hours of waiting and a couple trips to the nearby Starbucks, An announcement finally came from the ticket clerk, who seemed less than happy with his job. Attention all passengers of flight (I forget, so lets call it X) to Milwaukee, We apologize for the delays but are pleased to report that the plane is at the gate, cleaned and ready to go and we are waiting on the arrival of the pilots. They should be here in about 30 minutes, boarding will begin in 40. A cheer went up from the crowd. Well not a cheer really, but a feeling of relief. It was late at night and we were tired, and we all wanted to get to Milwaukee. About 35 minutes later we got another announcement from the ticket clerk. Attention all passengers of flight X to Milwaukee, the flight has been canceled do to mechanical problems. Please pick up your hotel and food vouchers at the customer assistance counter. Now, I dont claim to be an airplane mechanic, but when a plane is ready to take off one minute and is unable to the next, something is fishy. My theory is the pilots were too lazy to do extra time. So it appeared we had to spend the night in Atlanta. Had my aunt and uncle in Milwaukee had a cell phone, we could have called and told them, but they found out a couple hours later. We went to the Customer Service counter. Without any exaggeration, there must have been about 500 people in line to only three inept people working behind the counter. It reminded me of those old movies of people waiting in line for bread during the depression. After an hours wait, we got up to the counter and got our vouchers and a nice little toiletries bag. As I took the bag, I thought I was safe knowing that the nice people at Delta Airlines really care about their customers. There was a somewhat amusing scene where a supervisor was yelling at some guy up in the control center about the 100:1 ratio of customers to clerks. Unfortunately, our previous visits to Atlanta have been confined to the airport, so getting to the hotel would be difficult. Luckily, there was a shuttle service. We packed in the minibus driven my some cranky Russian guy for the 10-minute trek to the Sheraton Gateway Hotel. It turned out to be a nice place. I looked on the back of the door, and for two people it was $400 a night. Maybe the people at Delta really did care after all. I gleefully used my food vouchers for an all expenses paid breakfast the next morning. When I woke up, breakfast had come. Im not sure exactly how they cooked it, but it was the single greasiest meal I had ever choked down, and this is coming from a person who has lived in both England AND Louisiana. We took the shuttle back to the airport. The Russian guy had swapped placed with a crabby Korean guy this time. We got to take the airports underground rail system to get to our concourse. Any lesser man would have fallen over countless times with all the sudden stopping and turning. But with my experience on the rollercoaster-like Japanese rail system, I knew how to spread my weight out just right and didnt move an inch. That time, the airport didnt defeat me. Our plane was still at the gate and ready to go. The mechanical problems had mysteriously vanished overnight. We boarded and as always the flight came complete with the noisy kid accompanied by an underqualifyed parent who thinks if she ignores the problem, it goes away. I had a traveling companion in the seat next to me. He complained about the 777s poor air conditioning system. Then he claimed that the whole flight cancellation thing wasnt so bad, at least they dont point guns at you, he said. Apparently he was some frequent world traveler, and goes to some places that dont like Americans much. He then pulled out his passport and said, in a very serious voice, No matter what you do, never, EVER loose track of your passport. He then made me take note that his was issued in the American embassy in Algeria, and made some negative remarks about Algerians. Then he showed me his long list of vaccinations. He went on about how the yellow fever vaccination made him quite ill for several days, to put it mildly. In actuality the flight lasted about 2 hours, but it seemed much longer. We arrived in Milwaukee where my bag was chosen to be the subject of a random explosives test. Lucky me. After it was established that I posed no serious threat to the airport or its customers I was free to go about my business. We waited for my aunt and uncle to arrive for three hours. Then we took the long drive up to Waupaca. It was very relieving to have the whole ordeal done with.
Re: My fun adventures in Atlanta airport... By: Seth Dillingham on 2/5/2001; 6:13 PM You should definitely have your own weblog ("online journal"). Seth
Re: My fun adventures in Atlanta airport... By: Matthew Patterson, the Paranoid Minister on 2/5/2001; 6:30 PM And just who let you out of your cave, Little Washuu? (Or would you prefer the hilariously translated "Miss Washuu?") Two, two, two shameless plugs in one: You can get a free weblog run on the Conversant content management system (what this site runs on) by going to http://www.free-conversant.com/ and following the instructions therein. Wonderful system. I have such a weblog located at http://www.free-conversant.com/fugue. (Admittedly, it's rather like using a hydrogen bomb to trim your shrubbery, but it works so well...)
Re: My fun adventures in Atlanta airport... By: PJ Caroon on 2/5/2001; 6:35 PM Who's this Washuu person, eh? Boku wa PJ!! And I just might try that journal thingie matt patt...
RE: My TOP SECRET adventures in Atlanta airport... (slight rewrite, don't kill me...) By: Richard Davidson on 2/5/2001; 11:42 PM They say getting there is half the fun. I dont know who they are, but when I catch up with 'em there's gonna be hell to pay. One of my worst travelling experiences happened this Christmas break on the way to Wisconsin. We had a wonderful two-week stay with the friends and family of a slain comrade, for a white Christmas in the dairy state which was much more fun than having your toes gnawed off by rabid tigers. We left on a Friday right after shooting a Soviet spy. Not surprisingly, I began my packing on Thursday night. The shooting went uneventfully, except for my mom having to bring my backpack which held vital papers, a small vial of poison, and some microfilm I needed to turn in or suffer the ultimate penalty. We returned home to load the bags in the car, which took longer than expected when my mom knocked over one of her Dicken's Village houses with her purse. T. Puddlewicks Spectacles would have to lie in a million pieces on the floor for two weeks, as we were running late, and that was just fine with me. I never liked all those pretentious English names, anyway. I got to sit in the back, crushed between my moms oversized floral suitcase and the door, as the bomb the trunk just kept on ticking. We arrived at the Baton Rouge Metro Airport/ construction zone early that afternoon. As we pulled in, a raven swooped down, smashing against the window. Luckily, the flight had been delayed an hour. An hour gave us time to relax. Looking back, I believe that dead raven was an omen of things to come. We boarded, took our seats and just settled in when a large German man tried to sit in the seat between us, and discovered that the fit was less that perfect. Ze planes, zey are getting smaller. He said. Uh huh. Thats right.. I thought, "first a little small talk, then he's gonna try and jump me!" There went my armrest for the flight. The flight to Atlanta had relatively little turbulence, but any that existed was not detectable over the ear splitting squealing of the baby next to us, who was chomping on a large cigar. Why they allow those things to fly without sedatives or something I will never understand, so I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the needle, and Andre Zolinsky, the baby spy slept soundly, dreaming of marshmallow yogurt. We landed in Atlanta at about 3:00pm Eastern time, or so they would have us believe. The flight took off at around 4:30, so I figured I had plenty of time to go to Charlies Steakery, my favorite eatery on the B concourse of that airport. It was right next to the Beanery. I guess I happened to walk across the concourse at about the same time as several major flights arrived, because my journey was not unlike that of a salmon trying to swim up a raging river, a river filled with the vile treachery my life had become. After I got there, the line was about two gates long (airport distance measure, try to keep up, you swine!), and at the rate it was moving I wouldnt get the food before boarding time. So I walked back to our gate, feeling defeated, hungry, and with a huge headache. A man with a large bow tie took my picture, so I shot him. When I arrived at the gate, Mom informed me that the flight had been delayed twenty minutes, as the previous flight was delayed coming out of Boston or something. It was as if the airport was mocking me, mocking the country I was so happy to die for, mocking everything that ever mattered in life. So, I settled in my seat and munched on some yummy cookies I had the foresight to purchase at Baton Rouge Metro. As I ate them, I came to realization that they werent all that yummy, and the woman in the plaid pants wasn't a woman at all. I knew I was surrounded. I sat and waited. Boarding time came and went. Then the announcement came that the flight had been moved back an hour. I knew it was Paklovich! What dastardly fate did he have in mind for me? At least I could go get myself a cheese steak. I strolled back to the gate, sandwich and fries in hand, when I noticed there was something different. The flight. Instead of my flight, it was some flight to Chicago, and the people at the gate definitely were not the same ones as when I had left. I checked the gate number. It was the same. Was I hallucinating? Possibly, since the guy making the cheesesteak had reminded me of Psycho Bob, the Borneon dope smuggler... No, as I found out they had changed the gates while I was gone, and apparently they only bother to announce at the gate itself and not the entire concourse. So I went to our new gate, which was closer to the main commercial section of the concourse. And with a new gate came a new, and later, departure time, and a whole new crowd of potential enemies. After I finished my sandwich, I sat and waited some more at the new gate. I grew bored easily and soon was in search of something to occupy myself, so as not to look conspicous. I headed over to the large newsstand in search of a crossword book. One would think that in an airport newsstand of that size, there would be a crossword book. However, not with my luck. There was one word search and about fifty fill-ins, and they were all Communist. I opted for the word search and went back to the gate. The airport decided to do another funny lets switch the gates while he is gone joke on PJ. I was certain now that the KGB had set a trap. I wasnt amused. I procured the location of the new gate and walked over there. Sure enough the flight had been delayed all the way until 9:00pm that night, and by then, the Prime Minister would be dead. After several hours of waiting and a couple trips to the nearby Starbucks, an announcement finally came from the ticket clerk, who seemed less than happy with his job. Attention all passengers of flight (I forget, so lets call it X) to Milwaukee, We apologize for the delays but are pleased to report that the plane is at the gate, cleaned and ready to go, the champagne and caviar are on ice, and we are waiting on the arrival of the pilots. They should be here in about 30 minutes, boarding will begin in 40. A cheer went up from the crowd. Well not a cheer really, but a feeling of relief. It was late at night and we were tired, and we all wanted to get to Milwaukee, as would any sane person. About 35 minutes later we got another announcement from the ticket clerk. Attention all passengers of flight X to Milwaukee, the flight has been canceled do to mechanical problems. Please pick up your hotel and food vouchers at the customer assistance counter. Now, I dont claim to be an airplane mechanic, but when a plane is ready to take off one minute and is unable to the next, something is fishy. My theory is the pilots were Smiling Harry Bogdonoff and Yngve "The Butcher" Von Offenstocken, and their sole purpose was to delay me here. But what larger evil plan were they a part of? So it appeared we had to spend the night in Atlanta, which any fool knows is worse than hell itself. Had my aunt and uncle in Milwaukee had a cell phone, we could have called and told them, but they had been tied and gagged by Boris Stoyonovich's henchmen. We went to the Customer Service counter. Without any exaggeration, there must have been about 500 people in line to only three inept people working behind the counter, one of whom looked quite familiar to me. It reminded me of those old movies of people waiting in line for bread during the depression, except everybody had their teeth. After an hours wait, we got up to the counter and got our vouchers and a nice little toiletries bag. As I took the bag, I thought I was safe knowing that the nice people at Delta Airlines really care about their customers, unaware of the 13 deadly spiders inside. There was a somewhat amusing scene where a supervisor was yelling at some guy up in the control center about the 100:1 ratio of customers to clerks, producing a sliderule, and a small blackboard to illustrate his point. I made a note not to save him when the bomb went off. Unfortunately, our previous visits to Atlanta have been confined to the airport, since our identities are so top secret, so getting to the hotel would be difficult. Luckily, there was a shuttle service. We packed in the minibus driven by some cranky Russian guy for the 10-minute trek to the Sheraton Gateway Hotel. It turned out to be a nice place. I looked on the back of the door, and for two people it was $4,000 a night. Maybe the people at Delta really did care after all. Or maybe this was an attempt to lure me in, get my guard down. I cautiously used my food vouchers for an all expenses paid breakfast the next morning. When I woke up, breakfast had come. Im not sure exactly how they cooked it, but it was the single greasiest meal I had ever choked down, and this is coming from a person who has lived in both England AND Louisiana. It appeared to be the work of Carl "Cholestoral Killer" Swabobski, and I was getting a bit worried by now. We took the shuttle back to the airport. The Russian guy had swapped places with a crabby Korean guy this time, possibly Special Forces. We got to take the airports underground rail system to get to our concourse. Any lesser man would have fallen over countless times with all the sudden stopping and turning. But with my experience on the rollercoaster-like Japanese rail system, seven years of training in the back of a New York cab, and breathing techniques so secret I'd have to kill you if I told you abot them, I knew how to spread my weight out just right and didnt move an inch. That time, the airport didnt defeat me. I stood alone, a single warrior. Our plane was still at the gate and ready to go. The mechanical problems had mysteriously vanished overnight, as had the Pilot's moustache. We boarded and as always the flight came complete with the noisy kid with a cigar, accompanied by an underqualifyed parent who thinks if she ignores the problem, they won't blow their cover. I had a traveling companion in the seat next to me. He complained about the 777s poor air conditioning system. Then he claimed that the whole flight cancellation thing wasnt so bad, at least they dont point guns at you, he said. "Is that a threat?" I screamed, bashing him in the jaw with the heel of my hand. "How many of you are there?" I grabbed his tie and began twisting it, "Why in the hell did we stop in Atlanta when there's a perfectly good airport in Charlottesville anyway?" Apparently he was some frequent world traveler, and goes to some places that dont like Americans much. He then pulled out his passport and said, in a very serious voice, No matter what you do, never, EVER lose track of your passport. I stared at that photo for what seemed like days. I had just been choking none other than Edgar "The Mule" Borgenhagan, one of the deadliest people ever to accumulate frequent flier miles. He then made me take note that his was issued in the American embassy in Algeria, and made some negative remarks about Algerians, bragging that he'd killed seventy five of them just for a laugh. Then he showed me his long list of vaccinations, and a scar shaped like Eva Braun. He went on about how the yellow fever vaccination made him quite ill for several days, allowing him to become one with Alexander the great, to put it mildly. In actuality the flight lasted about 2 hours, but it seemed like 37 years, 3 months, 2 weeks, and about a day and a half, with a bag of crazed otters tied around your head, and liver stuffed in your ears, which I've heard can be unpleasant. We arrived in Milwaukee where my bag was chosen to be the subject of a random explosives test. Lucky me. They didn't realize what they had, and they took out half of the concourse, twelve planes, fourteen Starbuck's, and two baggage handlers that were sneaking a smoke by Gate 12. After it was established that I posed no serious threat to what was left of the airport or its dead and injured customers, I was free to go about my business. I quickly surmised that I had killed every single enemy in Milwaukee, and it was time for a nice holiday. We waited for my aunt and uncle to arrive for three hours, and I picked my teeth with a Bowie knife. Then we took the long drive up to Waupaca. It was very relieving to have the whole ordeal done with.
RE: My TOP SECRET adventures in Atlanta airport... (slight rewrite, don't kill me...) By: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 2/5/2001; 11:58 PM LOL hahahahaa Yours, Mrs. Emma Peel request a wink to mr. steed?
RE: My TOP SECRET adventures in Atlanta airport... (slight rewrite, don't kill me...) By: PJ Caroon on 2/6/2001; 6:24 PM *clapping hands* Very good, but how did you penetrate my disguise?
RE: My TOP SECRET adventures in Atlanta airport... (slight rewrite, don't kill me...) By: Mark Morgan on 2/12/2001; 9:33 PM (slight rewrite, don't kill me...)Trust us. We're your friends. Nobody here wants to hurt you.
RE: My TOP SECRET adventures in Atlanta airport... (slight rewrite, don't kill me...) By: Richard Davidson on 2/7/2001; 12:08 AM Dear Mr. PJ: Thank you for the acknowledgment. (Also thanks to Chie and Mark, as well.) By starting your entry with the phrase "I'm not much of a writer," or whatever it was, you have invited my criticism, almost begged me for it. What I would say, is that you are a very GOOD writer, and my reason for scrambling up your story was simply to point out that one can have almost an entire career based on plagiarism itself. No, that's not what my point was. My point was to share my best writing tip with you: I'm insane! That's right, I have no respect whatsoever for convention, tradition, rules, context, or even punctuation. I despise everything in life that tries to TELL ME WHAT TO DO. I am free, soaring frightengly over the mountains of Calcutta, which is no easy trick. You have excellent abilities with words and phrases, and a good knack for description, and even dialogue, so now I command thee to fly free, and let it all hang out, baby, and all those other cliche's, hmmm, oh yeah, "just do it!" Wooooooooo hoooo! Everyone thinks the wisest Warner Brothers cartoon character was Bugs Bunny, but that is not true, not true at all! It's Daffy Duck, because he's completely free of any pretense, ready to jump around and hoot at the drop of a hat. Be like Daffy, my son, snatch the pebble from my hand, and carry the torch... And whatever you do, NEVER listen to the doctors! (They're WAY more messed up than we are!)
RE: My TOP SECRET adventures in Atlanta airport... (slight rewrite, don't kill me...) By: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 2/9/2001; 1:13 PM The PJ that and whom standeth to my left, doth tell me, that he is a cynic. I say, moogi
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Copyright Notice | Privacy Policy | Contact | |
 |
|