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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                           Airline Follies
                           ---------------

I'm sitting on the plane in Cleveland, Ohio, waiting for this connection
flight to take me into Boston. while the weather is fine in Cleveland, the
weather in Boston is really shitty, and they have closed the airport
there.

We have been sitting at the gate for over ninety minutes when the pilot
announces we will now finally be leaving, but, just in case we have to
circle around Boston for a bit before landing, we will be loading up some
extra fuel.

After a moment, I look out the window of first class to my right and see
the fuel guy bee-bopping around the runway listening to his walkman. I
look out the left side and see fuel spewing out from the wing like a
geyser. Idiot has overfilled the wing tanks to the point they buckled and
split, thereby throwing fuel all over the place.

The pilot comes on and tells us there is absolutely nothing to worry
about. Except, half way through his sentence, firetrucks have surrounded
the plane, and people in silver space suits are boarding the plane telling
us to get the hell off. "Whoosh!" All we needed was some water and the
slides would have been a bit more fun.

I'm back up in the gate taking pictures of the fire trucks shooting foam
all over the plane, because I figure no one is going to believe this shit.
Other passengers are talking about the fact that it is useless to call
Continental and complain, because all they will do is say they are sorry,
and not do shit about it. Continental is good for that. Always saying they
are sorry while continuing to fuck up over and over again.

Two hours later we are on another plane and off to Boston. We land in the
rain, and I head on down to baggage claim to grab my bags. Now, one of the
benefits of being a frequent flier is that my bags are tagged as "Priority
Handling." This means your bags are supposed to be the first ones to come
through baggage claim. Yet, my bags come down the ramp last. Go figure.

I walk out and learn that I am hosed. See, we landed so late that
everything is closed. No buses, no shuttles, no shit. Only taxis, and I 
don't have the hundred dollars to go that far in my pocket. How am I
going to get the sixty miles to my hotel? I go to the baggage claim, the
only thing left open, as they can't close until after the last flight
comes in.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes. Our plane came in late and all the transportation is gone. I need a
voucher for a taxi ride to my hotel."

"What was your flight number?"

"520."

She looks in her computer and says, "I'm sorry. The computer shows the
plane came in late due to weather, so there is nothing we can do to help
you."

Realizing I have just been lied to, I let her have it. "No! Let me tell
you why the fucking plane was late. Your stupid ass ground crew blew the
fuel cells on the wings of our plane and almost blew us the fuck up on the
runway in Cleveland. We had to wait for the firefighters to finish
foaming the plane and for the crew to get a new plane. That's why the
damn plane was late. Now I want a fucking voucher!"

"Hold on a second," as she fumbles through some papers. "Here you go,
sir." I now have my voucher, grab a cab, and I am off to my hotel.

I call the airline's bitch line the next day to let them know about what
happened. Know what they said? "We're sorry, sir." Just like the other
passengers said they would say while we were in Cleveland. And they never
made it up to me.

se7en
8/9/97

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