Last post before leaving

No, I'm leaving right away, but with packing and other fun last-minute details, I need to get away from LJ (which, you know, can be ever so slightly distracting).

I suspect I'll be on LJ only intermittently until Sunday, so, as always, if it's important, email me, but don't expect me to haev read any of your entries (although I'll give it the old college try).

I did write a sub-200 word story for the same purpose as at least four of you. Regardless of whether it gets used, it was a damned good exercise in concise writing.

Nothing else to report, really. So, off to pack. Be good this week!

God and the pigfuckers -- the ultimate tag-team travel nightmare

Sigh. I got into my hotel room at 8:45. This off a flight scheduled to leave Atlanta at 1:30.

Which is better than when I traveled to Newark last month, and had a 2:30 flight arrive in Newark at 1 the next morning (and yours truly arrive at the hotel at 5:30AM).

But not much.

So, what happened?

First, Pigfucker Airlines (also known as Delta)* couldn't get the previous flight off the ground on time. Which means we couldn't even start boarding until 1:15. Even with a fast boarding process (and the gate crew was pretty much pigfucking free, presumably due to Delta's policy of hiring only religious Jews and Muslims for the gate crew), we weren't seated until about 1:50.

Then, we get the word that although we're all ready to go, someone forgot to load the last truck's worth of luggage. Because, of course, they were fucking a pig.

After those delays, we're ready to go, and then the rain starts. In DC and a while away, but that means that all flights still on the ground are told to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

While we're waiting, Pigfucker Air, on their nice shiny LCD screens, shows us the weather at our destination. By their accounts, it's 90 degrees and sunny in DC (I do gather that a storm actually hit).

Finally, the gate guy (who I've been chatting with, as he was nice, and not responsible for the pigfucking) called me over and told me that they were about to cancel the flight and rebook all of us.

So I managed to book all the way to the Delta service counter (our gate being in the BFE region of Terminal A, of course), and get booked onto the 4:30 flight before the deluge hits. I don't get an aisle seat, but a middle seat in an exit row is pretty okay. More importantly, it's on a flight that actually takes off.

At 5:30, of course. Because Hartsfield can't let a flight go without a delay after pulling out of the gate.

We make it through turbulence and finally hit Asshole Washington National Airport. After another fifteen minutes on the runway (no explanation given), we finally make the gate, where we all walk the ten feet to the baggage claim (nice to have small terminals).

And wait.

And wait.

Half an hour later, the first bags have made it fifteen feet, and the belt starts moving.

And stops after three minutes.

It started again, got another ten bags in, and stopped.

This pattern repeated for, well, shit, I have no clue. After stop #7, my bag had just barely crawled out onto the belt, and I grabbed it and booked for the Metro.

The Metro, not having anything to do with the Pigfuckers, and little enough to do with God, goes without a hitch, and I'm soon at Dupont Circle and in my hotel (after one wrong turn on New Hampshire Ave, since I misread an address and thought I was headed towards ascending numbers when I wasn't).

And now, I'm tired. Really fucking tired. Really really fucking tired. So I'm going to bed, even though the hotel has the best high-speed connection I've had in a hotel and thirty channels of cable. Travel is fucking exhausting. Apologies if this post is gibberish -- I'll edit it in the AM.



* Apologies to anyone on my FL who actually fucks pigs. I don't mean to imply you also work for Delta. Fucking pigs is fine and dandy as long as the pigs consent, and you don't fuck them while you're supposed to be working.