Sunday, October 30, 2011

I’ll Be In the Angry Dome!

Or: Why PHL is a raging cesspool

Let me open by saying that this is not a humor post. This is pure venom because it’s what I have at the moment. Furthermore, if you come here for the funny,check back soon. I have things I’m working on. That said, on with the vile:

PHL’s F terminal plays host strictly to US Airways flights. US Airways is an airline company so horrible to it’s customers, I’m forced to write new slogans for them:

US Airways – We just don’t give a shit!
US Airways – Friendly skies!? Phhhaahahahaaaaa!
US Airways – Where’s your god now, huh!?
US Airways – *cock-slap*
US Airways – As long as we’re being honest, we hate you.
US Airways – Because fuck you, that’s why!

This whole trip to New York* has been a fiasco. I left on the 28th. I should have been in New York on the 28th. But thanks to one mechanical failure that stranded me here for one night, weather conditions on the east coast have prevented travel to the one airport I need to get to. The only airport that is a half hour away from my family. An hour-long flight that cannot be made, because of One. Mechanical. Failure. I only have until the 3rd of November to spend with my family and I’ve wasted two days in a damn airport. A joke of a terminal, no less. Let’s highlight some of the more amusing aspects of this terminal:

It’s being remodeled. That’s all well and good, but that means only the news stands and one “restaurant” are open. Now, all the news stands are the exact same thing. I’m not even sure why they’re marked differently. They’re all Hudson Group shops: over-priced and full of gifts – t-shirts, snow globes, shot glasses – that you’d never buy for another human being. Then there’s the restaurant. Would you like to know the difference between the restaurant and the sandwich stand directly across from it? Booze. Booze and a “Panini grill.”


Last night I slept on the airport floor. US Airways would not help me at all. They offered a “discounted” hotel rate that was still ridiculous. So I slept on the floor of the baggage claim. I slept there because I was told to find my bag there. I asked about it, and they told me that their system showed it was still in Philadelphia but it could take up to three hours to find it. Three hours later and no bag. I asked again, but got no real response. I asked one more person if she knew where my bag was. She went away to check. Another three hours later, she returned. She confessed that she was the last person to touch my bag and that she had put it on a flight to Newburgh. A flight I was never on. My bag is in New York. I am not.

But it hasn’t all been murderous desire. My west coast people have been wonderful to me. Martha, Julia, and Catherine have all had a hand in being far too sweet to me, making me cry. I also had something of a guardian angel last night… or at least a person of random blessing. She was a fine lass from Dublin. She went to get me a beer in exchange for using my phone charger, or at least that was her reasoning; I’m pretty sure she noticed I’d been crying. When the beer plan failed, she came back out with two bottles of Coke and a pulled a brand new bottle of Jameson from her bag. She had me swig back some Coke, then refilled the bottle… because “Clarleh ye’ve hahd a roof deah.” I don’t know her name. I’ll never see her again. Bless her heart.

So what’s the point of all this? I’m pissed off. That’s really it. I’m pissed. I needed to vent.

Ok, one last piece of rage:

Fuck you, US Airways. May all of your profits be in the red. May you go bankrupt, belly up, and may all of your rude employees go rot.