Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Boarding Pass

I don't get this whole "oversold flight" business. If there are eighty seats on a plane, you sell eighty tickets. Not fourteen thousand. I'm a dyscalculaic BLONDE and I understand this.

Delta (did I say Delta? Oh, I'm sorry, Delta. I didn't mean to reflect poorly upon your nasty evil moneygrubbing company) did this when I flew from Cincinnati back to Champagneville last weekend. You know you're in for it when you get to the gate and the cast of The Ten Commandments is camped around the ticket counter.

Perhaps you remember this flight. You were there. Everybody in the WORLD was there, everybody and their small screeching children. My fourth-grade gym school teacher? There. Fidel Castro? There. Your mama, your great-uncle, and the Pope, with full hat wardrobe-- they were all on this plane. And they all had to go to the bathroom.

I briefly seriously considered taking the "let us bump you in exchange for a free flight" offer, but at this point I trust Delta approximately as far as I could throw one of their planes, which, for some reason, all seem to have a finite number of seat assignments. Nope, I sat there, arms folded, amongst the teeming mass of humanity. You got yourself into this, Delta, and you can get yourself out.

Please check in with a ticketing agent at: blondechampagne@hotmail.com

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