DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Oh, I forgot, I have a journal.

Last Thursday, on an airplane, I was reviewing 5MB worth of reports from an overloaded database: lists of thousands of queries, mostly locked, entirely unhappy. Dramatic action was called for. So I took four days off for a family wedding, which provided more than enough drama, I assure you.

The last guy to board the plane carried an enormous Macy’s bag with two huge packages in it. True to form, he stopped in the aisle to re-arrange the contents of the overhead bins, nearly dropping packages on nearby passengers’ heads, crumpling overcoats, etc., to make room for his oversized parcels. I hate when people do that. Haven’t they heard of UPS?

Here’s the worst thing: this guy was me!

I had to ferry wedding gifts against my will. Shipping these two fragile sets of fancy dishware would have cost more than the dishes themselves. I dreaded boarding the plane, especially last, so I got to the airport fully two hours early and camped out by the gate. But my seat was at the front of the plane, so everyone else boarded first — and filled up all the overhead bins.

There was a time in my life that I would feign a limp in order to pre-board. This time, I decided that that sort of deception is beneath me. (I’ve matured a lot since earlier this year when I feigned a limp so I could pre-board.)

In the aisle, I asked the stewardess for assistance. I would have been happy to gate-check my packages. She was not sympathetic. In fact, she wouldn’t even meet my eye; she was too busy waiting for me to board to actually help me board. This appears to be a new trend for American Airlines’ staff. Sitting at the gate, I watched a line of people approach the agent smiling, and leave frowning. The agent didn’t help a single passenger. American Airlines has outsourced inflight food service to the Bistro Bags people, and they’ve outsourced customer satisfaction to Southwest Airlines.

I rearranged some overheads, nearly dropped a 200 lb set of dishes on one guy’s head, crumpled another guy’s coat, and finally shrank into my seat while muttering apologies to everyone within earshot. I didn’t move for four hours, after which my bladder was the size of Los Gatos. But I had plenty of time to relieve myself in St. Louis, where baggage regularly takes 60 minutes to appear on a carousel, even for the last guy off the airplane.