99 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
99 lines
5.1 KiB
Plaintext
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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
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I'm sitting on the plane in Cleveland, Ohio, waiting for this connection
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flight to take me into Boston. while the weather is fine in Cleveland, the
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weather in Boston is really shitty, and they have closed the airport
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there.
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We have been sitting at the gate for over ninety minutes when the pilot
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announces we will now finally be leaving, but, just in case we have to
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circle around Boston for a bit before landing, we will be loading up some
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extra fuel.
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After a moment, I look out the window of first class to my right and see
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the fuel guy bee-bopping around the runway listening to his walkman. I
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look out the left side and see fuel spewing out from the wing like a
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geyser. Idiot has overfilled the wing tanks to the point they buckled and
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split, thereby throwing fuel all over the place.
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The pilot comes on and tells us there is absolutely nothing to worry
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about. Except, half way through his sentence, firetrucks have surrounded
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the plane, and people in silver space suits are boarding the plane telling
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us to get the hell off. "Whoosh!" All we needed was some water and the
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slides would have been a bit more fun.
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I'm back up in the gate taking pictures of the fire trucks shooting foam
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all over the plane, because I figure no one is going to believe this shit.
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Other passengers are talking about the fact that it is useless to call
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Continental and complain, because all they will do is say they are sorry,
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and not do shit about it. Continental is good for that. Always saying they
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are sorry while continuing to fuck up over and over again.
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Two hours later we are on another plane and off to Boston. We land in the
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rain, and I head on down to baggage claim to grab my bags. Now, one of the
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benefits of being a frequent flier is that my bags are tagged as "Priority
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Handling." This means your bags are supposed to be the first ones to come
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through baggage claim. Yet, my bags come down the ramp last. Go figure.
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I walk out and learn that I am hosed. See, we landed so late that
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everything is closed. No buses, no shuttles, no shit. Only taxis, and I
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don't have the hundred dollars to go that far in my pocket. How am I
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going to get the sixty miles to my hotel? I go to the baggage claim, the
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only thing left open, as they can't close until after the last flight
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comes in.
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"Can I help you?"
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"Yes. Our plane came in late and all the transportation is gone. I need a
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voucher for a taxi ride to my hotel."
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"What was your flight number?"
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"520."
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She looks in her computer and says, "I'm sorry. The computer shows the
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plane came in late due to weather, so there is nothing we can do to help
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you."
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Realizing I have just been lied to, I let her have it. "No! Let me tell
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you why the fucking plane was late. Your stupid ass ground crew blew the
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fuel cells on the wings of our plane and almost blew us the fuck up on the
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runway in Cleveland. We had to wait for the firefighters to finish
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foaming the plane and for the crew to get a new plane. That's why the
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damn plane was late. Now I want a fucking voucher!"
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"Hold on a second," as she fumbles through some papers. "Here you go,
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sir." I now have my voucher, grab a cab, and I am off to my hotel.
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I call the airline's bitch line the next day to let them know about what
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happened. Know what they said? "We're sorry, sir." Just like the other
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passengers said they would say while we were in Cleveland. And they never
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made it up to me.
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se7en
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8/9/97
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= WWW http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://www.interlog.com/~lisa/f.u.c.k. =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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