posted 11-28-2001 00:00         

later
trey

posted 11-28-2001 04:59            

on way home, in ATL , 3hour layover, im putting some mag's in my bag (fhm / maxim)

i get up, load half baked divx into laptop, start watching

the seats where we were looked like an "L"

i was on the "_" and suddently this woman in her 40s on the "|" part came up to me and was like "i betyou2 are a couple of devious boys"

im like

"uhhh"

and shes patting me on the chest, im like "uhh do i knnow you?"

shes like
"i seen those magazines you have, i must say...."

"uhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

she continues, "you know, i just wanted to tell you that the lord is coming, and its never too late to start with him"

"bwahahah" i try not to laugh, meanwhile halfbaked continues to play =] she never noticed it tho.

she turns to my friend "nice shirt (it ssaid amsterdam),,have you been there?"

she then goes and sits down

but every minute or so she gets up, like she is just DYING to tell me something

and comes back over (about 10ft) and starts talking more baout the lord and jesus returning and how its never too late to start with him

im literally speachless

---------------
then they called her for her flight (the reason i was sitting in the wrong terminal was for a plug (elec. outlet)

so anyways,
yeah
fucking crazy bitch

and the WHOLE FUCKING TIME
her husband sitting next to her,,never,,NEVr, ONCE,, even GLANCED at us,, he sat there readinghis paper not caring who his wife was talking t o,

posted 11-28-2001 05:20            

to have her doing something

besides driving him nuts

he probably got a couple snickers out of it

posted 11-28-2001 08:33            

bleh
oh well
yeah i was really about to go off on her in the middle of the airport but i was just laughing so hard inside i couldnt do it, god it was hillarious

i really wished she would have seen what i was watching,

posted 11-28-2001 10:16            

When I was 15, my family went on a trip to Europe. We flew from here in San Francisco to London, then tooled around England, took the ferry to France, came back, flew home. Besides the obvious problems of dealing with British food and the French in general, it was a pretty easy trip. Or at least, since I wasn't doing it myself (my parents were), it seemed that way.

But then we tried to get home.

First, we took what had to be the WORST charter airline, Leisure Air. It turns out that a couple flights after ours the FAA basically shut the whole operation down due to safety concerns and passenger complaints. Errr, yeah. Anyway, it was pretty standard low-grade charter stuff; it was an obviously second-hand plane, the signs were all in Spanish, the "what to do in an emergency" cards looked like they were the original, first-ever printed, although probably printed in Belarus, etc. etc.

So that was bad. But since it was a charter flight, we flew in and out of Stansted. For those who don't know, London actually has three airports, Heathrow, Gatwick, and Stansted. I guess maybe Luton too, but that's pretty far away. Anyway, Heathrow is the big, high-class one, but it's pretty much monopolized by a couple of airlines. Gatwick is for things like BA or TWA, and short continental hops or domestic flights. And the ugly red-headed stepchild is Stansted, which serves London in name only. I think it's somewhere around a 30-40 minute train ride from the city itself. So it's not exactly a fun, exciting place.

Still, just minor aggravations. Except the day before we fly back some asshole threw a bomb at the Israeli embassy. ooops. Which meant that security in the UK was EXTREMELY high, probably equivalent to levels here now (although without the "random" searches of Middle-Eastern looking men). So they had to X-ray every piece of baggage individually, plus they were looking at every single camera, laptop, CD player, Gameboy, whatever. So just getting through security took a long time.

And we're not even on the plane yet. We have to sit in the waiting area in the terminal while they search and load the bags, which took somewhere around 2-3 hours. Plus there are rumors beginning to spread about some problem with the plane.

Hmmm. Not a fun time. But it gets better.

After an hour or so, I get up and walk around, look out the window at the tarmac, basically stretch my legs. TEN MINUTES after I sit back down, the big piece of the window comes crashing to the floor. It was one of those huge atrium-type things, with a bunch of panes creating kind of a glass corner to the terminal. European airport style, you know? Anyway, it was a section of the ceiling glass, which was probably 30 feet high, that just shattered. There was no one underneath it, and maybe it was safety glass anyway, but it probably could've killed someone. Like me.

So everyone is screaming, because, well, it could've killed someone, and the airport workers are just kinda staring at the mound of glass shards, like they are totally puzzled how it happened. And then, maybe to get people's minds on a different, less fucking scary topic, they announce that there _is_ a problem with loading the fuel into the airplane, and we can't get a full load of fuel, so we'll have to stop on the East Coast before we go to SF. Some bullshit about it being too hot, and the fuel expands in heat, so they couldn't put the required load in the tank, I dunno. Well, at least they told us SOMETHING. Plus they finally decided that the terminal was not a safe place to be, so they load the plane.

OK. On our way home. Hooray. There's the usual delay, "uh, we're number two for takeoff, so as soon as we get clearance" blah blah blah. But we make it into the air, turn toward the west, see ya Europe. Then it turns out that the in-flight movie won't play. OK, whatever. Then, while they were trying to make the movie play, they fucked up the music channels too. OK, it was bizarre ethnic music anyway. But THEN my CD player ran out of batteries. Uh-Oh. Well, at least I had a book, and it's not THAT long of a flight, right?

heh. The airline's brilliant plan for getting us the required fuel was TO STOP AT A ROYAL CANADIAN AIR FORCE BASE IN GOOSE BAY, CANADA. I guess since the space shuttle stopped there (in 1983, true story) for a fill-up, it was good enough for Seizure Air. Except it might've been smart to LET THEM KNOW WE WERE COMING. Maybe that wouldn't have made all that much of a difference, I dunno. But the end result was that after we landed, we sat. And sat. And sat.

It turns out the airfield didn't expect us until the next day. So there wasn't anyone around to refuel the plane. Also, it was around 1AM local time (ultimate red-eye flight), so all the maintenance guys were home asleep. So it took a while to actually get a fuel truck and the necessary personnel together.

But there's more. Remember, this is a military installation. Which means that military rules and regulations have to be followed. And apparently one of the RCAFs regulations is to not have any fuel out in the open while a thunderstorm (which we landed through, by the way, big fun for the white-knuckle flyer) is within five miles of the base. Makes sense. But it sure does suck when you're waiting for it.

Alright. So we're waiting for fuel, just sitting on the runway. For a loooooong time. And they have the engines off, because, you know, they're going to refuel. Any time now. But with the engines off, there's no air conditioning. Which means that a full plane will get pretty... rancid after an hour. So the flight crew has the brilliant idea of opening the doors to let air circulate. And yes, they actually DID remember to disarm the emergency slides, so at least those didn't fuck up.

Eventually, the storm moves away, they refuel the plane, everyone is happy. Well, pretty pissed, but at least we're going home. Wait just a minute there. One of the doors they opened for ventilation won't close. IT WON'T CLOSE. You're not going nowhere nohow, fucker. So they have to get the maintenance guys to come back out to the plane and fix the door.

Only these guys have never seen the door mechanism on a passenger plane. They're air force mechanics, they know how to fix rockets and jet intakes. They know shit-all about this kind of thing. But, hey, they'll give it the old college try.

So it's odd to see a couple of burly Canadian air force mechanics squatting in front of an airplane's door, READING THE FUCKING INSTRUCTION MANUAL. Really, I couldn't make this shit up. They figure that it's a problem with the pressurized gas canister, hey, we have one of these on base, we can fix this.

But it's a pressurized gas, which is dangerous. Might blow bits of you off. Important bits. So while they work on the door we all have to crowd into the very back, or very front of the plane.

The important thing to remember here is that we were on an air force base in Canada. That didn't expect us until the next day. At 1 in the morning. Which meant that there was no way to get off the plane; no stairs, no comfy terminal, nothing. And eventually, once we all get nice and friendly in the back of the plane, people start losing it. Just completely lose it. This one guy starts yelling that he can't be treated like this, he wants off the plane, get him OFF the PLANE, he's an American citizen, you can't treat him like this, he's an AMERICAN, don't you understand WHAT THAT MEANS... finally, someone yells, "hey asshole, YOU... ARE... IN... CANADA! No one CARES!"

Silence. Thanks, buddy.

Finally, they fix the door, close it, get off the plane, hey, plane actually starts (!), we take off, get home. Total time was somewhere around 22 hours from when we got on the plane until we landed in SF. The only silver lining was that they decided, finally, to just open the liquor cart to everyone on board for free. Stiff drinks for all.

Also, and it's a practice that I've found very helpful for all my international flights since, if you can request a seat assignment ask for a bulkhead seat. Those are the ones at the front of a seating section, so you don't have anyone leaning back onto your knees, plus you get about 1-2 feet extra leg room. Someone suggested we do that for this flight, and it probably kept our sanity. Good idea.

posted 11-28-2001 11:34            

I went to the US to visit a girl I had met on IRC. (YES!! I am geek0r!!!) When you're about an hour from landing in the US you have to fill in this nice little form where you have to tell them whether you're a terrorist or not. You also have to specify an address where you'll be staying. A hotel, a motel, they don't give a shit, just fill in any address.
Of course, her address was one of the things I had forgotten to bring with me. She was going to pick me up at the airport, so figured I didn't need it anyway. Wrong.
I only knew the town and state she lived in, and of course the customs officer picked up on that.
So the next 30 minutes or so I had a not-so-friendly chat with a customs guy who asked me just about everything. Where we had met, what kind of job she had, what kind of job I had. What did I like to do in my spare time? Had I ever used drugs? If I had any financial prolems? Did she? What was I going to do in the US? Was I going to attend any political gatherings?

posted 11-28-2001 12:01           

The earliest I can remember is that we flew Northwest Airlines, and there was never a problem. However, they moved out of Cleveland Hopkins (the fucking mayors of Cleveland are some of the stupidest assmongers on the United States... Cleveland just needs a convo center, an airport expansion, and a few decent hotels and we'd triple the population in a couple of decades..). Anyway, a terrorist thing happened or something in another country and my parents got scared out of American airlining.

So then we went with Air Canada. It is not that uncomfortable of an experience, they serve minors beer (hell, I went over on my own when I was 15 with a whole bunch of "UM" stickers on all of my packages [unaccompanied minor] and they didn't even hesitate to give me the wine with the meal or sell me duty free Bailey's Irish).

However, that's just the beginning. Actually getting on a flight poses a problem, it was two hops to Manchester Airport, we were supposed to leave on Tuesday. Apparently, there were high winds in Toronto or something, so the jump to Toronto couldn't be made. We got pushed back to Toronto.

So we get there on Wednesday, get our baggage checked in and stuff, and sit down waiting. "Attention Air Canada fliers. Flight (something I can't remember) has been overbooked. We are currently offering tickets for tomorrow's flight as well as $100 for anybody who gives up their seat." A half hour passes, and the announcement goes on again. "Attention Air Canada fliers. Flight (same flight number) is still overbooked. We are currently offering tickets for tomorrow's flight as well as $250 for anybody who gives up their seat."

Now, that seems like a good deal, right? Well, nobody thought so. They waited. It eventually went up to $400, and then two business men jumped out of their seat and took the money. They went to the bar.

Then waiting at Toronto for the plane to England, overbooked again. This time it was $500 Canadian when two similar looking business men and a family took the deal. I don't get how Air Canada can make a profit when they have to give away all this money.

So what I'm thinking... Air Canada overbooks so much, I could probably make a career out of always turning in my ticket. $400 and a ticket for tomorrow.

posted 11-28-2001 12:55            

I have family that own a dairy farm in Sweden (just outside Göteborg), and I stayed with them for a summer. When I got back to the States the customs officer asked the usual questions, including "did you bring back any fruit, food products, whatever whatever, or spend any time in an agricultural place" (or something to that effect) and I said "yes, I stayed on a dairy farm." The guy had no idea what to say to that, I think they usually get immigrants who bring a bunch of sausage and preserves and stuff, not some college kid who milked cows for a couple months. Anyway, all he asked was, "uhhh, is there any dirt on your shoes?"

posted 11-28-2001 14:08            

but the time that i went to edmunston a couple months ago pissed me off to no end. I am crossing back into America after shopping for some DVD's and such and the guy stops me and ask's the usual stuff

officer: Do you have anything to declare?
Me: no sir.
Officer: Where did you go?
Me: no sir.
Officer: Where do you live?
Me: Nope.

then he pop's in an odd question

Officer: Son, are you under the influence of drugs?

Me: what? no sir.

Officer: please pull your car around to over there (points to a concrete parkway) and wait for an officer to meet you at your car.

i go over and wait, some fat custom's officer comes over and tells me to stand against the wall. he then frisks me thoroughly, asks me to lift my shirt and take off my shoes. he looks for anything taped to my chest and checks my shoes. he then tells me to go inside while they search my car.

they then proceed to rip apart my whole car as i watch from inside. They tore up everything. they cut open the sand bags in my trunk and poured the sand all over the inside of my trunk (it was winter).

but when they were done i told them to put it back the way it was, and after some slight arguements they higher official there agreed that they had to do it since i had asked (if i hadn't said anything they dont have to fix a damn thing). and they all fixed everything, and had to shop vac my trunk and give me new sand bags. but it was funny watching to cops cramped under my dash trying to put my stearing collum cover back on after they had pulled it off, which broke all the snaps. and putting the back seat's apholstery back into place.

i had a 3 hour ordeal.