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To whom it may concern,
I understand that the complaints division of US Airways is staffed entirely by frustrated existentialists wallowing in angst, thus it is my humble intention to lift your spirits from this mind-numbing self contemplation by relating to you the epiphany I experienced while travelling US Airways from Montreal to Baltimore on Jan. 14, 2004.
I arrived at the airport at 7:00 a.m. in order to give myself plenty of time to check in, clear customs and find the proper boarding gate for my 9:06 a.m. flight to Pittsburgh (US Airways flight 4861). I was pleasantly surprised when my passage through US customs at Dorval Airport was as perfunctory as could be expected. I have no proof of this, but I believe this was the first step of your diabolical plan, as it tricked me into completely lowering my defences. Not even the security guard's misidentification of supporting material stitched into my luggage as "some sort of police baton" and subsequent insistence on pawing through my possessions for ten minutes was able to dampen my spirits.
When I arrived at the correct gate at around 7:45 a.m. I was shocked to discover that my plane was already waiting docked to the terminal (though it was not, of course, accepting passengers as yet). Even though several warning flags were raised by the fact that the plane was an Embraer 145 jet, the same model which caused a 90 minute delay on another US Airways flight I took due to an inability to properly close the door, my implacable optimism and gentle good humour held sway.
The wind continued in my favour when boarding began on schedule. The passengers were all seated, the checked baggage had been loaded, the carry-ons were all snug in their overhead storage compartments and we had taxied away from the terminal by 8:58 a.m.
This is, of course, where things went horribly wrong.
Somebody had neglected to mention to your maintenance staff that Montreal is cold in the wintertime. Furthermore, they had apparently not been told that we were in the midst of what we affectionately refer to as a "cold snap", resulting in an overnight low of -32C. The two engines on the sunward side of the plane started without trouble, but the high-pitched whine from the other enginge let me know something was up. It was no surprise to me, therefore, when we returned to the terminal and were informed of "minor technical difficulties". The proceeding two hours of watching maintenance blow hot air (how fitting) into the affected engine was painful, though not nearly as painful as the very likely case of deep vein thrombosis I received from sitting in a cramped position without movement for all 120 minutes of it. Particularly informative was the fact that it took twenty minutes and a boost from another machine to get the heating machine running in the cold. Another high point was when one of the maintenance crew ran the heating machine over its own exhaust tube, rupturing said tube.
At 11 a.m. we were told to debark the plane and talk to the ticket agent who would be waiting for us. I did indeed get to talk to a ticket agent some time after noon following an interesting bout of standing in line. This may have been a result of the fact that for the first 30 minutes in line there was only one ticket agent on duty to rearrange our travel plans, averaging one person served every 10 minutes, but do not take my word for it as I am not a management consultant. For the edification of those unafamiliar with the Embraer 145 design, it holds approximately 55 passengers. As a further note, the flight that morning was almost full. Once an additional three ticket agents were placed on duty the work went by faster (suspiciously close to four times faster).
I was told that I could board a Northwestern flight leaving Montreal at 12:38 p.m. and arriving in Detroit in time to make a flight from Detroit to Baltimore (also operated by Northwestern) which would drop me off at 4:45 p.m. Overjoyed by the fact that I would only be delayed two hours by the morning's events, I headed to the appropriate gate to speak to a Northwestern ticket agent. I was promptly informed that the flight in question was overweight and had no room for US Airways trash such as myself.
Dejected, I returned to the cruel embrace of US airways and was given a boarding pass for a flight departing Montreal at 3:02 p.m. and arriving in Philadelphia in time to make a flight from Philadelphia to Baltimore departing at 6:15 p.m. and arriving at 7:05 p.m.
I was slightly irked.
To calm my nerves I entered an airport pub, where I ordered the turkey club and two mugs of beer in quick succession (for this I was charged the princely sum of 24$CAN, but no matter). The alcohol soothed the raging beast inside me and put me in a Zen state where I began to think more clearly. Those of less devious bent than myself would likely have seen only random chance in the events of the day till then. Not I.
It began to dawn on me that while Fate may smile upon some men and frown upon others, she has rarely been known to bite one individual over and over again simply for the pure joy of seeing him suffer. No. There had to be some direction behind these superficially random event. But who? And why?
That's when it struck me: US Airways had planned this day for me in all its excruciating details. I was caught up in some howling whilrlwind I had no hope of controlling and whose every gust bore me ill will. "So be it" said I, as I am afraid of no man. The thought of such a struggle, one man against a multitude who have no mercy, energized me for the next few hours.
It energized me as I flew to Philadelphia, having left Dorval airport a paltry nine hours after arriving (US Airways flight 2720). "Very well" thought I. "We'll paint the skies red with our blood". Foolish little man. The site of the battle had been the terminal and the unmoving grounded plane; the site of my rout would be another terminal in another city, another plane on another tarmac. We arrived on schedule in Philadelphia. I see now how you allowed me this victory to set the ground for the final campaign.
For we boarded the Philadelphia-Baltimore plane on time (US Airways flight 4034) and I thought I had won, but you were waiting in ambush for me. No sooner had we sat down than it was announced that "we cannot take this plane to Baltimore". No excuses were given, for you were at last revealing your true form; petty and vindictive, yet a master at the grand design, the cosmic scheme. Do not blush when I say that today's exploit was worthy of one of the gods of Olympus.
We were told that we would instead board the plane at Gate 35 and fly to Baltimore. As soon as we formed a line to board it was announced that there had been a misunderstanding and we were to board at Gate 27. We formed a line, but halfheartedly, for there was no plane at Gate 27. Even my fellow passengers, having only borne the trailing edges of your cruelty, had already become inured to your deceitful promises and seductive reasoning. Sure enough, without formal announcement our flight's status was changed to "Delayed" and given a probable departure time of 7:35 p.m.
When we left Philadelphia at 7:45 p.m. you had already won. The flight attendant who was obviously in the grip of some foul psychotropic drug and the plane occupying our arrival gate when we touched down (delaying us for a further ten minutes) were mere detail. I walked into the terminal at BWI airport, six hours late on a five and a half hour flight, in awe at your power and knowing that one man cannot even hope to fight a god, let alone the Devil.
Yours truly,
Matthew McEvoy
I understand that the complaints division of US Airways is staffed entirely by frustrated existentialists wallowing in angst, thus it is my humble intention to lift your spirits from this mind-numbing self contemplation by relating to you the epiphany I experienced while travelling US Airways from Montreal to Baltimore on Jan. 14, 2004.
I arrived at the airport at 7:00 a.m. in order to give myself plenty of time to check in, clear customs and find the proper boarding gate for my 9:06 a.m. flight to Pittsburgh (US Airways flight 4861). I was pleasantly surprised when my passage through US customs at Dorval Airport was as perfunctory as could be expected. I have no proof of this, but I believe this was the first step of your diabolical plan, as it tricked me into completely lowering my defences. Not even the security guard's misidentification of supporting material stitched into my luggage as "some sort of police baton" and subsequent insistence on pawing through my possessions for ten minutes was able to dampen my spirits.
When I arrived at the correct gate at around 7:45 a.m. I was shocked to discover that my plane was already waiting docked to the terminal (though it was not, of course, accepting passengers as yet). Even though several warning flags were raised by the fact that the plane was an Embraer 145 jet, the same model which caused a 90 minute delay on another US Airways flight I took due to an inability to properly close the door, my implacable optimism and gentle good humour held sway.
The wind continued in my favour when boarding began on schedule. The passengers were all seated, the checked baggage had been loaded, the carry-ons were all snug in their overhead storage compartments and we had taxied away from the terminal by 8:58 a.m.
This is, of course, where things went horribly wrong.
Somebody had neglected to mention to your maintenance staff that Montreal is cold in the wintertime. Furthermore, they had apparently not been told that we were in the midst of what we affectionately refer to as a "cold snap", resulting in an overnight low of -32C. The two engines on the sunward side of the plane started without trouble, but the high-pitched whine from the other enginge let me know something was up. It was no surprise to me, therefore, when we returned to the terminal and were informed of "minor technical difficulties". The proceeding two hours of watching maintenance blow hot air (how fitting) into the affected engine was painful, though not nearly as painful as the very likely case of deep vein thrombosis I received from sitting in a cramped position without movement for all 120 minutes of it. Particularly informative was the fact that it took twenty minutes and a boost from another machine to get the heating machine running in the cold. Another high point was when one of the maintenance crew ran the heating machine over its own exhaust tube, rupturing said tube.
At 11 a.m. we were told to debark the plane and talk to the ticket agent who would be waiting for us. I did indeed get to talk to a ticket agent some time after noon following an interesting bout of standing in line. This may have been a result of the fact that for the first 30 minutes in line there was only one ticket agent on duty to rearrange our travel plans, averaging one person served every 10 minutes, but do not take my word for it as I am not a management consultant. For the edification of those unafamiliar with the Embraer 145 design, it holds approximately 55 passengers. As a further note, the flight that morning was almost full. Once an additional three ticket agents were placed on duty the work went by faster (suspiciously close to four times faster).
I was told that I could board a Northwestern flight leaving Montreal at 12:38 p.m. and arriving in Detroit in time to make a flight from Detroit to Baltimore (also operated by Northwestern) which would drop me off at 4:45 p.m. Overjoyed by the fact that I would only be delayed two hours by the morning's events, I headed to the appropriate gate to speak to a Northwestern ticket agent. I was promptly informed that the flight in question was overweight and had no room for US Airways trash such as myself.
Dejected, I returned to the cruel embrace of US airways and was given a boarding pass for a flight departing Montreal at 3:02 p.m. and arriving in Philadelphia in time to make a flight from Philadelphia to Baltimore departing at 6:15 p.m. and arriving at 7:05 p.m.
I was slightly irked.
To calm my nerves I entered an airport pub, where I ordered the turkey club and two mugs of beer in quick succession (for this I was charged the princely sum of 24$CAN, but no matter). The alcohol soothed the raging beast inside me and put me in a Zen state where I began to think more clearly. Those of less devious bent than myself would likely have seen only random chance in the events of the day till then. Not I.
It began to dawn on me that while Fate may smile upon some men and frown upon others, she has rarely been known to bite one individual over and over again simply for the pure joy of seeing him suffer. No. There had to be some direction behind these superficially random event. But who? And why?
That's when it struck me: US Airways had planned this day for me in all its excruciating details. I was caught up in some howling whilrlwind I had no hope of controlling and whose every gust bore me ill will. "So be it" said I, as I am afraid of no man. The thought of such a struggle, one man against a multitude who have no mercy, energized me for the next few hours.
It energized me as I flew to Philadelphia, having left Dorval airport a paltry nine hours after arriving (US Airways flight 2720). "Very well" thought I. "We'll paint the skies red with our blood". Foolish little man. The site of the battle had been the terminal and the unmoving grounded plane; the site of my rout would be another terminal in another city, another plane on another tarmac. We arrived on schedule in Philadelphia. I see now how you allowed me this victory to set the ground for the final campaign.
For we boarded the Philadelphia-Baltimore plane on time (US Airways flight 4034) and I thought I had won, but you were waiting in ambush for me. No sooner had we sat down than it was announced that "we cannot take this plane to Baltimore". No excuses were given, for you were at last revealing your true form; petty and vindictive, yet a master at the grand design, the cosmic scheme. Do not blush when I say that today's exploit was worthy of one of the gods of Olympus.
We were told that we would instead board the plane at Gate 35 and fly to Baltimore. As soon as we formed a line to board it was announced that there had been a misunderstanding and we were to board at Gate 27. We formed a line, but halfheartedly, for there was no plane at Gate 27. Even my fellow passengers, having only borne the trailing edges of your cruelty, had already become inured to your deceitful promises and seductive reasoning. Sure enough, without formal announcement our flight's status was changed to "Delayed" and given a probable departure time of 7:35 p.m.
When we left Philadelphia at 7:45 p.m. you had already won. The flight attendant who was obviously in the grip of some foul psychotropic drug and the plane occupying our arrival gate when we touched down (delaying us for a further ten minutes) were mere detail. I walked into the terminal at BWI airport, six hours late on a five and a half hour flight, in awe at your power and knowing that one man cannot even hope to fight a god, let alone the Devil.
Yours truly,
Matthew McEvoy
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