2004-08-19 - 9:06 a.m. Fictional Airline Letter Dear Airline Company, I recently took a flight on your airlines from my home to a destination I had no actual intention on going to. Let me be the first to tell you that despite the pilot�s insistence that Ohio was a nice state, I was very upset. You see, I was flying to Chicago, but for some reason the plan landed in Cleveland. One passenger commented �at least it�s not Columbus this time.� What is this? Why would you land in the place we were headed? The in flight movie was Titan A.E. Are you trying to torture us? With the amount of hassle that I have gone through, I can be pretty sure all your employees are into S&M when we aren't a mile up. And why aren�t you handing out peanuts anymore? Did I miss an airline memo? Is it because people are allergic to peanuts and you don�t want to get sued? For gods sake, I wish a corporation would grow a pair. People who are allergic to peanuts know it... and guess what�--if they are alive-- they KNOW not to each peanuts. And even your company should know that the dead people can�t really fly, so why are peanuts a big concern again? Instead you give me pretzels. Now, I like pretzels, but being stuck in a climate controlled tight packed flying POW camp with only a single soda that was served to me an hour ago, all the while being served salt packed, mouth drying twigs of bread, isn�t exactly my idea of a refreshing treat or a good time. Now honey roasted peanuts�now we are talking. Anyway, so we landed in Cleveland, and no offense to the city, but it sucked. Considering I never really left the terminal it was more you airline that made me want to hit my head into the wall until I passed out, so that the pain of living while suffering through your manufactured ordeal could be tempered by a coma effect. God, I left from Minnesota, we flew over Chicago, and then landed in Cleveland. Your Goddamn airline makes me want to jump from the plane, except in the safety instrucations it failed to inform me how to kill myself properly. Now I would just drive to Chicago, except I feel this need to someday find the luggage you lost so that I can at least have something nice to wear when I die. Right now I am wearing a T-shirt from the Cleveland Rock and Roll Hall of fame that I found in the trash. I think Drew Carey signed it. (so imagine my surprise when I learned it wasn�t on fire) Anyway, I now understand the real reason they don�t allow guns onto planes. Its so that I am basically forced to do whatever you want. I am looking forward to our next stop after Cleveland, perhaps a nice flight to the diamond mines of South Africa and Siera Lione so that you can put me to a little slave labor? I�ll try and stay calm and remember its for my own good, but you might have to excuse me as I take a dump in the pilots in-flight meal. At least that way one of us can get some goddamn peanuts. Thankfully gittery, Brett Bretterson. | |||||||||||
