Habari Gani, gentle readers!! That means 'What's the news?' in Swahili, and is used as the traditional greeting each of the 7 days of Kwanzaa. As you all know, "Kwanzaa" means "After Christmas Sales," and was invented in 1967. I won't bore you with all the Kwanzaa details, seeing as it's basically a remix of Hannukah, and I don't think we can get too wrapped up in any holiday invented after TVs came in color. The gist of it is that there are seven principles, one for each day. They are as follows:
12/26 - Umoja - Unity
12/27 - Kujichagulia - Self-Determination
12/28 - Ujima - Collective Work and Responsibility (who knew one little word could mean so much?!)
12/29 - Ujamaa - Cooperative Economics
12/30 - Nia - Purpose (not to be confused with blacktress Nia Long, for whom I have always had a Love Jones)
12/31 - Kuumba - Creativity (not to be confused with the fellow who went to White Castle with Harold)
1/1 - Imani - Faith (not to be confused with the supermodel and miscegenator)
Today, I am seriously running on Kujichagulia, y'all. I am in Detroit visiting the G-unit (you know you gotta holla at your granny when she's 94.5!) with mamadukes, and it has all gone horribly, horribly wrong. What was supposed to be a 56-hour visit is now a 5-day campout, as the blizzard of 2010 has NY airports closed and our flight postponed for three days!!!
Al was right when he called it an inconvenient truth.
As I was kept on hold by CUNTinental Airlines for 2 hours and 34 minutes, after which point their automated machine got tired of replaying itself and they hung up, I tried to be positive. Yeah, delays suck, and yeah, it's better that we weren't stuck in the airport, but the facts remain:
- I packed only 2 pair of underwear.
- My mother and I are stuck in Michigan without a car.
- My mother and I can only interact in 3-hour increments before we start to hate each other.
- I have heaps of work to do, but all of it is in NYC.
- We are stuck in Detroit, Michigan, for three extra days.
I don't know if you guys have been following me on the Twitter lately, but you might want to look for the hash tag ChristmasInDetroit. Everyone's been in top crazy form, with my aunt asking me to "get the voices back on the computer" (it's my fault for answering her initial question "do you know how to use a computer?" with a yes), and my cousin giving me a "grab bag" for Christmas. Its contents: slipper-socks, a $15 Pier 1 Imports gift card, and a 6-pack sampler of KY warming lubricant.
'Tis the season, y'all.
Last night, we went to a family gathering held by the folks on the other side of the family (my aunt's husband's crew), and as I ate a bit of type-2 diabetes-inducing peach cobbler, I watched some of the older folks dance. I was a bit alarmed when I noticed that a 50-something-year-old gentleman had a gun clipped to his hip.
Yes, y'all--he was ready to bust a cap in someone's ass.
When I pointed it out to my mom and we laughed, my aunt told us that it's legal to carry a gun in Detroit (#whyblackpeoplecan'thavenicethings), and my cousin told me that he and his wife also keep guns. When I asked him where his was he said, "Mine in the car, it's family time." Good to know.
The evening culminated in a "dance contest" in which all children under the age of 14 had to participate. We were urged to put in a dollar for the "winning pot." As children popped, locked, and flipped as the adults urged them on, I admired the ingenuity--with the kids dancing, we had the music, entertainment, and family bonding in one fell swoop. As Aunt Hannah counted out singles to make sure there were enough for every kid to get some, I worried: were we creating a new generation of strippers, children eager for dollar bills that signified acceptance?
Tonight, as I was driven back home after picking up food (everything in my grandmother's house is salt-free and doesn't require chewing), we passed "D&L Market," a grocery store. Along the side, however, it advertised Check Cashing - Beer & Wine - Lotto - Pawn - Poultry
Oh, Detroit..... You are what keeps Tyler Perry rich. How on earth could one shop offer so much? Something's obviously getting short shrift (my guess is the poultry).
According to Wikipedia (my source for all things ethnic and newfangled), the self-determination of kujichagulia means 'to define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves, and speak for ourselves.'
As my mother gets angry at me for eating too long (her exact words were, "you been at the table damn near an hour!") I am working to define myself as someone who can process her anger in a healthy manner, instead of lashing out at the woman who birthed me. I am naming myself as a strong black woman, instead of "the cause of her mother's hot flashes." And, since mamadukes is looking at me with a sideways glance every time I breathe with conviction, I am taking to my blog so that I can speak for myself.
All right, y'all, I've officially been out of my grandmother's sight for 20 minutes, and she's starting to yell. Luckily, I can use the fact that the thermostat is set at 82 degrees (I kid you not) as an explanation for why I had to step outside.
xoxo,
blacktress!
Showing posts with label worst airlines ever. Show all posts
Showing posts with label worst airlines ever. Show all posts
Monday, December 27, 2010
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dear American Airlines: Save the Drama for Obama
It's 2:17am. I write to you now from the Best Western Airport Hotel and Casino.
American Airlines can S a D. It is now, along with Delta, on my shit list.
In the last 6 weeks I have been on 8 planes, in 12 airports, and not once had a layover or delay...until now. And it's been more hardcore than I could have imagined.
I think you all know I have bad luck with flying. And while I always brace myself for some drama and foolishness, my recent rash of good luck on international journeys had me hopeful. Besides, my desire to get to the islands was so great, I figured I could will the airline into functioning normally.
Apparently, not.
It started off smoothly, although the Metrocard machine ate the $5 I inserted for my AirTrain ticket. I shook it off, trying to maintain the relaxed vibe I'd cultivated in my time down under. A seemingly long line at security actually moved quite quickly, and my 3-oz. bottles of lotion and shampoo were FDA approved. I only had an hour before my flight, so I did what any normal person does when they have time to kill: read 'Twilight' at the newsstand. Everything seemed aces until 4:35--the boarding time--rolled around.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a problem with the fuel pump, and maintenance is checking now. We don't know how long it'll be, but we should find out shortly. Boarding will not take place now."
Ruh-roh.
When they don't know what's up or how long it'll take to handle a scandal, it's never a good sign. 20 minutes later, chick explains that there will be an hour delay, making it impossible for me to make my connecting flight.
How will I get my groove back now???? I thought as I waited on line to talk to the attendant. Just then, another voice came over the PA, telling us a new plane would be needed, and we wouldn't be leaving until 9:15.
Current time: 6:05.
Awesome.
We finally get going at 10pm, and upon landing, a flight attendant informs us that there is a problem getting the door to the aircraft open, and asked for our patience. A chorus of moans ensued, and I had visions of the weird guy across from me staring at me with glowing red eyes before mauling me with his bare hands.
Airlines are so fucking annoying. You pay them alot of money. They make you show up ridiculously early and tell you it's for your own good. This you do after packing a bag so strategically that you'd have to be part terrorist to make it work. Then they make you wait on crazy lines and treat you like an unwanted third-marriage step-child by people who don't like their jobs, and then force you to take off items of clothing as they judge your sketch factor. If you make it through all this, it is their job to provide an aircraft and take you to a destination at a time that they've set, no less. But time after time, they disappoint and screw it up, providing lame excuses and no remorse.
Reminds me of every relationship I've ever had.
So now it's almost 2:30 am and I have 6 hours until my 40-minute flight to St. Croix. I'm going to take a quick shower and get some quick zzz's and hope there are no bedbugs. I will step off the plane bleary-eyed and confused, and demand a mojito. After a couple of those, this American Airlines debacle will be a distant memory.
Until then, I rant.
American Airlines can S a D. It is now, along with Delta, on my shit list.
In the last 6 weeks I have been on 8 planes, in 12 airports, and not once had a layover or delay...until now. And it's been more hardcore than I could have imagined.
I think you all know I have bad luck with flying. And while I always brace myself for some drama and foolishness, my recent rash of good luck on international journeys had me hopeful. Besides, my desire to get to the islands was so great, I figured I could will the airline into functioning normally.
Apparently, not.
It started off smoothly, although the Metrocard machine ate the $5 I inserted for my AirTrain ticket. I shook it off, trying to maintain the relaxed vibe I'd cultivated in my time down under. A seemingly long line at security actually moved quite quickly, and my 3-oz. bottles of lotion and shampoo were FDA approved. I only had an hour before my flight, so I did what any normal person does when they have time to kill: read 'Twilight' at the newsstand. Everything seemed aces until 4:35--the boarding time--rolled around.
"Ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a problem with the fuel pump, and maintenance is checking now. We don't know how long it'll be, but we should find out shortly. Boarding will not take place now."
Ruh-roh.
When they don't know what's up or how long it'll take to handle a scandal, it's never a good sign. 20 minutes later, chick explains that there will be an hour delay, making it impossible for me to make my connecting flight.
How will I get my groove back now???? I thought as I waited on line to talk to the attendant. Just then, another voice came over the PA, telling us a new plane would be needed, and we wouldn't be leaving until 9:15.
Current time: 6:05.
Awesome.
We finally get going at 10pm, and upon landing, a flight attendant informs us that there is a problem getting the door to the aircraft open, and asked for our patience. A chorus of moans ensued, and I had visions of the weird guy across from me staring at me with glowing red eyes before mauling me with his bare hands.
Airlines are so fucking annoying. You pay them alot of money. They make you show up ridiculously early and tell you it's for your own good. This you do after packing a bag so strategically that you'd have to be part terrorist to make it work. Then they make you wait on crazy lines and treat you like an unwanted third-marriage step-child by people who don't like their jobs, and then force you to take off items of clothing as they judge your sketch factor. If you make it through all this, it is their job to provide an aircraft and take you to a destination at a time that they've set, no less. But time after time, they disappoint and screw it up, providing lame excuses and no remorse.
Reminds me of every relationship I've ever had.
So now it's almost 2:30 am and I have 6 hours until my 40-minute flight to St. Croix. I'm going to take a quick shower and get some quick zzz's and hope there are no bedbugs. I will step off the plane bleary-eyed and confused, and demand a mojito. After a couple of those, this American Airlines debacle will be a distant memory.
Until then, I rant.
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