I'm starting a blog, mostly for my travels to Africa. Not that I am under the assumption that anyone in their right mind actually gives a shit about what I have to say. I have no delusions of grandeur, but luckily, if you are like me, you work in an insanely boring office and have run out of websites that aren't blocked by your company's internet filter and are tired of seeing how many times you can spin around on your chair in one leg kick.
Or if you’ve three-starred all the levels.
I'd like to start this blog by saying I am going to Tanzania on Saturday. If you are anyone close to me, I am sure you have heard enough about it to last a lifetime. As much as I enjoy telling people I am going, I have talked about it ad nauseum for the past few weeks and I am sure everyone's a little sick of hearing about it. Including me. I would like to start this portion of the blog by bitching and moaning about how crappy air travel is and how little I am looking forward to the actual trip to Tanzania. I fly out of Detroit to Amsterdam (round abouts 7.5 hours), then from Amsterdam to Tanzania (like 10-ish hours). One thing I am excited for is the 4.5 hour layover in Amsterdam. I had a layover there on my way to Italy in May and the manner in which that place was designed makes me think that 10 architect stoners got into a room together with some T-squares and calculators and whipped up a airport blueprint. Seriously, that place absolutely rapes your senses.
This was a quick pic of the TSA agent that helped me in Amsterdam
Imagine some of your worst ideas as a child fucked out on Fruit Roll Ups and Capri Sun and you have the Amsterdam airport. It's like they were all getting baked and were like "Holy shit, let's put a fucking tulip shop in there! Then, then we'll put a fucking bar with a wall of booze with fucking psychedelic colors, and holy shit, puppies! And Brookstone!" While it is a sensory gangbang, it's pretty sweet. Additionally, it's not the Philadelphia airport, so that's pretty awesome. The Philadelphia airport is how I imagine terrorists would torture us if they could do anything other than climbing monkey bars and oppressing women. If terrorists were into more subtle psychological warfare, they would absolutely adore the Philadelphia airport. The fact that the terrorists single-handedly brought about the TSA should be enough for them to savor for the next 100 years as far as I’m concerned. Terrorists win every time a baby gets patted down by some GED-owning halfatard in a glorified rent-a-cop uniform.
“Guess where these fingers are going, buddy.”
Allow me for a moment to express my distaste for the airport and every single person that works there. It’s not every employee, I suppose, but it’s the overwhelming majority. The TSA, ticket agents, and even the clerks are so fucking apathetic and worthless that is basically renders airline customer service unusable. Honestly, going from airport to airport makes it seem like there isn’t a single person there who isn’t actively trying to ruin your day. I would seriously rather get punched in the dick a thousand times in a row than have to deal with airline employees on any level, especially the TSA.
Seriously would rather get hammered in the dick by a speeding tennis ball
Furthermore, to anyone that works for the TSA or is a customer service representative for the airlines, here’s a tip: when someone like me comes up to you in a normal tone of voice and asks for some help, don’t act like it’s a fucking personal attack on you, or worse yet, act like doing your job is such a burden. The airport is a place where you have the worst customer service in the world, yet it just so happens to be the only place where you can’t flip out about it. If you do, you are going to get arrested, probably end up on a no-fly list, and get an anal probing pat-down (not necessarily in that order). When I was in Philadelphia, after a 13+ hour flight from Rome (which included an emergency landing in Atlantic City to refuel), I dealt with two of the biggest lady douchebags of all time. The ticket agent redeemed herself for her early cuntitude, but the customer service rep might have been the laziest pile of wasted space in the universe. The long and short of it was when I (very politely) asked her to see if there were any flights I could be guaranteed to be on that night, she flat out refused to even look it up. Here’s the thing I don’t understand. Are the only requirements that you work at an airport that you have some kind of pulse and know how to basically say “fuck off” in a few different languages? She was in front of a computer. Ten key strokes and she could have checked for me. What can I do though? Go ballistic and end up in airport jail?
Recognize this? Carmen Sandiego video game. Innnnn Jaillllllll.
Anyway, I digress, I suppose. I refuse to let a bunch of no-brain jack-offs ruin my trip. I am just going to interact with those mongoloids as little as possible and keep my headphones in. Unfortunately I don’t think I’ll be in Amsterdam long enough to enjoy the culture (read: smoke a few bowls), but I’ll probably wander around and get some tulips, a bottle of absinthe and a remote control helicopter.
Also, I am praying, well, not literally praying, and hoping so hard I could pop a testicle that I get a relatively comfortable seat. I would give a hippopotamus an open mouth tongue kiss for a seat with a little extra legroom. Fingers crossed for emergency exit row.
For those who are interested, I will still be writing Sage Advice from a College Town Bouncer articles when I return. I have a bunch in the works but I haven’t been able to get them where I think they should be humor-wise. Luckily that job is an endless wealth of retardation, so I shouldn’t have a ton of trouble with material.
That’ll do for today. Just an FYI, don’t be afraid to click on some of the Amazon ads on the bottom of the page. I’m tryin’ to get paid, motherfucker. And remember:
