My Baggage Thanks You

I'm always amazed when individuals "in charge" -- those wearing clothing emblazoned with company logos ... In uniform, running the shows, ostensibly, and holding down forts in exchange for their paychecks -- engage that representative power to help ...

You'd think this is something that should go without saying ... and in Europe, across much of the airline, food service, banking, car rental, hotel and other hospitality sectors, it does.

There is pride in a uniform "over there", still ... A sense of contributing to the common goals of a shared community as much as an overriding ... if not desire, than at least, obligation, to represent their company logos appropriately, and make an effort -- in a pleasant way -- to provide assistance, if and as needed, to other human beings.

In the States, this is often sorely lacking.  There is laziness.  Indolence.  Pushback.  Sore attitude.

All of the above being preferable, arguably, to stark indifference:  the apathetic numbness shown by employees too bored to give a shit.

Thus, happily, did I arrive to depart recently at one of New York's better known "third world" airports ...

For some reason, my flight was being "operated by" another airline - not the airline whose website I visited, and which collected my payment.

A different airline.

... Ergo, a different airport terminal than the one in front of which a taxi deposited me and my baggage.

To my further dismay, I realized I was already about 45 minutes from my scheduled departure; and walking (or running!) between hugely spaced, unconnected terminals at this particular third world airport would not be an option.

So I flailed around trying to find a ride for a minute ... then fumed as I heard a harried shuttle driver bark into a dispatcher's radio, "Ten minutes!  Be there in five to ten minutes!"

I waited.  I fumed.  A shuttle finally arrived, and I climbed aboard with a pilot or two ... a baggage handler ... and sped off toward the correct terminal ... which again, for some reason, did not belong to the airline I was supposedly flying!

Praying this wasn't some sort of mistake (or a sick prank ... Deceived again!) ... I climbed over the pilots, the baggage handler ... Did a lap dance with an elderly couple ... and leapt from the shuttle van.  Ran into the airport and up to the kiosk ... Swiped this, and entered that ...

NO!

My flight, by this point departing in only thirty minutes, was already closed.  As instructed on-screen, I went to 'see attendant' ..

To make a long story medium-length, this lovely lady loved her job.   Respected the uniform she wore, and the corporate logo she represented, and skillfully, helpfully, whisked me to the front of the security line ... Rock star-like bypassing the holiday throngs, with a hastily printed standby ticket for any random later flight (This lovely lady knew things! ;) ... so I was able to get to the gate and catch my flight.  Against the clock, and against all odds.

I'm on that flight now ... and as the sun sets above the clouds, it dawns:

We Americans ... Hectic, obnoxious, harried, demanding, rude, preferring to be left alone; inconveniencing others when we're inconvenienced (often through nobody's fault but our own) ...

Or I, in any case; ME, American ... get the service and treatment too often deserved.

"Freedom, Struggle", ©Jeff Glovsky

It's Only Winter

"The furious hoarfrost bearing down upon us knows neither mercy nor reason ... Clutch your babes close to your breast and take small comfort in knowing that they will howl for but a few hours before death becalms them forever." -

New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio

I want cabin fever.

I actually want to be "non-essential" ... so that when I'm forced to stay home from work, losing money and faced with an actual blizzard (of backlog, coming back into it), I don't stress;

I want to believe the "weather team", from whatever "information" source being forced down my throat, throbbing, stuffing my ears full of dire "news" about the fact that it's winter, and sometimes it snows!

... I want to believe them when they tell me, all day, excitedly, babbling repeatedly, warnings about the "historic" storm ... The inexplicably NAMED winter snowfall.  "Why is the snow called 'Juno', Daddy?

"Is snow going to hurt us?"

... The five year old's questions more calm, more rational, more simply reasoned, than anyone breathlessly standing outside in this winter season's first "event", holding a microphone while loudly declaiming and pointing at things:  "Now we're starting to see sanitation workers move into place!" as a garbage truck passes in front of a camera ... "You don't want to be outside in this MONSTER!"

NEWSFLASH:  It's winter.  It's one of four seasons.  Sometimes it snows, hard.

It's NOT "Snowmageddon".

It's ONLY WINTER.  Sometimes, okay, there is even a blizzard (and sometimes, in SUMMER, there's thunder and lightning!).  It's not invitation to fill me with dread ... try and addle me mentally, put me to bed!!!

The "Extreme Threat Alert Message" received on New York City smart phones Monday -- "All non-emergency vehicles must be off all roads in NYC by 11PM until further notice." -- was, to me, as unnecessary as it was vague, discomfiting and deeply unwelcome.  Heavy-handed and Martial Law-like, as "violators" were reminded on local newscasts of summonses, and possibly even arrest.

This is why Americans kill each other.  Everyone's harangued so relentlessly, so kept on the precipice of fear and panic ... bombarded with overwrought, negative messages ... that we're all batshit crazy.

Not in a good way.
Only the five year-olds stand a chance ... if they can be left alone to enjoy winter.

Where There May Be

On a train in France a couple weeks ago (thankfully, not this one), I dove into an unreserved seat beside a petulant clove cigarette - this fragrant, smoking thing named Zoé.

Seeing Zoé's golden legs up on the back of my neck the seat in front of her, spying the empty seat beside, I went sprinting down the train aisle toward it, only to be met by loud protestations as Zoé sensed her alone time getting squashed.

"There are plently of empty seats, Monsieur!" this angry bird actually snapped at me.

"Bone swa," I grunted.  "Like to sit here."

Once, twenty years or so ago, there wouldn't have been this French resistance ... my presence, and Zoé's together, would've formed a pièce de résistance!  Led to peace ... Would've spelled detente!

Of course, I was that much younger then ... and Zoé, newborn ... But the point I'm trying to make is that seasons, things and people change.  If I felt growing "old" back then, imagine being middle aged now - when in an equivalent number of years removed, I'll be pushing seventy ... then daisies ...

"The Death of Jeff Glovsky"

And so might you.

What isn't changing naturally, though, is the way strangers regard each other.  Like nuisances and interruptions ... With little real interest, attention or even eye contact ... With little compulsion felt to look away from whatever else they're doing, playing or listening to at the moment their worlds -- or Words with Friends -- are invaded.

I feel all ages feed this corruption.  It's no longer a "Millennial" thing.  Our need to be alone, in fact, be anti-social with each other, is as pervasive as it is desperate.  Ironic on so many levels:  when we're fed transparently empty "news", and have no one who's driving the apple cart as it careens ever faster toward onrushing traffic, the brakes and steering wheels useless, threadbare tires spinning off ...

We need each other!

Otherwise, no stories left to build upon.  No love, or lust -- potential! -- unrequited ... carried through the decades, firing dreams and weighting memories, and hope (yet hopeful.  Waiting);

for who or what will be there when our "friends" outgrow their sex machines?  "Devices", "apps" and glowing tubes ... their piracies, idiocies, "reality" (really?) ... forced "fails", "quirks", fakely "eccentric" idiosyncracies?

"Blu Jg (Blue.Period) ... in E Major"

Me, I prefer to tread cobblestoned streets of each city ... avoiding the parking lot choked  superhighways (especially our "information" one) to pave my own roads ...

For better or worse!  When young, or now old ... willing riders or empty seats beside me ... Not "alone"; ever lonely, though ...

I'll get there.

Wherever "there" may be.

What Does It Take, Really?

As a corollary to my previous post -- in fact, an addendum, of sorts -- concerning fading humanity in the United States, I would like to add my acknowledgement and sincere appreciation of the following individuals and businesses which, against prevailing current and a nation changing for the worse, still offer dignity and customer service.  Off the top of my head, there are:

- the super motel in the lakefront northern Wisconsin town I grew up in, and come home to to roost every now and then (although not nearly as often as I should, or would like to), and day manager (high school classmate), Lisa.

- US Airways' gate agent, Gaby, working at Fort Lauderdale International Airport (FLL) this spring.  Gaby, you made my night, by smilingly, professionally changing my flight up the east coast to Boston, so it wouldn't need to stop in Chicago (?) first.  THANK YOU.

- the AirTran gate agent in October 2013, working at Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson (ATL).  When I missed my connecting flight to FLL there, you shrugged, said "Why not?" and, again, so rare as to be noteworthy, professionally did your job by allowing me to get on a flight to Orlando.  No raping "change fee", no blather about "city pairs" ... I needed to get to Florida, you allowed it to happen.  Why not, indeed?

(True, I had to take a Greyhound bus to get from Orlando to Miami that trip, and that sorta sucked ... but you know what?  I thought of you on that six hour ride, my love!  Your proud, solution-driven face and vaguely admonishing, motherly smile, stayed with me each tropic mile...).

- the Enterprise car rental agent at Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR), the following month.  You accepted my debit card to rent the vehicle.  You treated it like a credit card -- as really, it should be; because otherwise, what's the point of having the Visa or MasterCard logo there??  These confusions don't exist in other countries, where a bank card is still just a bank card, and may only be used at an ATM ... or for point of sale purchases, but using electronic chip and PIN technology, having nothing to do with Visa or MasterCard.

For these are credit cards.  If their logos are on my bank card, I expect my bank card to be treated appropriately: as a Visa or MasterCard!  Not as a debit card ... so then I'm prevented or disallowed from using the Visa or MasterCard features.

What is the point of that??

Anyway, you, Enterprise car rental agent at EWR in November 2013 ... You accepted my debit card to rent the vehicle.  You "authorized" no amount -- nothing was held on my card in advance -- allowing me to get where I needed to go.  I'm sorry I didn't get your name - but THANK YOU.

To some of you others -- you airlines and car rental agencies and hotels in the U.S., clawing for superfluous "deposits" and charges ("authorizations", sorry!) ... adhering so rigidly to ridiculous "policies", without any kind of case-by-case examining or human level -- you should move back toward respecting your customers.  Not inconveniencing, hassling and, literally in some cases, stranding your customers.

You should rethink, and all be ashamed of yourselves.

Death (of) Comedy

In the foolish, early days of April, the offensive, 'there is no there there' coverage of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 became subsumed (at last!) ... though sadly, by yet another American gun massacre.

The latest Fort Hood shooter, apparently miffed because he was told "no" about something, and catapulted into infamy on April 2nd of this year, is not even the most recent entry on this terrible "list of rampage killers" (also check out the workplace edition!) ... admittedly -- tragically -- in the words of Wikipedia's editors, "an incomplete list, which may NEVER be able to satisfy (!) particular standards for completeness (WTF!?!)" (... emphases mine).

Oh, and David Letterman announced his retirement.

A few sad doorknobs unhinge and fall off of life's frame, and late night television shuffles again ... Ah, normalcy!  A relief!  Welcome respite!  from wild-eyed theories, internet queries, emotions and directionless everything regarding the lost airplane ... from search efforts to public statements to misplaced anger ...

Directionless.  No pride or shame (a flight simulator??) ...

No happy landing.

I was thinking this on a trip last week ... At the airport, an announcement in accented but unbroken English:

"Do not let your baggage out of your sight.  If a stranger approaches you, and asks you to watch or hold baggage, or you are asked to carry an item or gift, you should not comply.  You should report all suspicious activity to uniformed personnel or the airport police."

I was struck by the innocence of this entreaty.  Simple strangers bearing gifts ... One should tell the police ... How 20th century!

It's high time the world's airports scale up their public service announcements to reflect the potentials of this day and age:

"If your plane disappears or falls out of the sky, or you see a passenger punching a flight attendant (or vice versa!) -- or a group of histrionics annoying other passengers -- please use your cell phone camera to share."

* * * 

Arctic Corollary

Ha!  Told you so!

As I suggested in a post last week, I'm not alone in believing that we've become a nation of sissies when it comes to weather ... specifically, cold weather.

Leaving aside for now the global warming arguments (and any kooky renditions of "Ice Ice, Baby"), let's just say that America, as a nation, is prompted to overreact when it comes to extremes.  And don't get me wrong:  30 degrees below zero (in some cases, plus wind chill) IS extreme ... as is the (*ahem*) 'polar' opposite: 100+ degrees in some nasty, fly / mosquito bake-off ... but for many Americans, neither extreme -- brutal cold nor baking heat -- is beyond what might be expected seasonally, or at least geographically. 

In other words:  SHUT UP already about the cold, and stop throwing words around, like "dangerous", "deadly", "advisory", "warning" ... It's WINTER.  Sometimes it's cold outside.

As I escaped the clutches of the holidays last week ... emerging from torpor and "polar vortex" ... my three hour drive to the airport was clear:  not a hint of snow or even black ice on the freeway (I-35 between Duluth and Minneapolis, MN) and the point of every star sharp and crackling like glass.

Beyond this, my overnight flight back to comparative warmth was delayed a little, maybe two or three hours ... but by 8am, I was back in my home away from Home, and back to my normal (winter) morning routine.

I did not stay indoors, avoid driving or change travel plans ... and yet (amazingly?) I did not freeze to death, become sick or frostbitten, spin out or worse on the side of the freeway, or be forced to sleep on an airport floor.

... I just went about my life in winter.

"Homeward Bound", ©Jeff Glovsky

My Old Lady

As we head into the holiday season, warmth and good cheer shrink and shrivel like leaves in me.  Misanthropy takes root and hold ...

I was taking a bus the other night, an overnight trip of about five hours.  As I'm climbing aboard, struggling with "carry-ons" that should have been checked and stowed underneath, a young couple is trying to sit together.

I dive for the only remaining bank of two empty seats and throw myself and my sad baggage into it ... then start flexing and hoisting, and shoving and spinning, and trying in vain to get at least one of my bags to fit into an overhead luggage bin.

It's not happening, and after several long, frustrated moments of grunting and carrying on in the bus aisle like Curly from the Three Stooges, I give up and resignedly take my bag -- which had become wedged in the luggage bin, half in and half out, so I couldn't pull it out without the help of an old lady whose foot I'd stepped on -- off the bus to check it below (which, again, I know, I should have done in the first place!).

I get back on-board, and the young couple trying to sit together, is now sitting together in my bank of seats!  Not only, but they've slid my duffel bag off the window seat I'd planned to use and sleep in during the overnight trip, and put it on the floor ... and then, ever so subtly, with their four feet, slid it out into the aisle for me!

"Man, would you mind -- it's just me and my girlfriend, this is a five hour trip.  Do you mind if we sit together?  There's an empty seat ... "  He gestures toward the old lady - alternately scowling and beaming at me, and quietly singing hymns to herself.

"No," I say.  Just like that, just the one syllable.  "No."

Well, that one syllable was enough to drive the packed bus into emotion!  A chorus of "Why?" and "C'mon man!" and "...wrong with you?" split the night bus, and I ended up sleeping beside the old lady.

“Ahole”, ©Jeff Glovsky