Steven Slater

Steven Slater. Sounds like he could be the brother of semi-masculine A.C. Slater from Saved by the Bell. But he's not. If you've been paying attention to the news the past few days, you've undoubtedly heard of the JetBlue flight attendant / steward / whateverthey'recalled and his amazing grab a beer and run out the airplane quit. That's the best saying that I could come up with for it? Ah, crap.

I've followed this story with a decent amount of interest the past few days and I have to say that I disagree with Steven Slater. 99%.

First of all, I have to say that we've all dreamed of quitting a job like that. Grabbing a beer, swearing at everybody, and then exiting out the emergency slide. What? Your place of business doesn't have an emergency slide? That part is pretty awesome and that's where the 1% of agreement comes from.

Here's why I disagree with him 99%, though.

Dude... SS... Your job is hospitality. You are paid to be nice to people. You are paid to give out Pepsi and pretzels and according to salary.com, you get paid about $38,000 a year to do it. Do you know that I work 60 hours a week at three jobs and don't make much more than that? Someone has to get paid to do it and that someone isn't me. Do you know why? Because I am not very nice. Even if someone paid me to be nice, I probably wouldn't last very long. Certainly not long enough to do it for as many years as you did. I'd last maybe a flight. Maybe. And that's only if I had access to the beverage cart.

Everywhere I read about online keeps talking about how great this guy is. I just don't see it. All he managed to do was a live reenactment of that scene from Half Baked where Scareface quits his job. That's pretty funny and all, I suppose, but if I wanna watch Half Baked, I'm gonna watch Half Baked. And there's no way that Steven Slater is half as funny as Dave Chappelle. Hell, he's not even half as funny as Jim Breuer, who I'm pretty sure is a highly functional autistic.

But the real reason why I have no sympathy for Steven Slater? It's because he works for an airline. I don't care that you don't like it when people get on their cell phones when the plane lands. I don't care that you don't like it when people jump up to get their bags from the overhead compartment. Let 'em. That's right. Let 'em pull out their phones. Let 'em get their luggage from the overhead bin. What do you care if they get ear cancer or get knocked unconscious by their Samsonite bag? That'd teach them a thing or two. It's an airline. The enemy.

In my life, I've been on 20 individual flights. Do you know how many delays and or cancelled flights I've endured? 6. That's 30% of the flights that I've taken that have been wrong. Do you know what would happen if I got, say, company payroll right only 70% of the time? That's right, I'd be looking for work, just like Steven Slater. And air hosts and air hostesses wonder why travelers are pissed off.

Don't support this guy. He's not a hero. He's not a chump. He's just some dude.

Expedia dot fail

8:00 is my happy time. No singing birds (as they've gotten that out of their system by 5something). No "aroooorooooroooo" of Noel the dog (usually). Usually I'm watching reruns of Futurama. 'Cause there's nothing funnier than that. And I've seen every episode about 14 times so I don't feel bad if I fall asleep before reawaking [I know that's not a word] in a rush to get out the door if I need to.

8:01, however, is something completely different. It is the time when business are allowed to call their customers. So, when 8:01 rolled around this morning, I received a call from an "877" number and, of course, didn't answer. A few thoughts went through my head:
"Okay, I'm not behind on any of my bills."
"That certainly isn't the phone number for any place that I've applied to recently and if it is, they wouldn't be calling this early about my resume."
"Man, this is really a funny show."
So I let it go to voice mail. And that voice mail went a little something like this:
"HithismessageisforStephenPhillipBohn.ThisisNameGarbledwithExpediaandwehavesomesignificantchangestoyourflightitinerarypleasecallusbackatTelephoneNumberIndescernable."

I know I can speak pretty quickly but this was like AmazingRoboSpeak. Since I have purchased a grand total of one thing in my life through Expedia which is my ticket to and from New Zealand, I knew that this is exactly what it was about. So I went online to find Expedia's dedicated customer service line (it's 404-728-8787, by the way). And wouldn't you know it, it went into a queue. I defy you to find one person who enjoys queues. Well, maybe efficiency managers but they're only concerned with net promoter scores and not customer experience. I can say that with full confidence because I used to do HR at a call center and if you have ever had to wait for a CSR then you probably know what I'm talking about.

And so I waited. And waited. And waited.

A CSR finally got on the line. He informed me that because my layover on my return trip when I'm at LAX is now less than two hours BY ALL OF FIVE MINUTES, I would need to rebook because that's their policy. I am very serious. I told him that my dates are set, I'm traveling with a friend, that I bought my ticket almost 5 months ago and I'm not rebooking anything. Guess who went back on hold while the CSR went to get in touch with American Airlines who initiated the change?

That's right. This dude.

After wandering around the house shirtless and opening my fridge in the hopes that a leftover burrito would magically appear (it didn't) for a while, the CSR came back on the line and said that he was "having trouble getting in touch with his help desk to get the flight changed." I told him that "I don't want my flights changed at all and that I don't think that 5 minutes is going to make all that much of a difference. I don't screw around. I'm an expert traveler." For future reference, that joke will be met with silence by Expedia CSRs.

Back into the queue.

Ten minutes later, my CSR came back on the line: "Good news, Mr. Bohn! I've rebooked your flight... You'll be --"
"Wait a minute. I just said that I DON'T want my flight rebooked. I don't care about the two hour policy. Can't we just leave it as it is?"
"Well, Mr. Bohn, the policy is that we have to have two hours between flights when you're arriving from an international destination."
"Oh, so I can get my luggage and and go through customs and all that?" I asked.
"That's right, Mr. Bohn!" he replied.
"And do you really think that takes two hours? 'Cause I've done it in about 35 minutes everytime I've traveled."

This was met with about 30 seconds of silence.

Then... "Well, like I said, Mr. Bohn, the good news is that I was able to rebook your flight and we'll be sending you through Chicago on your way back to Nashville."
No mention of upgrading my seat. No mention of some sort of food or drink voucher. No 'thank you for being so accomodating'.
That's not customer service folks.

But the real crime with all of this, is that my flight for Chicago (which is where I'll be connecting once I leave L.A.) leaves with just too short of time to head into L.A. to finally try this In-N-Out Burger that everyone tells me that a cheeseburger connoisseur like myself should try. You wanna talk about all-time crimes? That's one of 'em. Like Crosby scoring the gold medal winning goal. Or like getting dumped by text message. Or like Friends being on the air for ten seasons.

Oh, well. I'm sure I can get me an eye opener beforehand. And, really, that's all I need. A microbrew.

My total phone call lasted over 45 minutes. That's two reruns of Futurama I could have been watching. This is in inauspicious start to my day already.

Stouts and 'ports

I'm sure by now you've all heard about the "terror" attack at Detroit Metro Airport on Christmas day. Since there are about 11 cable news chanels all clamoring for the same sandwich of a story, they did nothing but report on that one story. 'Specially FOX News. Now, none of that really matters because all of those stations are guilty of the same sort of sensationalism and also because I happen to live fivehundredsomeodd miles away from Detroit. Except for it was Christmas time, my mom and dad live a hop, skip, and a jump from Detroit Metro, and I fly all of once a year. Guess where I had to fly out of last night. C'mon. Guess. This story is already shaping up to be very "Costanza" like.

With as much coverage as this story was receiving and as many times as the news stations made sure to announce "If you are flying out of Detroit Metro Airport, prepare for increased security, long lines, and bring your patience [insert co-anchor's nervous laugh here]. The TSA is recommending that all domestic travelers get to the airport at least 3 hours in advance." I figured I'd better get there early. That was a hell of a long sentence. But get there early, I did. There was no way that I was going to get spend the night in Detroit only to wake up, catch a 6 am to Nashville, and then head straight to work. No sir. And so, I arrived 3 hours early.

Does anyone want to take a guess how long it took me to get out of my dad's car, through the security line including extra questioning (because I always get extra questioning), through the entirety of the world's second longest terminal (Concourse A measuring a full mile long), on to terminal B, and to my gate situated near the end of said terminal? C'mon... Anybody.

18 minutes.

That's right.
18 minutes. And I don't walk that fast.

I arrived to my gate 2 hours and 42 minutes before my flight was scheduled (which will become a very important word as you will see) to depart. Hell, the prior flight that was scheduled to leave from my gate hadn't even boarded yet.

So what did I do? I went and had pints. Several. If there are two things that I learned yesterday, they are as follows:
1.) Don't listen to the news 'cause they are full of hate propoganda even if there is just a handful of dudes fuckin' up air travel for the rest of the world, and
2.) You haven't lived until you've been drunk on an airplane.

Seriously. It was one of the more proud moments of my life. Suddenly the hour and fifteen minute delay that was magically tacked on to my wait (putting me at Detoit Metro for about four full hours) didn't seem too bad. Sure, I had to pee alot but, damnit, it was worth it. If it wasn't my finest hour, it was pretty close. For a a brief moment, I knew what it felt like to be Noel Gallagher... but without being cheeky, British, and lacking a god complex. I can hear you asking "But isn't he a singer, too?" Yes. He is. And after busting out a karaoke version of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" [don't get too excited, it's not an actual clip of my rendition from last night], you could say that I am, as well. By the way... The Asian dudes at the bar didn't like it as much as I thought they would. Here I am trying to reach out to our brothers across the sea and spread some goodwill and all they wanted to do was drink Suntory and quietly judge me. I didn't get a single "domo arigato" from any of them. Not one.

Well, my flight finally left and arrived back home to Nashville "International" Airport. I put that word in quotation marks because I have never seen a flight listed that has been of the international variety leaving from BNA and I'm one hell of a skeptic. Upon arriving to the, uh, arrivals section, this is what it looked like for all of 10 minutes before the hellish traffic broke loose:

Or... Until I realized I was down at the Departures section. Don't judge me... The aforementioned Asian fellows did enough of that last night.

It was a long, strange adventure getting home from Detroit last night. But at least I had fun. Air travel, folks, is what you make of it. 'Cept for when dudes try to blow you out of the sky.

To the other side of the world

I’ve extended an open invitation to everyone I know to come to Europe with me next year. After some serious initial interest, I’ve come to find out that most of it has been nothing but fevered dreams. That sounded rather heavy and heady but there it remains. The initial fascination with all of the old countries has died down amongst those that seemed most interested in going. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still fired up to go on vacation. That’s a very important word there: vacation.

Over the past few days, I have been thinking about where it is I would really like to go. I’m certainly not the richest man in the world (as a matter of fact, I’m pretty poor) but with working 65 hours some weeks (for example, the one that I am currently smack dab in the middle of) I am socking away more money than I have ever been able to sock away in my life; my stupid AT&T bill not withstanding. I have been, as those of you who know me know, bitten by the travel bug. All I want to do is work so that I can travel. Sure, I’d like to own a home but with what little salary I do make, I’m only going to get financed for the crackiest of crack houses in North Nashville and that’s not something that I’m interested in in the least. I’m gunning for a promotion and a raise here at work, hence the reason that I am wearing a shirt, tie, vest, and sport coat today. Actually, I am wearing those because it felt like a fun thing to do… if only to confuse the boss. I do look mighty handsome, though.

This is the part of my blog where I reel in the rambling. Or at least I pretend to but really don’t.

I have an acquaintance who occasionally works with me at AVOF. Her name is Eden. I highly recommend that you stop reading my ridiculous blog and go visit her photography website. She’s really quite amazing. For those of you who won’t stop reading, I’ll simply say that her photos are out of this world good. She’s clearly been able to visit several places that most of us haven’t and to say that I am envious of her travels would be a massive understatement.

Some of her photos, if you’ll pay close attention, are from New Zealand. How awesome would it be to be able to go there?! I understand it’s like no other country in the world in terms of appearance… not to mention culture. And the Kiwi that lives in the bedroom next to me talks about it quite a bit. Also, there are tour available to visit Hobbiton for about $48. I realize that it’s the fervor and verve that I write with in the previous sentence that may be among the reasons that I am 29 and single. Some things are just more important in life than others.

So… It appears as though plans may have changed some. Let’s be honest… They may have changed significantly, considering that New Zealand is literally the place on the planet that is as far away from Europe as one can be without making their way back.

I’m still budgeting the same amount and I’m still way ahead of my pace for saving… If I’m gonna go somewhere, I might as well go.

I am thankful I am not a turkey

Ahh... Thanksgiving week. A week where not much gets done in a human resources setting... and I don't mean just mine. There are a few reasons why this happens. First of all, anyone who travels does so on Wednesday. This clears out offices by late Tuesday afternoon because everyone who is traveling has to go home and pack and pick up their snot-nosed anklebiters from school so that they can get them ready for the two hour flight to Salt Lake City where Granmy and Papaw can shower them with gifts, food, stuffing and everyone there will where uncomfortable wool sweaters and fuckallI'msickoftalkingaboutschoolAuntJanice! If you guys wanna see someone in the holiday spirit, look no further.

Anyway, back to my point... At that point is nothing, much like the point of working this week. There is none. At all. To give you an example of how little work gets done in a human resources department during the week of Thanksgiving, a two hour long breakfast has been scheduled tomorrow morning for our department. If that doesn't scream, "MODEL OF EFFICIENCY!" then I don't know what does. Apparently, that's how you scream on the internet. You type in all caps. Either that, or you're an engineer. Today has been predicatbly slow. I've answered two phone calls and responded to three emails. While, those three email responses have been important. Otherwise, how would the rest of the department know that I have volunteered to bring fruit tomorrow morning for the breakfast we will be having? I could walk around to each of their desks and tell them, I suppose. I'd get some exercise, look social, chat about my beloved 2-8 Detroit Lions (who will probably be starting Daunte "Rolling Thunder" Culpepper on Thursday in what is almost sure to be a total embarrasment on national television... You know... The reg.

But I'm not paid to walk around. I'm an employee relations professional and not an athlete. The Good Lord blessed me with these long dancer's legs but the coordination of a drunken 3 year-old. He giveth and He taketh away...

So I'm finding ways to fill up my day because some days that's all you can do at work. One of these ways is, of course, spending time on Facebook. 99% of the people that work here get this an access denied message but I am a surprisingly good computer... uhh... guy and have figured out how to get around this. As I was using the most popular social networking site until something else comes along in the world, I saw this ad on the ol' FB:

It got me to thinking... "What am I thankful for?" So here it goes...

*First of all, I am thankful that I can end sentences with prepositions from time to time and not too many people are going to care that much. As an addendum to that, I am also thankful that this is not 1889 and no school marm is going to rap my wrists (or whatever it is they used to do) for ending my sentences with a preposition.

*Secondly, I am thankful that I am not getting on a plane and flying anhwyere this week. I always get stuck sandwiched between the dude that smells like a ham caserole and a nine year old who has the sniffles.

*Thirdly, I am thankful that I am not a turkey. For obvious reasons.

*Fourthly, I am thankful that when I come to work on Thursday [Yes, folks, the Employee Resource Center is open from 9am to 3pm on Thanksgiving!] I will be able to bring my MacBook in with me and watch Futurama.

In all seriousness, I am really just thankful that I have managed to mostly survive this year. I am thankful that I get to work. I am thankful that Patrick and Amanda are kind enough to have me come over on Thursday afternoon to hang out, eat food, and probably drink enough beer where if I wanted to crash on their couch I could. I'm thankful that I still love living in Nashville even if finding love with a hipster chick probably isn't on my plate anytime soon. I'm thankful for a good bottle of bourbon and a better bottle of scotch. I'm thankful for running. I'm thankful for far too little far too often. But, despite my misgivings about things, I am really thankful to be alive... Hipster chicks and all.