Delayed Flying Rant

Hey everyone,

I wrote up a blog of epic proportions regarding my absolutely WONDERRRFUL flying experience, but haven't been able to post it due to a lack of internet on my vacation. (I had an EVDO card in the Viao laptop, however I wrote the blog on my mac and I didn't bring my thumb drive.)

Without further ado, here is my blog written on WriteRoom (awesome little writing program for the easily distracted).

I'm a terrible blogger. This inability to keep people apprised of my status is nothing new; I rarely send thank you cards, responses to emails are usually avoided, and even my journal has long been neglected.

I just prefer twitter, and I wish everyone was on it. Doctors, siblings, my mother and the phone company. (However, if my mother was on twitter, I wouldn't be able to write my usual colorful descriptions of people who annoy me... yes, I'm still afraid of my mother. Don't laugh.)

Anyway, updates. I'm trying this vitamin B-1 supplement that my doctor prescribed, as my thiamine level was low in my blood test(s). The effects of this are either extremely mild, non-existant, or haven't kicked in yet. Either way, I'm still the same "Wheels" you know and read blogs from.

I'm on my way now to visit my family in Arizona. I plan to broadcast while I am there, so you'll meet my older brother Timothy (the engineering/car genius) and possibly other family members. Probably not my mother though (see above).

Before I can socialize and get teased by my family, I have to fly there. Which means I have to go through the airport. And deal with airline security.

Now, first off, let me say that Jacob and I are always extremely polite to the airline security. Especially Jacob, with his ethnic looks. Why? Out of fear. (Update: Jacob has no fear, he explained to me he is just always polite. Fair enough. I fear them alone.)

Lets begin at the beginning. We checked in, and naturally I hadn't written down my confirmation number for the online tickets. My mother purchased them for me, so I couldn't just stick in the credit card. Jacob pulled out the handy dandy broadcasting gear sony viao w/ evdo card and managed to find the confirmation email before the woman at the counter was able to help us. When she was ready to accept the check-in luggage from Jacob, she pointed at me and asked "that's with you too?".

Wow. I was called a "that".

She didn't seem to notice what she had said, and continued the process of checking our luggage and putting random tags on my wheelchair. For some reason I wasn't quite furious until after we left the counter. Perhaps it was an airline/airport induced survival tactic; smile and nod, even if you get called an inanimate object.

Jacob rolled me away from the counter, and then boom, the anger took over. I was pissy, I was complaining, nothing would make me happy. I was a super b*tch.

Jacob knew how to rectify the situation, however. A teeny tiny store called Just Desserts, located just next to the check-in desk. He got me a huge cookie and a slice of white chocolate raspberry cheesecake (we shared, of course). Oh, and a cup of hot chocolate. Nothing makes you feel like a normal human being than a bunch of desserty goodness.

After this beautiful, serene lapse of airport reality, we headed to the security lines.

We were called to a separate line.
Bonus: it was empty
Negative: the 'call' was "Wheelchair, over here".

(Side Note: Perhaps I'm just being overly sensitive. I guess if these people were parking lot attendants, and I was driving a 1969 Camaro ZL1, I'd be cool with "Super Rare/Expensive Camaro, over here".)

Since our carry on consisted of broadcasting equipment, my laptop, Jacob's two bags, my purse, jacket and famous brown fedora, we stepped out of line to allow people to pass while we put all our crap in those stupid little gray bins. People were very thankful of this, and seemed to stare at me less than usual. One elderly lady even talked to me like a human being. (Of course, every airport security line has the village retard, and this was no exception. A man in front of us glared at Jacob the entire time we were placing our stuff in bins in a non-functioning lane. I'm guessing he assumed we were bypassing his line-superiority by trying to get another line open. Or perhaps he just thought Jacob looked suspicious. Either way, I gave him a dirty look.)

When we got to the metal detectors, I was pulled through the little plastic door by a very nice security agent (thats right, I said "nice" and "security agent" in the same sentence. And no, my meds don't cause delusions). He pulled me into what he jokingly called the "isolation booth", though that was a bit too accurate for humor. I was positioned so I could still people watch, and for a third time he called for a "female assist".

One woman came over and explained to me the process of a wheelchair pat down. I told her that I had nerve damage in my arms and legs, hoping she would be gentle as a result. Surprisingly, she almost offered that we skip the exam all together. Just as she said this, two younger female airport security agents came up (who I had watched gossiping and laughing while watching me struggle to put my things on the x-ray's conveyer belt). One asked if the lady who was already searching me was going to have me take off my shoes, reminding her it was policy. They were so close to me, and on the verge of getting into a physical fight. I felt like I was in the middle of West Side Story. Eventually, the two girls left without blood being spilt.

The woman turned to me and said "Bitch tried to step in my business, you know? Oh, um, so I'm going to examine your back, please lean forward."

(Side Note: When people are polite to me lately, I feel as though they are a long lost friend. Generally, people either stare as though I have no feelings, overt their ability to be above feeling sympathetic towards others, or ignore my existence entirely. I'll be honest, I sometimes fell into the last category before this happened. If/when I get better, I'll never do that again.)

The security pat down, though limited due to the woman's kindness, was torture. I was in tears when Jacob rolled me out of there. When the pain increases, my motor ability in my hands decreases exponentially. Jacob had to put my jacket on me, as well as my hat and my sunglasses (I've become light sensitive due to the meds). I took my pain pill a few minutes early, and relaxed as best I could outside the door to the airplane.

(The above I wrote while waiting to board the plane. The rest has been written right after I woke up this morning.)

This nightmare flight was gifted to me by Southwest Airlines. After being called a "that" by the check-in agent, I had high hopes for the rest of this experience.

Let me say this first: The gate agent was awesome. The man who wheeled me onto the plane was great. However, the flight attendants were %#*&ing #*$@&es. And the man who sat next to me I have a death wish for.

If I had his full name, or even a first name, I would post it on here. As it is, if this person sounds familiar to you, knee him in the balls for me. He is 74, about 6'1, blind in one eye, a basketball player in the senior olympics being hosted in Glendale, was in the Air Force for 14(?) years, likes to fly over the wing of the plane (and yet sat beside me in the very first row). His wife was a flight attendant for United for a long ass time as well. I basically got this guy's life story while he hit on the flight attendants.

Now I'll explain why I hate him.

The first thing he did was fling his seat belt buckle into my leg. That hard, solid piece of metal hitting anyone's knee would hurt. For someone with acute neuropathy, it felt like my leg had been hacked off. I said "Ow!" and he didn't apologize. He didn't care at all, which was apparent after he proceeded to do that same thing 3 more times over the course of the 1 hour 40 minute flight.

He also threw down his luggage on his seat twice, hitting my arm. He elbowed me twice, then at least five more times much harder after he and Jacob got into an argument about the window shade. (I needed it down so I could attempt to sleep, he wanted it up so he could read. Jacob informed the guy that I have neuropathy, I was in a lot of pain, and I needed to rest. The guy elbowed me a few minutes after that... really hard.) He kept trying to stretch his legs into my space, literally kicking me out of the way at times. When I woke up fully, I was partly on Jacob's seat, huddled as far away from that man as possible.

So this guy I hope wallows in self pity and misery at the bottom of a well (that has a spike covered floor and is filled with acid and leeches).

(side note: You may have noticed I never complained, chewed out, or insulted this guy. Again, I fear being thrown off a plane, especially since he seemed so buddy-buddy with the crew. My priority was to see my family. I would tolerate any pain to ensure I made it to see them.)

I'm also writing a complaint to Southwest Airlines after this, for the check-in agent who called me a "that" and for the flight attendants. I'll include a thank you to the people who were nice, just to make sure I don't look like just a random angry cripple.

The flight attendants did their job. Southwest has this thing going where not only are their employees horrible people, they are also comedians. After the funny little talk on how to not die in the event of an accident, I noticed a theme. I counted three times in the introductory loudspeaker speech that she mentioned this was their last flight. For the rest of the flight, they basically did nothing but flirt with the dirty old man beside me (this is how I know so much about him.)

I also know a bit about these flight attendants. One lives in Glendale. She wants to get either her Masters degree in English or go to Law school. She has been a flight attendant for four years, and frankly I don't see a lucrative job in her future. She was born in Wisconsin, and moved to Arizona when she was 8. "I would move back in a heartbeat, but I need to be near my family. I told my dad, 'I'll shovel all the snow in the winter, I promise!' but he won't do it. I'm a midwest girl." She proceeded to say she was a "midwest girl" so many times I realized how fundamentally pathetic she was.

The other one I didn't hear as much about. In fact, the above description might include aspects of this one, since they were both blonde and both had annoying voices. The only differentiating factor was the first one had attempted to botox away her premature sunbathing wrinkles while the other one was trying to ignore she was overweight (ie, her pants were about 3 sizes too small).

The one thing these women were extraordinarily good at was ignoring me. This man, this horrible waste of human existence beside me had hit, bumped, and pushed me so many times that I was in excruciating pain. When the turbulence began an hour after take off, I began to cry. I cried for the rest of the flight. I bit into my lip trying not to be loud. They saw this. How could they miss it? I was sitting 6 feet away from where they were. When Jacob asked for a napkin while they flirted with the dirty old man beside me, they looked at him as though he had no right to ask anything of them.

Anyway, I don't want to think about this anymore. It was the worst experience of my life. My letter to Southwest will basically be a cut and paste from this. In summary, they didn't ask once if I was ok. They didn't arrange to have my wheelchair brought out. A random employee ended up helping Jacob wheel me off the plane after my chair got stuck. I have a return flight already booked, but I'm going to try very hard to get a refund and fly through someone else. I will never, ever pay for a flight through Southwest again.

That was my first disabled passenger experience, and it was the most pain I had been in since my series of 6 exams at the hospital in January (when they gave me 4 injections of morphine). On the plane, I kept saying what a mistake it was to think I could travel. Over and over again, I realized how completely disabled I truly am.