Rodeo Daze

It's that time of year again when the rodeo comes to town. For people not born and reared in the Southwest, it's no big deal, but here in Tucson, the city practically shuts down. Schools close, people take time off work, and the snow bunnies take to the streets en masse. All for the rodeo. Yeeeee-ha. This week has left me in a bit of a funk and I am looking forward to the weekend and a few days off. I blame most of it, no, make that all of it, on the rodeo.

First of all I'm bitter. The girls get a four-day weekend out of the deal, but I get jack. Check that, I got a big headache. I came in to work on Thursday only to be greeted by mass chaos. Our station decided to celebrate the occasion with a cookout and potluck luncheon in the back parking lot. Fine, whatever. They also invited our radio division whose facilities are on the other side of town. This is where the headache begins. I'm trying to do my job, and I have tours of people coming through, interrupting me and distracting me from getting ready for my shift. This was accompanied by co-workers coming in every two minutes to inform me:

"Hey, did you know there's food out there?"

"There's food out in the back parking lot!"

"Did you get food? They're grilling hot dogs out in the back lot!"

"They've got Hebrew Nationals out back! Why don't you go out there and fix yourself a plate?"

While I do appreciate their concern for my hunger relief (ignoring their lack of concern for my intestinal well-being), it became pretty annoying. As you can tell, it seems everyone at the station gets a little giddy whenever free food is at stake. An announcement of free lunch will incite a riotous stampede to the source, as employees adhere to the unwritten rule concerning free station food: you snooze, you lose. I realize that television salaries aren't great, but please! You'd think the company was handing out bonuses or free stock options. Apparently, everyone has come to the realization that free food is as good as it's gonna get, so they celebrate it. I'm not there yet.

Then I heard the tragic news of the day: a five year-old girl had been killed at the Rodeo Days parade earlier in the day. For the second straight year, something spooked a team of horses pulling a wagon, sending them in a literal stampede through the parade route. Last year, the mayor of Tucson and his wife were injured in the incident. This year, the team of horses collided with a horse ridden by the little girl. She was thrown from her horse and trampled. I hate hearing news of children dying, even more so now that I myself am a Dad. I can't help but put myself in the shoes of the grieving parents, and my heart goes out to them.

So now I'm annoyed and depressed. And people kept coming in and saying, "Oh, did you hear about the little girl? That's so sad! Hey, there's still hot dogs outside! You should go get one!" Leave me alone...can't you see I'm grieving here?

Diane was in Los Angeles for meetings and the girls were with the in-laws, so I had the house to myself. Normally, I'd be ecstatic to have all of that alone time, but not this week. The house felt a little too empty. Add to that the frustration of my computer dying for real this time (the hard drive is fried on a computer that's not even two years old), and my life's beginning to resemble a Country/Western song:

My dog died and my wife ran to L.A.
My buddies hate me 'cause I won't eat the hot dog tray
And I'm cryin' 'cause the computer won't play
All during Rodeo Days

Sadly, those are probably the best lyrics I've written in the past six months, probably more. My funk has lasted for about three days now and I'm going to place the blame squarely on the rodeo, even for the fried hard drive. Why? Because I'm in a bad mood and I can. I think I need a vacation.

It's Not My Fault...I'm Global!

A few months ago while attending my Grandpa's visitation, I was talking to my Mom and some other family members in the foyer of the church. I was telling them about how crazy it was for me to get ready for the trip: I'd start one task, then remember something else I needed to do, so I'd drop the first task and move on to the second, and so on, and so on, and so on. I eventually completed everything, but was exhausted by all the extra running around.

"You're global," my Mom declared.

I paused and looked at her. "Excuse me?"

"You're global. You get it from me."

I still wasn't quite tracking. I mean, I try to keep up on world events as best as I can, but I had absolutely no idea of how this had anything to do with running around like a chump chasing a greased pig in order to get ready for a trip.

"It's your personality type," she explained after reading my confused expression. "I was at a workshop a while back where I learned about personality types. You're either global or sequential. Sequential people see a list of tasks and complete one at a time. Global people see a list of tasks and complete them all at the same time. I'm global. You get it from me."

"So it's your fault!!" I cried. All these years I thought something was wrong with me, and I was right...I'm global. Can't be helped. It's in my jeans, er, genes.

This morning was a good example of my globalositiness. My Mom, appropriately enough, is visiting this weekend to look at houses for a possible move to Tucson. I just returned from taking Kailey to school, and everyone was in the family room watching the Today Show. I asked if they were ready for coffee, and began getting it ready. As I washed the coffee pot I noticed a light out in the family room ceiling fan. My Mom was reviewing housing information that we picked up from our house hunting yesterday, and she was sitting in a dark spot. I need to change that light bulb!

I abandoned the washed coffee pot, put on my flip-flops, and headed into the garage to fetch the ladder. My brain immediately began screaming at me: What are you doing! Finish the task! Finish the task! I snapped out of my global induced trance and finished making the coffee. THEN I fetched the ladder. I set it up, climbed up and unscrewed the globe from the ceiling fan, and took down the whole assembly. Then I went to the laundry room to retrieve a light bulb.

The light bulbs are at the back of a shelf where we keep detergent and cleaning supplies. Only I couldn't get to them because there were 30 boxes of Swiffer dusters blocking them, several of which were open and half used. What the heck? So I took them all down and began consolidating the boxes of dusters. Why did I come in here again? Light bulbs...yeah, right! I filtered through the boxes of light bulbs and decided on a 75 watt bulb, then returned to the ladder.

I climbed back up the ladder with the 75 watt bulb and noticed the other bulb was 100 watts. Plus, man was it dusty up there! So I climbed down, went back to the laundry room, grabbed the Swiffer duster and another 75 watt bulb, ran back to the family room, and climbed the ladder where I proceded to dust off the blades. When I was satisfied with the results, I replaced both light bulbs along with the globe assembly. I put the ladder away, then returned yet again to the laundry room to clean up my mess.

All in all, a job well done if I must say so myself. I took a few tangents along the way, and it took me a half-hour to get a five-minute job done, but I did it. Actually, I did a three-in-one job. So don't hassel me...I'm global!

One of Those Days

I'm tired. Today has been one of those days that I can't wait to get behind me. It all started at around 5:00 am this morning when we were awakened by the sound of Kyra crying and coughing up a lung. Kailey has been sick since last Friday and has missed three days of school, and yesterday afternoon Kyra started coming down with whatever has been ailing Kailey. Diane got up (God bless 'er), tended to Kyra and discovered she had a temperature of 103. Great. Thankfully and unfortunately, Diane had already scheduled a doctor's appointment for this morning: thankful because we'd at least get to the bottom of what's been sidelining the girls for the better part of a week; unfortunate because Kyra knew she was going to see the doctor and she was scared. She proceeded to whine and cry for the next two hours until I got up at 7:00.

I dragged my carcass out of bed and proceeded to get the girls ready for their doctor's appointment while Diane showered and got herself ready. Kyra, being the drama-mama that she is, continued to carry on about her doctor visit. I offered to pick out an "extra special secret video" for her to watch to keep her mind off the doctor. I told her to close her eyes while I dug through the video cabinet. Basically the girls only watch the DVD's that are on top or close to the front, so I thought if I dug one out from the back, one that they hadn't watched in eons, it would be like she was watching a new video. It worked. I popped "Ice Age" into the DVD player...end of crying. I'm a frickin' genious.

The girls left for the doctor's appointment, but I had marching orders of my own: bills to pay and a house to clean. My mom is flying down from Las Vegas for the weekend and the house is a disaster zone. I had it pretty well picked up a couple days ago, but anyone with young children knows that it only takes a couple of minutes for them to completely destroy what it took you hours to clean. Do over. Start again.

I made a pot of coffee, jumped on the computer, checked my e-mail, and went to pay the rest of our bills for the month. This usually takes me about five minutes, but today it took close to an hour. The site that I use to pay bills kept logging me off and then I had to track down two bills because for some reason they didn't post to the site. Turns out they weren't due until the end of the month and I could have waited another couple of days to pay them, but I didn't know that at the time. It's going to be one of those days.

The rest of the morning was spent folding laundry; piles and piles of laundry. I didn't know we owned that many clothes and I certainly don't remember washing all of it. In the meantime, the girls came home. The prognosis: a viral infection. Kyra won't be able to go back to school until Monday, and, barring any setbacks, Kailey can return tomorrow. She should have gone back today because she was bored and bouncing off the walls. She wanted attention, but we had a house to clean. Sorry kiddo. Pick up a mop and earn your keep.

I finished folding the mountain of laundry just in time to get ready for work. Diane decided to make a quick trip to the store while I was still home. So she left and I took a very quick shower so that Kailey couldn't torment Kyra for that long. I didn't hear any screams of bloody murder, so I guess things went OK. I went through my grooming routine, and Diane returned as I was getting dressed. She walked into the bedroom and paused for a moment to behold my glorious physique before announcing, "The back tire on the van is really low." Fantastic.

I offered Diane a deal, "If you'll pack my lunch, I'll fill the tire before I leave." Done. I went into the garage and grabbed the air compressor, set it for 32 lbs, attached it to the tire, and cut her loose. The tire slowly began to fill and after several minutes the compressor reached its target and shut down. But I still heard noise coming from the tire: PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF! Crap! I sauntered back into the house. "Umm, you don't have to go anywhere this afternoon, do you, Hon?"

"No. Why?"

I opened the garage door so she could hear the rapid deflation of the tire. "Holy crap!" My sentiments exactly. I didn't have time to change the tire before work, so guess what I'll be doing bright and early tomorrow morning? Yippee.

I arrived at work where everyone was all atwitter because a new seafood restaurant was providing free lunch as a promotion. I love seafood, but this stuff did me wrong...REALLY wrong. I'll spare the gory details, but suffice it to say that intestinal distress at work is never good. I think the Bluetooth guy even walked in during one of my "episodes" and made a hasty retreat. Add to that the stress of dealing with a of testy, overbearing client and I was ready for the day to end.

And to think I get to start off tomorrow by changing a tire. I just hope it doesn't mean tomorrow's going to be one of those days too.

American Airlines...The Final Chapter

It's over. And while I'm not completely satisfied with the results, I'm quitting while I'm ahead. Barely. Last Thursday I received the "additional" mystery voucher from American Airlines...the offer that was to make everything better. The offer that was to make amends for having to write four letters of complaint to rectify the situation. The offer that was to restore my faith in American Airlines and the whole airline industry. Now I know why John Madden rides a bus. I mean, besides that fact that he's terrified of flying.

I opened the envelope to find a three-page carbon copy form bound by a perforated edge on the left side and the American Airlines logo emblazoned in big bold type across the top. The bottom part of the page held a note: "I'm so sorry for your disappointing experience. Please accept this transportation voucher as tangible evidence of our regret and concern. (Hmmm...I've heard this somewhere before.) I hope you will use it to travel with us again soon." I opened the form to the second page and scanned it for numbers. I found the box entitled "Numerical Value" and my eyes locked in: $200.

I was disappointed...again. If $200 had been their initial offer after my original complaint, I would have gladly taken it. But $200 after all the crap I had to go through seems low. I was hoping for $300, but I'm going to settle for 2. Oh, and they let me keep those 5000 frequent flier miles. Can't forget about that!

The last step was a letter to AA President/CEO, Gerard Arpey, documenting my experience and encouraging him to look at their Customer Relations department. It may be excessive, but, hey, they gave me his name and address. Some excerpts:

I am writing to you today to direct your attention to what I believe is becoming a growing epidemic within the airline industry: poor customer service. American Airlines has always been my first choice in air transportation, and, while I may not be a business customer, I have been a faithful recreational customer, using your airline on average of two times a year. This is soon to change...

...I think that it is utterly ridiculous for me to have to write a letter to the President and CEO of a major corporation over a customer service issue. But quite frankly, these days the whole airline industry seems to be full of customer service issues, and I, for one, believe it is unacceptable. It needs to change. Ms. Scott writes, “Also, you may write to Mr. Arpey at the address below. However, he has delegated the responsibility of responding to customer concerns to our Customer Relations personnel. In turn, we keep him well-informed about customer issues. This designation allows Mr. Arpey and other senior management to devote their energies and attention the daily operation of our airline.”

While I wholeheartedly agree with the principal of delegation, I also believe that when delegated responsibility breaks down, it’s time to draw in the reigns. The airline industry is a customer service industry, and as such, your customers need to be your top priority in the daily operation of your airline. Mr. Arpey, I am not an opportunist and was not looking to “stick it” to American Airlines. I am a hard-working man who spent a lot of money on an airline ticket, only to end up sharing that expensive seat. I simply wanted reasonable compensation, and the process of receiving that compensation was too drawn out and difficult as I dealt with Customer Relations agents who were more eager to dismiss me than to take an honest look at my situation.

I am including in this letter all of my correspondence followed by each reply from your Customer Relations agents to show you exactly what I had to go through in order to seek compensation. It saddens me that I had to become a “jerk” before your Customer Relations agents would take me seriously. I hope that you would investigate and address this issue so that no other AA customer would have to go through the same grueling process that I experienced.

Game over. I'm done. I don't expect anything else from American Airlines. Some people might think all of this is overkill, but I don't agree. I'm proud of the fact that I took a stand against something that was wrong, and hopefully will have an impact on how customers are dealt with in the future.

Oh, who am I kidding?

Is There Something Wrong Here?

Last night, after an afternoon of running errands followed by dinner out, we rushed home to see The Police open the 49th Grammy Awards. We made it by a minute, having enough time to get in the door, turn on the TV, and surf to the right channel before hearing Sting declare, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are the Police and we are back!" Insert chills here. They sounded amazing, but I was disappointed when they left the stage after performing Roxanne. I wanted more.

I settled in and Diane gave the girls their baths, graciously allowing me to absorb the show. Thanks, hon, you're the best! She took Kailey away first, leaving Kyra and I to watch The Dixie Chicks perform Not Ready to Make Nice. Joan Baez introduced them by saying something to the effect of "some people tell artists to shut up and sing". This struck a chord with Kyra. After the performance she asked me, "Why are people telling them to shut up and sing?" I offered what I thought to be a lame answer, but it seemed to make sense to her, so for the rest of the evening the Dixie Chicks became known as the "girls who were told to shut up and sing."

Kailey came in after her bath and Kyra took her turn in the tub as I gave Kailey her pajamas and dried her hair. Kyra returned a short while later because she wanted to see Shakira and Wyclef Jean perform Hips Don't Lie. SAY WHAT!?! Don't ask me where my six year-old learned this song...I barely even know it. But that's what she wanted to watch.

We were just about ready to send the girls to bed when Shakira came on. And I don't know what's worse: the fact that Kyra knows the song, or that we LET her watch the performance. Shakira comes on the stage in a long gold skirt and a matching, um, top, for lack of a better word, and her infamous midriff bared for all the world to see. The song begins and Shakira does her thing, shaking it all over the stage. Then the backup dancers show up and they're shaking it all over the stage too. There's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on. However, the backup dancers, I noticed, were not allowed to show their midriffs...only Shakira. I think that's #1 in Shakira's Ten Commandments: Thou shalt have no other midriffs before mine, sayeth Shakira.

It makes sense...thar's pow'r in them thar hips!! Hypnotic power mixed with a little morse code. It goes like this: shake, shake, shake...you are getting very sleepy...shake, shake, shake...you are now under my command...shake, shake, shake...you will buy all of my CD's, DVD's, concert tickets, t-shirts, posters, and bumper stickers...shake, shake, shake...now when I slap my butt...shake, shake, shake...you will wake up, go to your computer and empty your checking accounts, savings accounts, and load up all your credit cards at my website...

SLAP!! Thank goodness that slap was from my wife, up the side of my head. I guess I was drooling. She saved me from the hypnotic trance of Shakira's hips. Thanks, hon, you're the best! And to think that we subjected our precious little girls to this. Not to mention the fact that I taped it and allowed Kyra to watch it THREE MORE TIMES this morning. What is wrong with me? I blame it on the trance.

Ch-Ch-Changes

It's official...I'm no longer a generic blogger. It took me the better part of two days to figure it out (I'm not too bright), but I finally added a bit o' flair to my title. Now, I'm legit...2 legit to quit...sorry, I couldn't resist. Let me know what you think!

Feeling Like a Fool

I walked into the men's room at work to find the solitary urinal occupied by one of the account executives who works upstairs. We've seen each other on occasion and have exchanged pleasantries, but that's about the extent of our relationship. I gave him a "How goes?" (no pun intended) and made my way to one of the stalls, not expecting a reply.

"So, do you think I need to stop at the store to pick up something for dinner?" he asked, still facing the wall.

I stopped dead in my tracks and did a quick scan of the men's room. No one else was there. I looked back at him...one hand rested on his hip while the other, well, you know, WASN'T holding a cell phone, so I decided he must be talking to me. "Ummm, I don't know...I guess it depends on what you want," I offered, a little unnerved and still unsure of why in the world he would ask me such a question.

He wasn't talking to me. He turned his head toward me (his body was still engaged) to reveal a wireless Bluetooth receiver in his left ear. Darn you, modern technology! Dude was apparently making dinner plans with wifey-poo while taking a leak. Talk about multitasking. He shot me a quick grin then turned back to continue his conversation and finish the job. I felt like a big dork (pun again not intended), and walked swiftly into the nearest stall where I conducted my business while waiting patiently for him to exit the men's room.

Thank goodness I don't see him that often, but I'm not going to avoid him. Next time I see him I'm going to ask him what they had for dinner. He'll probably have no idea of what I'm talking about and I'll look like a dork again...what's new.

Getting Used to Disappointment

With all the crap that goes on in my life, you'd think that my paradigm, my default approach or mantra would be somewhere in the realm of "expect disappointment". Like that poor, lovable sap, Charlie Brown, I come truckin' full speed ahead whenever life holds that beautiful football to the ground, fully expecting that this time I'll send it soaring end over end through the golden goal posts, only to have it yanked from my reach at the last second. I end up on my back, again, looking up at the sky where I utter a little prayer, "Why me?"

OK, so that intro is a little over the top (now you know where Kyra gets her melodramatic tendencies), but I'm frustrated. With my Zune. Well, not with my Zune specifically, but with the FM transmitter I couldn't buy at Best Buy but could buy on Best Buy's website, so I did and then had to wait in anxious anticipation for ten days for it to arrive. Pssst, here it is...look at this big, juicy football...

Diane called me at work last Thursday to tell me that my "thing" came. Finally! I arrived home to find a box, much bigger than necessary, waiting for me on the counter. Cool! I opened it, removed two yards of bubble pouches, and found the treasure resting at the bottom of the box. Let's see if it works! I removed the transmitter from its box, grabbed my Zune, and headed to the bedroom. Diane was in bed and she immediately noticed the look of determination in my eyes. "Got your new toy?" she asked.

"Yup."

I sat down next to her and began to demonstrate the capabilities of the long-awaited transmitter, "You plug this into the Zune, dial in an unassigned frequency, then tune the radio to the same frequency." I dialed the transmitter to 90.1, the frequency that worked best according to the Best Buy guy, then slowly turned the dial on the clock radio sitting next to the bed. The radio crackled and warbled as I scrolled through the various stations until Coldplay's "Don't Panic" came roaring to life. "Well, I'll be...it works!"

The real test would come in the car and the results vary. At times it sounds great, but overall I'm disappointed. I haven't been able to find a completely static-free channel, and every time I drive through an intersection with stoplights, I lose the signal due to interference. A couple of friends have told me that cassette adapters work better than the transmitter, but I don't have a cassette player in my car. Once again, I'm screwed. He swings...he misses...he catapults through the air!

I've already invested nearly $500 in the Zune, the system upgrade, and the transmitter in a vain attempt to enjoy my music with a high-quality signal in my car. I guess my next Zune upgrade will have to be the purchase of a new vehicle. At least then I can say I got a car out of the deal.

Kyra's First Blog

i love you daddy love kyra and i like you and rex too evne grammy i love you mommy and i am6 ueeh old and i like my mommy and i am skard uv mummy be kuz i dod like mummy kailey is 7 ueeh old mommy and daddy is 38 ueeh old wen i woz in predy skool airanna and alsin wrhr callng me a crai babby and i woohz crai but i tall miss debbie

Out of the Blue...

I was hanging up some coats in the coat closet when Kyra found me in the hallway. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Sweetie?"

"This grape looks like Rex's pee-pee."

Alrighty then. Thanks for sharing.

Show and Tell

You would think that today was Christmas, Birthday, Halloween, Easter, the 4th of July and Kasmir Pulaski day all rolled into one, but it's not. It's simply Kyra's kindergarten Show and Tell day.

Each school day for the past month, one classmate has been scheduled for Show and Tell. Kyra, by luck of the draw, was in the last group to go. So for the past month, we've heard nothing but questions about how much longer until Show and Tell. I am SO THANKFUL that it was today.

She's also been adamant about what she wanted to Show and Tell: Grammy and Papa's six month-old Golden Retriever puppy, Rex. Bad idea. Rex, while placid as a small pup, has quickly grown into a 60-70 pound spaz-dog, with his body swiftly outgrowing his age. He has very little control over his gargantuan body, and when it gets truckin' in one direction, it's hard to stop. He even has little control when he sits perfectly still. On a couple of occasions, we've witnessed him sitting in the middle of the living room floor when, suddenly and inexplicably, he tumbled over backwards as though caught offguard by a stiff breeze. Hilarious. When Diane and I go to visit, it takes him a solid half-hour to calm down, then he's fine. I think he's going to be a great dog when he gets a little older, but for now he's out of control, even with the snippity-snip of canine sterilization. I can't imagine the carnage of a roomful of kindergarteners he'd leave in his path, even with an adult trying to hold him down. Kindergarten chaos would ensue as 5-6 year-olds scurry over one another looking for cover. Not a pretty sight.

I thought we were going to have quite a time trying to talk Kyra out of taking Rex to Show and Tell, but we didn't. I think she knows and understands how spastic he can get, and though she pouted for a couple of minutes, she conceded. She opted instead to take a Barbie fashion head, where you can style her hair and apply makeup...you know, one of those messy toys I haven't seen her play with since Christmas that clogs up her closet until we give it away to Goodwill. Good to see it's been rediscovered and is getting some use.

I loaded the head in a black and yellow "Wheel of Fortune" duffle bag that I got from work and we headed off to school. (It's really morbid when you think about it...a head in a duffle bag? Oops. I'm just glad we didn't get pulled over on the way to school.) When I drop her off, I like to watch her walk in just to see what she does. She usually meanders to her classroom, distracted by butterflies or bugs, stuff on the ground, or other kids on their way to school. Today, though, she was focused and walked briskly with a purpose: she needed to get to her classroom and hide the Wheel of Fortune duffle before her classmates arrived. She wanted her Show and Tell to be a surprise, even though no one knew what was inside the duffle. She cracks me up.

It was one of those moments where she was so excited and proud that I couldn't help but be excited for her and proud of her as well. I laughed to myself as she faded from sight and I drove away. I can't wait to hear about how it went.

A Retraction

Decrees are stupid. I mean, seriously, who makes them anymore. And besides, if I have the power to issue a decree, certainly I retain the power to rescind it. I don't even think that a decree is binding if issued while under the influence...of body paint fumes. Not to mention the fact that the Bears didn't play well enough for me to actually carry it through. And this morning I noticed that the pesky eyebrow hair has returned. So decree over. Now hand me those tweezers and my razor...and the nose-hair trimmers.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL!

Kickoff for Super Bowl XLI is less that two hours away, and we're getting ready to head over to the in-laws for the big game. GO BEARS!!

Before we go, though, I feel compelled to issue a decree: that not a hair shall be shorn from my body until the Chicago Bears win a Super Bowl. That's right...no razor shall touch my face, back or ears (entering mid-life sucks); no shear shall cut my hair; not even shall that pesky left eyebrow hair that pops out of nowhere every couple of months shall be plucked until the Bears win a title. Plush forests of hair shall be allowed to grow freely across head, face, ears, back, chest, stomach, legs, buttocks, and...um...other places, until the Lombardi trophy finds its home in Chicago...

...or until the Cubs win the Series.

Could the End Be Near?

No, I'm not talking about the end of the world, although, given the current state of world affairs, it's not out of the realm of possibility. I'm talking about my month-long tug-of-war with American Airlines. I know, I know...believe me, I'm tired of the whole ordeal as well. But I may finally be getting somewhere with these people, and my tenacity may soon pay off. I received their fifth response yesterday afternoon, by far their most informative and contrite response yet. Why they couldn't start here remains a mystery:

"I'm sorry that you've had to send us 6 separate occasions about the same issue. Nevertheless, I'm glad you've given us another chance to try to provide you with a satisfactory answer to your inquiry.

There is an element of sensitivity to the issue at hand. Here is our policy -- regarding the physicality of occupying the seat, if a passenger "spills" over into another passenger's seat, the flight attendant and/or gate personnel should address the situation. At that time, we can require an obese/oversize passenger to purchase a first class seat or two main cabin seats, or deny their accommodation on that flight.

Again, however, each situation is assessed on an individual basis. I'm sorry that this situation was not handled to your satisfaction at the time of the event. While we can't change what happened, I've alerted our Vice President of Flight Service.

Our flight service staff will be reminded of the importance of being aware of such situations and to do their best to resolve it.

In another attempt to make amends, I've sent you an additional transportation voucher. Please use the vouchers to travel with us again soon."

So basically the check is in the mail. I'll have to wait and see if the vouchers are worth it. Hopefully, they will at least cover a trip to Chicago, and if they don't, I'll just eat it because I'm tired. I've said all that I can say to them. If they don't get it now, they never will. Why is it that I had to be a complete jerk in order to get them to listen to me? I hate that.

I have one thing left to do. I have written a letter to American Airlines CEO and President, Gerard J. Arpey, that now needs to be revised due to the recent response from Customer Relations. I think his "Customer Relations" department needs a little bit of a shakedown.


Related Links:
I Am Not a Happy Camper
A REALLY Unhappy Camper
American Airlines...Doing What They Do Best...Irritate Customers