Naga... act 2

I'm a lot less pissed off today.

Act 2. On Sunday, I went down to the airport again, arriving about 45 minutes before my flight. I head straight to the self-service kiosk because I have no luggage to check in. You see, my stuff is in Boston already, courtesy of American Airlines' well-greased bureaucracy. So I enter my confirmation number into the machine, and lo and behold, it comes up with "The flight is full, loser, we can't guarantee boarding." After the initial WTF, I ask for assistance, and the lady points to the paper-ticket line with a "I don't give a fuck" gesture. OK, so I hit "cancel" on the kiosk and line up behind the 10 or so people waiting, thinking foolishy that I still have enough time to straighten this out.

Of course, it turns out that they've installed someone with the speed and reflexes of a rheumatic tortoise. Twenty minutes later, I am saved by a wave from the guy manning the first-class booth, who had no-one to be polite to. Perhaps all the 1st-class types went over to Southwest, who knows--they'd be all the wiser for it. I walk over to him, only to hear this: "Your flight is locked out, sir. Can't board anymore, sorry."

Me: But that woman over there told me to go talk to you! That was over 2o minutes ago! And I have to be in Boston tomorrow!

Moron behind the desk: Sorry, sir, nothing I can do.

Something about me is that I can't really get angry. It happens very rarely, it's very difficult. Most of the time it just kind of blows over my head, and I keep my cool. So I didn't get angry, because I thought that I might still be able to catch the 11:20pm flight to Boston, which would arrive Monday morning. I'd change in the restroom, trying to avoid not to wipe the piss stains on the toilet with my new swanky business-casual pants, spray some deodorant, and be on my way to impress people. I really imagined such a happy ending, which, alas, was not meant to be.

So I had to take the BART home for the second and penultimate time that weekend.