Naga... Naga... Nagana visit Boston anyway!

I've heard a fair deal of horror stories involving airlines, but I myself have never had any major trouble with them. I mean, my luggage never ended in Guadalajara instead of in Phoenix, say, nor have I ever received my bags with assorted items in them missing. To put it briefly: I've been one happy flier.

Up until this weekend, that is, when the universe evened the score in one fell swoop.

Let me get this off my chest: American Airlines suck ass. They are hands-down, no-questions-asked, and without a shadow of doubt the worst airline ever. Now, if you may disagree. You are free to do so, but keep in mind that if you do, I will hunt you down and beat you up into submission.

I hereby solemnly swear never again to fly with those fuckers, unless of course I don't care when and where I am going, don't care when and where my luggage will end up, and/or the flight is free and I am very, very drunk.

Background: I needed to be in Boston on September 29th for an event at MIT. It starts at 9am, ends at 1:30pm or thereabouts, and it's kind of important for me to be there. I've bought my ticket well over a month in advance, thinking it was going to be through Alaska Airlines, whom I've flown with several times already and have had a very good impressions with. I need to bitch-slap them a bit too because it turned out the flight would be operated by the fuckers from AA.

Act 1: Yours truly packs his over-official suit, some less-official stuff, toothbrush, socks, whatever, neatly into a suit-bag that will last him for the next 4-5 days without trouble. Said bag has to be checked in because yours truly does not like to lug stuff around.

(I'm tired of saying yours truly, so I'm switching to first person, singular.)

I take the BART to the airport a good 1.5 hours before the flight. I check in, check my luggage in, do some striptease at the security checkpoint for a small group of dejected and scary-looking buggers who took no interest in my otherwise sexy figure ("Take your shoes off, sir!" always makes me want to ask innocently "May I leave the hat on?" in that special voice, but this time I wore no hat, so I had to suppress the urge.)

As I walk up to the gate, I notice that my boarding pass says pleasantly, in boldface they could not reserve me a seat and that they are terribly sorry. WTF? I think, but without much alarm. After all, shit works out for me at the airport, so I sit down and wait patiently. 30 minutes later someone deigns to show up at the gate, and I ask in a nonchalant voice what my seat is, and could I please get an aisle one?

Noooooo. You see, they are overbooked. I can't get onto the flight. But, my ticket! I booked it before they were even born! Noooooo, they say, most likely I'll have to wait until the next day. But hey, here's a $400 voucher if you volunteer now to take another flight, and we'll rebook you.

Oh, what about my luggage? Weeeell, it will fly to Boston, it's already checked in. But, no worries, they say, you'll be able to pick it up at Boston! Woohoo!

I think, well, it's $400, nothing to sneeze at, as long as I use the voucher before the dollar becomes one euro cent. So I said OK, let's do it. But then I get greedy. "Let's book it for Sunday at noon, actually, this would work better for me." So they book the flight for said time, and I leave happy that not only do I get a flight on Sunday, but a free voucher as well! The universe is still on my side, I think, as I rush to catch the last BART train back to the city. Little did I know.

(to be continued...)