Down with Delta!

That's it. I'm fed up. How many times can one person be stranded in an airport? Why is it that unlike any other business, we, the consumer, have no voice when it comes to the airlines?

I got to Chicago O'Hare 2 hours early. I checked in, security was a breeze and then I arrive at my gate only to realize that my flight to Cincinnati was delayed by four hours because of "equipment problems". I then come to find out that equipment problems is fancy Delta lingo for "the plane is very very late." Why was I allowed to check in and send my luggage into the big black hole? Who knows...maybe it is because the Delta people are all smoking the ganja in their lounge as their customer service (aka hell in line form) grows longer and longer.

Flights all around me are cancelled or extremely delayed. Did Delta lose all of their planes? Oh what great comfort. As ticket agents who obviously were bewildered and possibly not even trained passed people on to other lines, a red headed dude, who I mentally nicknamed "[Bad Word] Face," sauntered up to the counter and proceeded to just stand there for a good 30 minutes. How much time in prison would I do if I started a revolt in Chicago O'Hare? I have no priors, so that should be in my favor, right? All of you lawyers out there, please feel free to comment. I'm seriously considering this as an option. Hey, if I end up in prison at least I'll have a bed to sleep in instead a piece of badly designed airport carpet.

So I'm blogging to at least voice an opinion. I just saw a report on CNN (the only station they ever show in airports...depression much?) that said there were over 20,000 flights cancelled in the month of June in the US. How can these airlines run their business this way? I know...we have no freaking choice! Gas prices are so high, flying is cheaper in alot of cases, but it is in no way faster anymore. Example 1: In June it took me 30 hours to fly from Dallas to Savannah. Driving there takes 20 hours. Example 2: Today and tomorrow, I will have traveled for 32 hours in order to get back to Savannah from Chicago. It isn't like many other service options where you can just stop buying their product or go to another store. Sometimes they are the only option and this gives them the luxury of treating all of their passengers like dog doo without consideration to their time, belongings or life that awaits at their destination. There has got to be a way to hold them accountable. So if any of you know how I can complain and get ...a million frequent flyer miles in return, then please let me know.

I'm going to get off of my soap box, but I will conclude with one statement. Delta has messed with me the last time. I am going to use my frequent flyer miles and then stop flying them. This will give me the chance to hate another airline.

I am now seated on the floor next to a chubby boy who was given a highly toxic marker from a Delta agent. I'm pretty sure these markers aren't even made anymore and if they are, you probably have to show ID and have a background check. He has drawn a picture of me with a huge afro and a see through dress where you can see every inch of my stick figure body. If I end up with brain damage from the fumes, Delta is responsible.

Gay Design

I thought I was being helpful. I thought that I was helping influence the path of someone's life. I thought wrong.

This scene took place at a college fair in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Sadly, I did not realize the full magnitude of this conversation until hours later.

Brooke (directed to young 17 year old boy): Are you interested in anything particular?

Youth: Um, well, I guess I'm just looking around.

Brooke: Well feel free to take anything on the table. Hmmm...maybe industrial design? Or maybe you'd be interested in sequential art? No, game design...yeah I think you would like game design. Did you know we have a major for game design?

Youth: I'm not gay...(walks away, nervous, head down).

Brooke: Game designers aren't gay. (Perplexed look on Brooke's face)

It wasn't until hours later that I realized this is what the kid heard.


Brooke (directed to young 17 year old boy): Are you interested in anything particular?

Youth: Um, well, I guess I'm just looking around.

Brooke: Well feel free to take anything on the table. Hmmm...maybe industrial design? Or maybe you'd be interested in sequential art? No, gay design...yeah I think you would like gay design. Did you know we have a major for gay design?

Youth: I'm not gay...(walks away).

Brooke: Gay designers aren't gay. (Perplexed look on Brooke's face)

Yes so instead of being helpful, this poor kid walked away thinking that I was outing him at a college fair. I must admit, it is pretty funny because...gay designers are gay...duh.

Six Flags over Crazy Town

I should have known. I should have known that the woman I was going to meet was slightly off her rocker. The fact she made me think her boyfriend had been killed in Katrina should have been a red flag when we first spoke on the phone(Red Flag #1). I was desperate for appointments, desperate to meet my quota for the day. The red flags just passed by me looking a shade of light pink.

I arrived at this independent counselor's office thinking that maybe I had caught her on a bad day when I had made the appointment. Independent counselors are paid by parents to help their kids get into prestigious schools. Usually these people have years of counseling experience, loads of connections and know-how, but this lady just had a load of full blown crazy person.

A woman in her early 60's answered the door looking a bit disheveled. She was in a baggy sweater and some sort of stirrup leggings that looked a bit weathered. Her hair was all mashed to one side that suggested that I had just woken her up from a nap. From underneath her sweater ran a long white cord. My first thought was that it was a bit of her worn sweater that was unraveling. In short, she looked like a mess.

As we walked back to take a seat, she noticed the cord and apologized for the wire hanging out of her sweater. She explained, as normal as possible, that she was getting electro-shock therapy in her back (Red Flag #2). I smiled calmly as if that was a treatment I too was going through and understood her pain. I sat down in the chair next to her and proceeded to retrieve the materials that I had brought to talk up the college.

I went into my normal, well-versed presentation about the school, starting with our locations. She quickly interrupted me, and I was hoping that maybe she would at least ask some pointed questions and shed her crazy person first impression. "Us women in the North hate when you Southern women say yes ma'am to us," she remarked. "Because of slavery," she continued (Red Flag #3).

Slavery? Was she kidding? "Well, I'm not sure about slavery, but we are taught in the 'South' that it is polite to say ma'am to those you are unfamiliar with or who are your elders. It is not about slavery, it is manners," I retorted.

"No, I'm quite sure it is about slavery. We here in the North...we hate slavery," she stated as plain as day.

Well then, I thought, I best be getting on the phone and calling down to my plantation and tell the the slave hand to let go our cotton pickers. I sat there stunned. First had this woman ever been down to the South? Secondly, last I checked I'm sure she was never alive during slavery...call me crazy (oh wait...no that is her name!). How was I supposed to reply to this woman? I had to maintain some sort of cool because the last thing I needed was some loony calling up my boss and saying something about how I endorse slavery. Calmly I informed her that I live in a predominantly African American city and that in no way do we condone "slavery." This whole time I can't believe I was having to explain this.

"Moving on...At our school we have three different types of scholarships," I awkwardly transitioned.

"My dad was a very famous doctor who saw very famous patients including (insert a bunch of supposed celeb names either just from Chicago or too old for me to know)," she interrupted yet again (Red Flag #4)

Yet another completely unrelated comment from the resident kook. Now you must realize that in no way was I ignoring all of these red flags. In my head I was trying desperately to organize an escape route. Maybe if I gave her electro-shock cord a tug she been instantly rendered incapacitated, and I could bolt for the door? Maybe I could pretend to get an emergency phone call...art school emergency...the artists are refusing to be creative. Nothing seemed to be feasible.

"Oh," I weakly replied. What else was I to say? I tried to turn it back to business, but I knew it was a lost cause.

"He received letters from many of the famous people. There was one that I read when he died from a very hunky male movie star, and I think this man was in love with my father. One day a couple years later I saw this man on a sitcom, and I threw up," she continued as if I wasn't even in the room. (Red Flags #5)

"Well that is a strong reaction," I commented. Now this is getting ridiculous. At what point could I just walk out of the room, and she would think it was normal. Maybe I could blame it on being southern.

"You would have that reaction too if you thought of your father having sex with another man!" she snapped in a bit of a raised voice (Red Flag #6).

This was not talk of college or art or scholarships, this was nothing that would ever make sense no matter how much I tried to bring it back to the topic at hand. Yes folks we were not in Kansas anymore, and I needed to get the first train back from crazy town.

These Boots are Made for Getting Stuck!

I was on a mission from God, find the perfect knee high black boots to wear during all of my cold weather travels. The main obstacle in my way you ask? My large, beastly cankles that keep me from putting just any boot on my leg.

I was home in Dallas, shopping mecca, and I figured this was as good a time as ever. I went to DSW, shoe heaven, and started working towards making this goal a reality. I tried on a few pairs, and by try on I mean, struggle to zip my large calf into the boot so that it can dunlop over the edge.

I found a Nine West boot that was just okay. I did manage to get it zipped up all the way (a major step), but I just wasn't crazy about them. I went to unzip the boot, and the zipper was stuck on a piece of leather underneath. I tried pulling it up, down, sideways, but nothing was happening, this boot was permanently stuck....on my large, unshaven (yeah my boyfriend lives abroad) cankle!

I struggled, I started to panic. Thoughts like, "I have a wedding to go to tonight, I can't have one boot on!" were going through my head. I worked on it for about 5 minutes when a male employee spotted the panic on my face and headed my direction. He asked if I was having a problem, and there was no hiding my dilemna, I confessed that I had gotten this $150 boot stuck on my leg.

I thought that once I had turned the problem over to a "professional" that it would be off in no time, that I would be trying on other boots in a flash. Unfortunately, he too could not get the zipper to move. This baby was stuck, and I was beginning to sweat from my panic induced state as onlookers were slowly starting to gather to probably place bets on how this sucker was going to come off.

After ten minutes of a valiant struggle, reinforcements had to be called in the form of the manager and another female employee. This meant that three strangers were now going to be touching my sweaty, bulging and hairy leg in front of an audience of fellow shoe shoppers. They too were unsuccessful. This is when the phrase was uttered that brought a gasp to my audience. "Ma'm we're going to have to cut this boot of you."

The girl went to run to grab the scissors. How was this possible? I came in for boots and now they are having to cut one off of me. Just as she was coming back with the scissors, the manager got a bright idea. She ran and grabbed a bottle of lotion out of her purse, poured it down my boot leg, lubed me up and then all three pulled. That boot went flying off, and the crowd of onlookers began to clap.

Yes the boot came off without being subjected to the scissors, but it was still damaged and so was my shopping experience. Any rookie could have stopped right there and gone home, dripping in lotion, but not this shopper. I still had a mission, and I was going to accomplish it.

Yes I held my head up, and I continued to shop until I found that perfect pair that had the right heel height, nice detailing and of course, enough room for my cankles. We were a match made in shoe heaven.

Fall Down Go Boom!

I'm a walking accident. Seriously...a walking accident.

I'm in the Atlanta airport, and I'm traveling between the two terminals. I have just exited the little train and I'm deciding which direction to take. I'm just standing, and I do a very slow 180 with my bag in tow.

That's when the accident happened. This woman, who must have been in a dead sprint, hits my bag and goes flying. Fall down, go boom does not do it justice. She hit the marble floor so hard, and I felt horrible.

I know that I wasn't responsible. It was an accident, but she wasn't even crying, and I felt like I should. She got up, and her elbow had a dent in it...not even kidding. It was bleeding and had a dent. I dented a woman...not a car...a woman.

Two men and an airline employee stopped to help her. I had bandaids handy so we were able to patch her up, but one was an ex-medic who thought she had a compound fracture. How the hell does this type of stuff happen to me? Yes you might think, after reading some of my other entries, that I would usually be the person on the falling end, but my new rolling briefcase, that was supposed to make my life easier while on the road, broke a woman's elbow.
Damn.

Ohi-NO!

On the border of West Virginia and Ohio lies the little sleepy town of Marietta, Ohio. I'm a fan of small towns, love the little cafes and craft shops, but this was no charming small town. The streets were bare and funeral parlors lined the roads. Was this where Ohio sent their elderly to die?

Desperate to answer all of our awaiting student emails, Jesse, a co-worker, and I searched for a coffee shop to enjoy a cup of joe and get to work in between our class visit and our scheduled fair.

Marietta is the home of Marietta College. What is one thing that you would think all college campuses would have, large or small? Ok yes drunken coeds, but more importantly you would find a coffee shop. Having gone to a small institution myself, my campus had three coffee shops and only one stop light. Surely this would be the case in a town with three stop lights and a Mexican Restaurant.

We searched in vain, and then resorted to asking the lone college students that would appear as if out of no where. Slowing down our white PT Cruiser (uh...can you say pimpin?), we approached these young academics and inquired about the whereabouts of a coffee house.

It was as if we had asked where their local rocket base was located. Like I had said, so can you point me in the direction of your local puppy killing farm. A look of bewilderment crossed their faces, a pained expression, and then only the answer, "No," came from their lips. No? Yes, no...no coffee shops.

Finally after trying several weirded out college students, we managed to find the only coffee shop. As we entered this cozy little establishment (and by cozy, I mean barely able to contain the three tables within), the man questioned, "Well where are you ladies from? I can tell you aren't from around these parts?"

"Really how come?", we asked.

"Because you have all your teeth," he retorted. A simple answer, for a simple town.

Ahhh the memories that I'm already making.

Up the Creek Without A...

...Paddle, Boat, Clue. What a time in Nigeria. I can't really begin to describe the time I had there. It was a good experience - no doubt - but I can't see myself rushing back to visit again. The children are amazing but the adults are not so great. Geographically it's a stunning country, but the big cities tend to spoil it with their overcrowding and pollution. It'll be interesting to see what comes of it. Hopefully the oil companies who have set themselves up in the south will begin to invest some money back into the economy. I hope these pics give you a glimpse of what my time was like there...

This is Aso Rock in Abuja. This is what the
landscape is like in Jos where Ben Onono's
family is from.

This is our driver Ado. He didn't wear deoderant and I was reminded of the fact everytime I opened the door to his minivan. Ewww!


This is Alex and I in Jos. The Onono's home town.

The name of this statue is the Statue of the Big Woman - very inventive. They're really into statues of women breastfeeding for some reason.

From Jos we made our way to a game reserve about 2 1/2 hrs. north. We arranged for a driver to take us there who were were told had a very reliable car. These are some kids we met on the side of the road selling fruit.

This is us on the side of the road after our driver with the very reliable car broke down. That's me on the right with wet naps going to do a woodsie.

So we had to hail down a bush taxi to take us to the game reserve. As it opened it's doors to us this boy's chickens flew out and he spent a few minutes rounding them up before we could continue on the journey.

In the game reserve we experienced another road trouble in that an 18 wheeler was blocking the path so the locals, instead of trying to move the 18 wheeler, just cut down the trees on one side so we could go around. There's a baboon, that we saw. It didn't wipe it's bottom and it was really gross.

This was the entrance to the warm springs.

That's me in the warm springs looking tired b/c our 2 1/2 hr journey took 4 1/2 and we only had 45 minutes there b/c we couldn't travel at night.

After Jos we flew to Lagos. Near Lagos is a town called Badagry that was a huge port for slave trade. The people of this village had to pass through something called the Point of No Return. From there they would be shipped to the US or Europe. 1 in 5 surived the journey. After hearing the horrors of this I was greeted by my favorite baby in Nigeria relaxing under a table with some puppies. How fat is that baby?!?!

These are some more kids from Badagry. They loved my digital camera.

This is a boat we rented in Lagos. We took it to Tarkwa Bay where Alex was greeted by the Equator Sun and turned a bright shade of lobster.

This is the infamous Lagos 'go slow' - their version of a traffic jam. NUTS!!! People go in between lanes and sell you all kinds of things from ironing boards to the ever important toilet seat.

That's it! What a trip! How exhausting/interesting...we'll see where's next to conquer.
Lots of love,
Court

Corporate Accounts, Brooke Speaking...Just a Moment

Sometimes I think I'm wearing a shirt that says, "All weirdos please approach and be weird!"

I was in the midst of a conversation with Brittany as I walked into the building that houses Starbucks Regional Headquarters (my temp job from the land of boredom). I noticed an older man, about 60, kind of check me out which of course made me feel weird....down there. I didn't really think much of it because who doesn't get checked out at least daily by old Greek men?

I bet you are wondering, "Hmmm...how does she know he was Greek? Was he too wearing a novelty t-shirt maybe stating his love for Feta?" I found out because as mentioned above he decided to approach and be weird.

The following is a transcript of the conversation:

Creepy Old Greek (COG): Excuse me....(in heavy Greek accent)

Brooke (BG): Britt hold on for a sec (to the phone)...yes? (to COG)

COG: I have woman upstairs interviewing for receptionist. Her name is Becky. Are you Becky?

BG: Um..no (look of confusion).

COG: I need receptionist. Answer phones. You answer phones? You a receptionist? You want job?

BG: I'm sorry (thoughts that this man might have escaped from the local mental institution/nursing home run through head). I just actually accepted a job, but thank you.

COG: Yes...I thought that was you (Exit stage Left).

BG: Right...

Brittany: "What just happened?"

BG: "I just got offered a job to be a creepy old guy's receptionist."

After I returned upstairs to tell my co-workers (the one that talks to me) about how weird that was. She looks quite a bit like me (lucky gal), and stopped me mid-sentence. She asked if he offered me a job. She then revealed that he asks her about every other day if she wants to be his receptionist.

So yes, I'm on to the COG and his ploy to recruit a plethora of blonde receptionists to be at his beck and call, and I quickly went back downstairs and gave him Carrington's number.



JK!!!!

A Love Letter to London

Dear London,

Why did you have to ruin me the way you did? No other cities will come close to your sophistication, class and entertaining ways. I will look at all other cities with disdain because they are not my fair London.

I miss you like the sails miss the wind. Remember our song? I can't even listen to it without tearing up. I know I'm pathetic, but I just can't seem to get over you.

Isn't there someway you can take me back? Its true, I admit it, I am an Anglophile, and you are the reason London. You have broken me in so many ways, and now I will do whatever it takes for us to be reunited.

Please don't make me beg. You know how I feel. It hurts enough as it is, and I dream of the days when I'll be back on your cobblestone streets and drinking in your pubs. I am a broken woman.

Yours always and forever,

Brooke