Atlas Shrugs Again

"She was seeing the brand of pain and fear on the faces of people, and the look of evasion that refuses to know it–they seemed to be going through the motions of some enormous pretense, acting out a ritual to ward off reality, letting the earth remain unseen and their lives unlived, in dread of something namelessly forbidden–yet the forbidden was the simple act of looking at the nature of their pain and questioning their duty to bear it."

Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged, Part 3, Ch. 2

If certainty is a value you treasure you won’t find any in the airlines these days. Each boarding pass is a lottery ticket to purgatory which was originally defined as the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven. In the modern airline vernacular, “purgatory has come to refer also to a wide range of conceptions of suffering short of everlasting damnation, and is used, in a non-specific sense, to mean any place or condition of suffering or torment, especially one that is temporary”. It is the term that most closely represents my overall experience with air travel. Seldom can I find a singular experience in the airline industry which is not embedded with some degree of punishment. I have forgone writing much about the torture of flying because it is so common place that the subject has become mundane and boring. However it now appears that the insensitive practice of treating your customers like compliant cattle being readied for slaughter has now been adopted as corporate policy. Just because almost an entire industry embraces predatory practices with little regard to public opinion does not make it right or proper and it’s time for me to take another stand.

In the past as a business traveler I was able to board a flight on the day of a meeting with a high degree of certainty (over 95%) that I would arrive on time. This concept has been so eroded that I can no longer guarantee my timely arrival to such a degree that I’m required to fly the day before just to be able to absorb the two, three, four hours of unexplained delays. We have now come close to accepting the fact not only do I have to invest a day of the front end to make a meeting, but I need to plan for not making it back the same day. It is absurd that a single two hour meeting requires a three day time commitment. Is it any wonder why our economy is dysfunctional, when I need to cover three times the labor for the same result? This has created a severe backlash from businesses and institutions that I work for where the trend is to hire local bozos that have half the capability and knowledge, all because they can’t afford to carry the cost of the airline industry’s incompetence. In end result of this trend is an acceptance of inferior substandard services and projects which as a recent client expressed to me as “it’s good to have local faces so when they screw up I can scream at them in person.” How can you create jobs if the system to transport them can’t get you there?

Not one to be shy of naming names, my current rant is leveled clearly at US Airlines. If you are disturbed enough to have read my earlier post “Philadelphia Tarpits”, yes you can shout it again “Let me guess!!!!!! US Air”. If you have four flights schedule from a small regional airport and only one ends up boarding with passengers, what does that tell you about your commitment to the business traveler. Flight one scrubbed because of mechanical issues as a pilot and a co-pilot jump into the cockpit, taxi out to the runaway and take off. Okay I can appreciate that your primary maintenance hub may not be at a small regional airport. Flight two never shows up because of weather delays on a day with the national radar totally devoid of a single cloud, begins to beg the question. Flight three just disappears from the board without explanation as some secret hand signal alerts the counter agents to book new arrivals on the next flight. I interpret the silent treatment as a reason that is so totally unacceptable as to create a riot at the gate. For example deciding that we have two half full planes going to the same location, unfortunately at different scheduled times, but wouldn’t it be neat to delay half our customers so we can shove their fat asses into a single flight and save a lot of money in the process.

Why do I feel like I’m living the modern version of Ann Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, where the great business minds slowly disappeared to create a secret alternative society? In our version the brilliant business minds have been replaced with computer algorithms that run purgatory or at least the random sentence of punishment you will receive by participating in the system. Look at the poor gate agents who have been demoted from a position of customer service that possessed a degree of power to change your future into a bunch of gate monkeys that now jump over the counter to help you push buttons on a computer screen with little apparent effectiveness of changing anything. The position has been degraded into a concept of misery loves company. In other words neither you nor the gate agents have any control over the quality of you experience, but its eases your pain greatly to know that you’re suffering is temporal, but this poor bastard’s punishment is eternal. It’s like the old freak show in the traveling circus, gate agents are so pitiful that you are compelled to feel empathy for them but so abhorrent that you need to avert your eyes out of fear you might become one. I can’t conceive a more inhumane and brutal existence than being a powerless gate monkey.

As I apply the concept of purgatory to my surroundings here at Charlotte International airport the veil of confusion is removed and clarity reveals itself. Besides being a depressing place to exist in, no matter how many overpriced commercial chain stores they sprinkle around, you begin to understand that there are three types of species that inhabit airports. There are those that don’t realize that they are in purgatory because there is some mistaken belief that they are getting a free pass out of this place. You can pick them out as they glide quickly light of foot running to the next connection. Their temperament is elevated and buoyant, with shoulders erect with purpose and possibility. For the most part this condition is fleeting as most are converted to the second species, those that understand they are in purgatory just unable to gage the full extent of punishment to be levied.

These individuals are solitary, angry and disgruntled sitting staring mindlessly at their worthless life as it passes before their eyes. They possess no equity or hope that salvation will come soon regardless of the endless penance and alms they offer the gods. Eventually they begin to aggregate into small groups in the confines of airport bars that poorly imitate gathering places in the real world that they would be enjoying only if they weren’t trapped in the airport. The complete lack of authenticity of these airport constructs actually deepens the complete and utter despair of being unjustly imprisoned by some flawed system. Assembled discretely along the long polished corridors like seasoned pickpockets in Rome these businesses exist by fleecing travelers heading to hell with eight dollar beers and twelve dollar unrecognizable fried delights or cheap grades of beef make into burgers, a legal and acceptable form of financial extortion.

The final species of the airport are those condemned to relive this horrific experience day after day as gate monkeys, shop attendants, security guards and now the unbelievably demeaning servitude of airport bathroom attendant. I won’t even go into my reasoning for that; it’s the equivalent of social waterboarding. I didn’t even know that there was that low a rung in hell. This species is more like ecosystem predators that while handed a life sentence of hard time, they sort of run the prison yard. They are famously hardened and insensitive, recognizable by the spiffy navy polyester uniforms they adorn, the equivalent of airport gang colors. Just try to jack with one of the gals behind the desk with that logo infused scarf nattily tied around her neck, within minutes you’re confronted with the rest of the gang ready to tack another six hours on to your carnival ride in hell. I’ve learned to steer clear of the predators because little good will come to you by offering the observation that Genghis Kahn has better interpersonal skills that this group combined.

About this time I’m expecting you to comment, “Mr. Blue, I detect your rant is slightly more cynical and adversarial that what I’m been accustom to in the past? Are you agitated to the level of whining, which seems so contrary to your affable fun loving character?” When confronted with such a self realization I must confess that my frustration level is rising. Consider the fact that I have now been flying about 150 flight segments a year for almost twenty years an admission which many could question my sanity. That places me in the top 1% of business travelers, not to mention that I foot the travel bill for a diminishing number of employees which travel almost as frequently as I do. I am the golden goose, the whale of business travelers, the most coveted prize but this most vaulted status has only been rewarded with a complete and comprehensive erosion of privileges and perks. I receive no greater consideration than the rube that has never flown before.

I don’t use the airline credit card at 27% interest rates so I don’t get to board early. I refuse to pay $400 a year to allow access to the airline clubs which used to be a privilege of frequent flyers so I search to corridors for a worn seat wedged between the teeming masses. There is no longer any consideration for food unless you travel international and it’s a law to prevent the spread of agricultural pests that customs prohibit food products be brought on to planes by travelers which require the airlines to feed you on international flight otherwise you would be starving for 18 hours. In most flights I don’t even deserve a complete can of soda. Why waste it on one person, just think of how much money the computers say they can save if the single $0.50 can of soda is doled out to seven people. I’m not allowed with one exception to check luggage without being penalized, god forbid the penalty for it being heavier than allowed. I am no longer allowed to change any aspect of my flight without penalty. In fact the legacy carriers will really stick it to you if pay for a flight and decide not to take one leg but want to resume your journey even though you have already paid for it. I am not allowed to sit in the exit row without paying more. I need to fork over a couple of bucks to get headphones if I decide to watch the movie.

All that being said I do accumulate air miles for free trips on my frequent flyer accounts. Has anyone you know been able to cash the miles in to book a flight? I’ve got about a million miles and can’t find a flight that is not blacked out. I looked on every flight on one airline to use my miles to go to Hawaii until I was over one year out and the airline website cut me off saying I could not book a flight that far in advance. In other words we will not allow you to use your miles to go where you want. They have a new way to screw you out of travel miles, it’s called the “anytime award” which is double the typical 25,000 mile award. For 50,000 miles you can actually book a flight using your miles. Let’s consider this privilege a bit closer. A typical flight segment for me is about 500-750 miles, so to get my free flight using an “anything award” I need to fly about 100 segments. When you figure out the time invested in a single flight with boarding, flying and waiting for luggage at 4 hours that means I need to invest about 400 hours to get my free trip. If I was to do this full time I would receive the ability to receive four free flights annually or they would return to me 16 hours of privilege. Even the most depraved employer will grant you seven days or 56 hours of holiday pay for full time employment. In essence the travel reward program is just a big scam that people believe they gain some privileged recognition, but if you add up all the sodas they are denying you it’s the funding source for that fancy travel program. If you want a better deal each flight stick a couple of bucks into your wallet and at the ends of the year buy yourself a ticket where you want.

I have to admit that Mr. Blue is feeling better after exerting three hours of energy exposing this uncaring, unresponsive airline industry while he sits waiting for the next inexcusable episode of travel sodemy to occur. For all I know the gate monkeys are already planning their revenge, the easy part is seating me between the two overweight blobs that are allergic to personal hygiene, but the hard part is delaying the plane on the runway for an extra three hours in paradise lost. Of all wonders did you hear that another mechanical delay and a gate change? Oh no, the monkeys in terminal C are howling now.

A depiction of purgatory by Venezuelan painter Cristóbal Rojas (1890) representing the boundary between heaven (above) and hell (below)

'When I die, I hope to go to Heaven, whatever the Hell that is."

Ayn Rand

Dirty Secrets

"The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart."

Saint Jerome (374 AD-419 AD)

Each of us is hiding behind a stoic façade a dirty little secret that we pray each day will disappear but never does. It seems to start so innocently with such modesty. It was a part of what was so endearing about the person, a reckless nature of indulgence, the life of the party, the clown whose antics and yarns are the envy of the group. The infallible personality that everyone loves and wants to be in the presence of is what we remember the most. Those distant memories are only fragments of a time of naivety we hold on to like chards of broken glass from a past existence. Gripping the past so tenaciously that the chards we hold cut deep into our flesh. Somewhere along the way the evil took hold, a point time you cannot recall.

Then slowly you realize that the actions have become predictable, a pattern emerges that is only discernable to you by careful scrutiny. A small defect emerges in a once pristine personality. It starts with a familiar story that you have heard more times than you can recall, it’s a trigger, a warning sign of what’s to come. It’s the storm that gathers on the horizon building strength in the hot summer sky threatening the calm still air, threatening the perfect silence of the moment. No one else surrounding you knows the story as well as you, no one can see the shift in posture, the eyes that lose a ever so slight glint of passion, a word falls from the lips haphazardly as it shatters on the floor like a glass alerting you to increase your attentiveness, which only hastens the unavoidable car wreck. A gentle suggestion is ignored, simple prompt is deflected, a not so subtle look is repulsed, while oblivious to your concerns there is an increasing amount of push back, exerting a stubbornness blinded by the desire to continue into the ugly crevasse for reasons unknown. A small turn down a dark path foretells the danger.

The crowd swept up by the spectacle drives the exhibition on to a frenzied pitch, like a mob at the carnival they stare at the freak show empowered by the fact that they aren’t the biggest baboon on display. Individuals that were strangers only hours ago are now life long buddies as you hope for the best. A mob mentality surfaces as the signs of a riot echo against the walls of poor judgment. All you can do is watch disgusted, hurt, embarrassed, sympathetic and angry that it is your responsibility to clear the wreckage, to explain the lack of judgment, to reconcile the image of self abuse. The well worn excuses roll of your tongue as if memorized childhood rhymes as you attempt to recall how many times you have used this exact excuse with the same crowd. After a while you just stop offering excuses because everyone has heard it, everyone knows the pattern and no thin veneer of makeup can disguise the sad reality. You have become the caretaker, the arbitrator, the enabler, the warden; you have become the adult to a child.

Afterwards you sit solemn in the darkness with your head bowed in your hands, wondering why the self destruction is of so little concern, of no importance at all. Why it is such a proudly protected right to abuse themselves without compromise to which they will defend to their death. How can they view your compassion and concern with only the contempt of denying a condemned man the entitlement of his last meal? It’s my life, it’s my body and I can do with it as I please, you have no ownership, no say in this relationship we have create together. My poor decisions only impact me; my unilateral actions are mine to wallow in like a vane teenager peering into a mirror. How dare you ask me to think beyond the moment and remove this cancerous growth that is now so much of who I am?

As the destructive play is repeated over and over throughout the years, the script increases in intensity, the play becomes more violent, the actors know their roles so well that there is no enjoyment like a drone of flies against a screen door. The frequency becomes more prevalent, what was exclusively a weekend premier, is now more often a weekday matinee. Then before you notice it’s not about the audiences any more, there is no need for anyone to watch for the play to continue in the void of emptiness. It becomes a ritual of destruction, an obsessive masturbation which is just as easily preformed solo. In the end we turn a blind eye to the damage being done. It is much easier to clean up the broken glass than it is to stand in front of the bullet. Resentment slowly gnaws at your conscience, poisoning ever simple discussions as you keep the boil buried deep beneath the skin. Like a contagious disease the cancer is passed to you, only your symptoms are anger, pain, isolation, depression which robs you of self respect and compassion. Every so often the sickness of your soul erupts with unbridled violence and venom. You strike out attempting to exorcise the disabling disease which has taken root for years with a single swift and brutal assault of verbal dismembering. The violent eruption of those isolated moments are met which equal fierceness which only alienates and divides. Why do you impose limits to my self destruction? I see no harm in the mutilation, there is little justification to question my motives.

Little by little like the snow pack grinds away the stoutest of granite peaks as your will to resist; your desire to set the course right is tried and worn until you lose the motivation to change the gradual descent into hell. Instead you spend your time crafting cleaver disguises for your dirty little secret. In anger and pain you disconnect driving the chasm of isolation wider and wider, until you can no longer see the other side through the foggy pall of depression. Finally you become the victim, the dying heroine of this tragic play when as Grace Slick would say “the little pills that mother gives you don’t do anything at all.” You pass the time in the fantasy of escape, if only I could have the courage to run, to leave this all behind, to be swept from the ground by a tornado like Dorothy and deposited in another world. Bound by some powerful magnetism you are compelled to ride this hell bound train to its conclusion, the final stop knowing all along it guarantees your own destruction.

Why do so many of us deal with addictive behavior in a close relationship such as a partner or a family member. The numbers are staggering when you decide to count the dirty little secrets hidden in plain sight all around us. Compulsive destructive abuse of drugs, alcohol, gambling or tobacco is everywhere close to us, but yet we tolerate it in the people we care the most about. Slaying the demon is no easy task; it requires placing everything we value at risk in order to succeed and just as easier can equally result in failure and irreparable damage. Instead we become paralyzed, unable to act taking the coward’s way out by ignoring the ugliness and deceit. Tomorrow it will be better, tomorrow things will change, but tomorrow is just a faded dream, a tattered illusion we trick ourselves with while we bleed a little more dignity today.

You will have to excuse me, the play is beginning without notice and once again I need to take my place in support of this American travesty, take my place as the dying heroine destine to be a victim of my own neglect. Where is my anger and resentment? Where is my cloak of depression and despair? The curtains are opening and the dirty little secret is once again on public display. I must hurry, where is my basket of excuses? There is no time the car wreck has begun; the hell bound train is departing. The crowd is jeering knowing today’s self destruction is going to be better than ever. Forgive me I am not allowed to talk to you, it is not allowed. I must hurry hell is waiting for me.

"The only alternative to coexistence is codestruction."

Jawaharlal Nehru (1889-1964)