The Morning Offering - Feb. 2, 2005

Written by Father Time on February 02, 2005

I’m really proud of the city of Atlanta for its abundant hiring of retards.

I’m on my way home from Disney World. We have a stopover in Atlanta. My ex, son and I have just completed a very enjoyable vacation. Fun parks, good weather, and some of the fattest fucking mothers I have ever seen. It was really quite remarkable.

We arrive ahead of schedule in Atlanta around 10 that evening. We board the plane for our 10:40 flight on time. It is raining only slightly, but we don’t move. We don't move for a long time. The problem, our pilot informs us, is that because of the dropping temperature, they need to de-ice the plane. And why must we wait so long, you ask?

Retard No. 1: The dumbass who thought one de-icing machine was enough for the busiest fucking airport in the country. I realize ice storms are a rare occurrence in the confederacy, but come on. To de-ice a plane takes about 30-40 minutes. Take a guess at how many planes go through Atlanta each night. At one point the pilot came on and told us we were 25th in line. He then told us to go back to sleep.

They finally canceled the flight at 3:30 a.m. when the ice was coming down too hard for planes to take off. So we all stagger off the plane tired as shit and just wanting it to end. The ex and my son crash on some plush airport benches while I try and find a hotel for a few hours sleep, which leads me to…

Retard(s) No. 2: Early morning hotel clerks. With the exception of the lovely woman working the Econo Lodge who finally rescued us, these buttholes are the epitome of dumb. The first one I got told me they had a couple rooms available but I could not reserve either of them. He can go fuck himself. The next gentleman was very nice and helpful. He said his Days Inn had plenty of rooms and I need not make a reservation. Just come on over. It’s right near the airport. Actually it was 30 miles from the airport. And the sonofawhore wouldn’t give me directions when I called him later. Maybe he knew I would have punched him in the neck.

Since we didn’t know how far away the Days Inn was at the time, we get in line for a cab to head in that direction. It is here where I discover the World Series of Tards:

Retard No. 3: My cabbie. After two cabbies drive up, look at us, and drive away, the third one crawls towards us, hazards flashing. It’s coming down pretty hard by now, but the guy’s driving slower than sludge. When he finally gets to us, we tell him where we’re going and we get this blank stare in response. He goes to ask another cabbie, gets back in and is still clueless. Here is where I make my phone call for directions. After shithead from Days Inn finally gives them to the cabbie, he then tells us how far away it is. For some reason we believe him.

We head off to the Holiday Inn, where the other group in our cab is going. Once there I tell the cabbie I need to run in and just check if they have any rooms. He says he won’t wait. I yell at him and tell him it’ll take 20 seconds. He refuses. I pick up a shovel, smash his kneecaps, tell him to fuck his mom and get out for good at the Holiday Inn. Okay, just the last part is true. I couldn’t find a shovel.

The Holiday Inn, of course, is booked full. Luckily, the aforementioned Econo Lodge, right next door, isn't. We check in at 5 a.m. The next day, the shuttlebus driver drives right by the hotel the first time. She decides for herself that since 90% of the flights have been canceled that morning, that none of us needs to go to the airport after all (I'm not kidding). An hour later, she returns. Lucky for us, however, our 1:40 p.m. flight ends up leaving at 6:30. It needed to de-ice.

We arrive in D.C. at 8 p.m., only 20 hours late. It is snowing, but we get the first cab, and the cabbie doesn’t bat an eye when I tell him what tiny street we lived on. It’s good to be home. And to be, for the first time in almost 24 hours, tard-free.

-- Written by Father Time on February 02, 2005