Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Favreau Cankles, Favrankles

A day late and hundreds of pounds later -- that's British pounds, not flab pounds -- I am home! For awhile there, Mr. Floozy and I didn't think that Delta was ever going to let us go home. We boarded our airplane late Sunday morning and everything was going peachily until the captain announced that we were going to turn around and fly back to London. Something was wrong with the pressurization, which is code for, 'something is wrong with the plane and neener neener we aren't going to tell you.' We were already two hours into the flight and over the ocean when this happened. But, it wasn't so simple as flying back and landing. No. First they had to dump the plane's fuel over the ocean because the plane was too heavy to land. So, they dumped fuel over the ocean. We watched it from our window. How is this environmentally acceptable? It was a shiz-ton of fuel. Hey, ocean. Ya thirsty?

When we were back over London, we continued to fly in a holding pattern for another hour because there was still too much fuel to land. I was hoping that they'd dump the large, loud-snoring, weird guy in front of us. But no. I guess that is against their policy.

We landed. And one hour after that we were on another plane. Then we were stuck on the tarmac for another few hours while several other things went wrong -- the new pilots were stuck in traffic, the wrong paper forms were signed, and so forth and so on. Seventeen hours later we landed in Minneapolis, tired and ready to crash in the pee-smelly hotel the airline comped for us. By that time, my body had had it. My edema was so bad that my feet had swollen to the size of shoe boxes and my cankles looked like Jon Favreau's neck. 


Jon Favreau's neck

Can you see the resemblance?

The next morning we went back to the airport and got on a non-cursed flight back home. 

And here I am now complaining after watching a tear-punching segment on CNN of the aftermath of the Midwest tornadoes.

Look. I know that my life isn't hard. The very fact that I thought that this plane ride was grueling actually proves that my life isn't hard. But this trip cost mucho poundso. Delta is a service industry. If I am at a restaurant and get a steak that moos or is as hard as a hockey puck, I send it back to the kitchen. On the Delta website I submitted a complaint, detailing the indignities and inconveniences in an overly-written manner.  'We went an entire ten hours without any sort of food. Not even a bag of peanuts. And when we finally were served food, it was a horrible-feet-tasting sandwich that everyone gagged down because they were so hungry.' I am expecting the Hyperbole Police to show up at my door any minute.

An experience like this makes me wonder if the airlines are more of a federalized operation than a service industry. Oh crap! I am thinking scary libertarian/republican thoughts! I am going to stop now before my sad liberal brain explodes.

I promise that the next blog post I write won't be a huge litany of complaints. (Maybe. There will definitely be a few complaints.) I will tell you all about my trip to Europe. Especially London. London was amazing. I won't be complaining (or whinging, as they say in England) about that part of the trip. The skies were always overcast! There were people speaking in British accents everywhere! And the food and theatre were brilliant. Brilliant I say! 

(A special thank you to my facebook friend Paul, for coining the word 'favrankles.')


  1. The least Delta could have done was provide an emergency Favrankle removal. I mean, really. And, I have to tell you, my mouth is still a gaping hole of, "what the fuck?" at the thought of fuel being dumped into the ocean like it ain't no thang. I mean, of course, the lives on the plane are important and all that other appropriate stuff, but, you watched fuel get dumped in the ocean. Whoa.

    1. It really was unbelievable to watch so much fuel being dumped. My husband took a video of it. I should post in on the blog some time.

      And I am generous enough not to demand that Delta remove my favrankles. All I ask for is a free trip to Ireland and a pony. That's all. My needs are simple.

  2. The resemblance is uncanny. And I hope, by now, your cankles more resemble Gwynneth Paltrow's neck. She is the most beautiful woman in the world, you know.

    And I totally understand feeling that miserable and frustrated after all that! Delta should most definitely send you something to make up for that experience. Especially seeing as how much you paid for all of that to happen. And feet tasting sandwiches are no bueno.

  3. I used to work for Jon. Your cankles are smaller.

    1. This makes me feel better about myself somehow.