Mollified (a little bit)

Check for cracks in the universe.  Or flying pigs.  Or freezing temperatures in hell.  Something's clearly afoot. 

Since when does an airline put its stranded passengers up in a hotel and give them meal vouchers?  Whatever happened to the good old days when we were kicked to the curb and told to fend for ourselves?  Who are you and what have you done to the United I knew and didn't love?  Whatever it is, there should be lots more of it (and a lot less of the old you).

After pain and agony and a lot of godmothering directed toward line minders and underlings (sigh, I can be high strung), I got to the United customer service counter ready for battle.  But there was no battle to be had.  I'd already heard the worst news (no flights till tomorrow afternoon), so it only got better from there:  They'd put me up in a hotel, give me a meal voucher, and put me on standby for the 10:00am flight.  No questions asked; no screaming and hollering; no kicking the furniture; no pound of flesh.

So here I am, at the Intercontinental, much (MUCH) happier than I would have been had I been forced to camp in the terminal. 

And the lesson of this story, is that I have a price.  Back in college my favorite Institute teacher (who also happened to be my favorite Political Science professor) liked to tell us that everyone had a price.  That is, when faced with the right enticement or temptation, everyone will cave.  He liked to illustrate this point by asking us to imagine that Britney Spears was waiting inside the cupboard.  ...  Which never did much for me.  But a spacious hotel room with a cool sink, good lighting, featherbeds with down comforters, and a chaise longue?  All paid for?  Okay, fine. United, you've bought me off (this once).



I want a setup like this in my apartment.