Fuck BA, on Dispatch from the Razor's Edge

Dear British Airways,

I hate you so very, very much. I wish you all enormous ill. I can't believe I flew you again after my last horrendous experience - I swore I was done with you. But then I decided you were still slightly less horrible than all the other airlines. Little did I know.

I flew to Atlanta on 23 Dec, to be with my father, who is dying of cancer, on Christmas. You lost my bag. The one with ALL the presents in it. Somehow you lost my fucking bag on a direct flight from LHR to ATL. My gate was A10. You can fucking SEE the gate from where I checked the bag. You also kept us sitting on the fucking tarmac for AN HOUR after the scheduled departure time - so you could dig out the bag of a person who didn't get on the flight. (Probably someone just like me on my prior flight - who was so horrified by the treatment getting to the gate, he could no longer bear to get on the flight.) With that EXTRA HOUR, you still couldn't manage to get my bag on the flight.

Now it is Christmas morning. I have no presents to give. Including no presents for my dying father. You have achieved something remarkable: You have FUCKING RUINED CHRISTMAS.

When I log into your automated systems, when I call your automated number, I have no opportunity to speak to any kind of a human being. I am only told by the automated system that the bag will be sent to Altanta on Dec 26. Then… after it clears customs… it might be shipped to me. Are you aware that Christmas is fucking Dec 25? You made no effort to get my property to me any more quickly. You did not even give me the opportunity to speak to someone and ASK him or her to try and get me my bag more quickly. You just fucked me. Remorselessly. Facelessly.

I hate you so very much, BA.

I hope my father is still alive to receive his Christmas gifts, whenever it is you might get them to me. But it could go either way.

I hate you so much, BA.

I hope your Christmas is painful; and that you go out of business - as a direct result of your absurd and horrifying union labour contracts - as soon as possible.

Yours in bitter and incandescent loathing,
Michael Fuchs

P.S. This message will repeat on my not unpopular website - and will remain there until they put me in the ground. Cheers.

rants travel

Dispatch from the Razor's Edge is owned and operated by novelist, technologist, vegan, exercise junkie, libertarian, rambler, and Londoner Michael Stephen Fuchs.

Fuchs is the author of the novels The Manuscript and Pandora's Sisters, both published worldwide by Macmillan; the D-Boys series of high-tech, high-concept, spec-ops military adventure novels – D-Boys, Counter-Assault, and Close Quarters Battle (2013); and is co-author, with Glynn James, of the bestselling Arisen series of spec-ops zombie apocalypse dark action thrillers. The second nicest thing anyone has ever said about his work was: "Fuchs seems to operate on the narrative principle of 'when in doubt put in a firefight'." (Kirkus Reviews, more here.) Fuchs is represented by Robert Gottlieb, Chairman of Trident Media Group in New York.

Fuchs was born in New York; schooled in Virginia (UVa); and later emigrated to the San Francisco Bay Area, where he lived through the dot-com boom. Subsequently he decamped for an extended period of tramping before finally rocking up in London, where he now makes his home. He does a lot of travel blogging, most recently of some very long walks around the British Isles. He's been writing and developing for the web since 1994 and shows no particularly hopeful signs of stopping.

You can reach him on .

Most recent

Most read

Most commented

By tag

Related

Dispatch from the Razor's Edge is owned and operated by novelist, technologist, vegan, exercise junkie, libertarian, rambler, and Londoner Michael Stephen Fuchs.


2013 >> 2012 >> 2011 >> 2010-12-25 2010-12-22 2010-12-21 2010-12-18 2010-12-17 2010-12-16 2010-12-15 2010-12-13 2010-12-12 2010-12-10 2010-12-04 2010-12-03 2010-11-30 2010-11-22 2010-11-21 2010-11-09 2010-10-27 2010-10-25 2010-10-22 2010-10-18 2010-10-07 2010-10-01 2010-09-29 2010-09-18 2010-09-17 2010-09-16 2010-09-02 2010-09-01 2010-08-29 2010-08-28 2010-08-22 2010-08-21 2010-08-20 2010-08-15 2010-08-10 2010-08-05 2010-07-29 2010-07-20 2010-07-16 2010-07-15 2010-07-14 2010-07-13 2010-07-07 2010-06-37 2010-06-31 2010-06-30 2010-06-29 2010-06-28 2010-06-27 2010-06-26 2010-06-16 2010-06-15 2010-06-10 2010-06-09 2010-06-06 2010-06-05 2010-06-02 2010-05-30 2010-05-17 2010-05-12 2010-05-10 2010-05-09 2010-05-08 2010-05-01 2010-04-29 2010-04-28 2010-04-18 2010-04-16 2010-04-15 2010-04-05 2010-04-04 2010-04-02 2010-03-26 2010-03-25 2010-03-23 2010-03-16 2010-03-14 2010-03-08 2010-03-03 2010-03-01 2010-02-26 2010-02-23 2010-02-22 2010-02-18 2010-02-17 2010-02-14 2010-01-30 2010-01-27 2010-01-20 2010-01-13 2010-01-08 2010-01-01 2009 >> 2008 >> 2007 >> 2006 >> 2005 >> 2004 >> 2003 >> 2002 >>	Fuck BA Dear British Airways, I hate you so very, very much. I wish you all enormous ill. I can't believe I flew you again after my last horrendous experience - I swore I was done with you. But then I decided you were still slightly less horrible than all the other airlines. Little did I know. I flew to Atlanta on 23 Dec, to be with my father, who is dying of cancer, on Christmas. You lost my bag. The one with ALL the presents in it. Somehow you lost my fucking bag on a direct flight from LHR to ATL. My gate was A10. You can fucking SEE the gate from where I checked the bag. You also kept us sitting on the fucking tarmac for AN HOUR after the scheduled departure time - so you could dig out the bag of a person who didn't get on the flight. (Probably someone just like me on my prior flight - who was so horrified by the treatment getting to the gate, he could no longer bear to get on the flight.) With that EXTRA HOUR, you still couldn't manage to get my bag on the flight. Now it is Christmas morning. I have no presents to give. Including no presents for my dying father. You have achieved something remarkable: You have FUCKING RUINED CHRISTMAS. When I log into your automated systems, when I call your automated number, I have no opportunity to speak to any kind of a human being. I am only told by the automated system that the bag will be sent to Altanta on Dec 26. Then… after it clears customs… it might be shipped to me. Are you aware that Christmas is fucking Dec 25? You made no effort to get my property to me any more quickly. You did not even give me the opportunity to speak to someone and ASK him or her to try and get me my bag more quickly. You just fucked me. Remorselessly. Facelessly. I hate you so very much, BA. I hope my father is still alive to receive his Christmas gifts, whenever it is you might get them to me. But it could go either way. I hate you so much, BA. I hope your Christmas is painful; and that you go out of business - as a direct result of your absurd and horrifying union labour contracts - as soon as possible. Yours in bitter and incandescent loathing, Michael Fuchs P.S. This message will repeat on my not unpopular website - and will remain there until they put me in the ground. Cheers. Tweet email rants travel ← before \| 1 comment ↓ \| after →
subscribe: