21st century soap-boxing

you never realize how many links you have to the corporate world until you begin sending address change request forms to all of them… I had forgotten that I had four students loans, three magazine subscriptions, and two bank statements. And the great thing is I get to do this all again in four months. Damnit, that’s way too much work. Curse my laziness!

Just in case you were unsure. In case you were in any doubt, I am here to tell you. NEVER BOOK FLIGHTS THROUGH TRAVELOCITY!!!! I have never had this much confusion and trouble buying plane tickets before. Would you like to know more? Read on, Macduff.

So we were going along, looking for cheap tickets to Bangkok, well cheap tickets that would also allow us to acrue airmiles through Continental or NorthWest. Mainly because I am a mere 15,000 miles from getting a free round-trip ticket anywhere in the world and really see no point in flying unless I’m working toward that free ticket. So K@ finds a flight, relatively cheap, on airlines that all are partnered with Continental. She books them. Or rather, she tries to book them. The first three times the purchase wouldn’t go through (we later discovered that this was due to a $2000/day purchase limit on her bank account). Upset, we charged them to k@’s credit card and thought that was the end of it.

Oh no, that would be too easy. The next morning, bright and early at 6 am, which is when everyone should be forced to deal with jankedy travel agents, k@ receives an email saying that our tickets were not confirmed and the flight was now unavailable. We were pissed. Why sell us tickets for a non-existant flight? K@ calls Travelocity’s service line. 20 minutes after being put on hold, she talks to a person. Turns out Delta cancelled the flight we had booked from SFO to Taipei and they were going to find us another flight getting in around the same time, no extra charge. There then proceeded an hour and a half phone call, occurring on the long drive to work, where we passed the phone back and forth while listening to the same song, an island rhythm steal drum travelocity plug, over and over and over. Finally the woman finds us a new flight, from SFO to JFK, then from JFK to Bangkok with Thai Airways. She assures us that we would get NorthWest airmiles for this flight, I made her promise this fact to me over the phone, and wouldn’t let her hang up until she had promised this. By this time the cell phone’s battery was dying, so I let her go. K@ then called NorthWest’s customer care line and asks if we get miles with Thai Air. No dice. At this point, I am absolutely incensed. I want blood- and a free plane ticket wouldn’t be bad either.

We plug k@’s phone in to charge, and call Travelocity back on her mom’s phone. This is after an hour and a half on the phone already. So k@ gets through to a new booking agent, outlines our situation and requests to talk to the supervisor. What follows is 20 more minutes of hold music, this time a string quartet butchering a Vivaldi classic. We arrive at work, late due to insane traffic and road construction, and at this same time the operator comes back on and says that we can wait another 20 minutes to speak to a supervisor, or he can just cancel and refund our flight then and there. We briefly discuss it and decide to cancel, remembering that we’d seen good flights not an hour ago on CheapTickets.com. Travelocity had lost us by that point, I wanted nothing more to do with them than a swift fire-bombing run reminiscent of Dresden at the end of WWII. Tickets are canceled, we go to work.

While at work, K@ hops on a computer to book new flights through cheaptickets. We must have cursed the gods one too many times that morning, because, of course, they’re all no longer available. Frantic, k@ calls Travelocity one last time. She gets them to uncancel the flight we had arranged on the drive to work, and decide to settle. There will always be more opportunities for free stuff. This is what we get for being greedy. But we’re poor people with aspirations of world travel, you can’t begrudge us trying to cadge free flights. She gets it settled and everything is kosher. Tickets are confirmed and in the mail.

Which brings us to today. We get our tickets via FedEx and low and behold, they’re for the first flight, the now cancelled flight SFO to Taipei to Bangkok. We’re confused, and more than a little upset. K@ decides to call Delta, the carrier for these flights, and see what they have us booked for in the system. It turns out that they have us booked for a completely different flight leaving Dec. 14 from SFO, getting into Taipei on the 16th, giving us a 24 hour layover in Taiwan, then leaving the next morning for Bangkok. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Where did this come from? Talk about straight out of left field! This flight was never mentioned to us as an option, and there’s no way that we’re spending a night in a Taiwanese airport over a screw-up that Travelocity made.

So now I sit on the phone, on hold for the duration of this entire post, which is swiftly approaching it’s second hour. The first time I called them, I spoke to Anna, who was the agent who first “assisted” us in getting the JFK flights, and she panicked when she heard that it was us again- she obviously remembered the two hours we’d spent together Thursday morning. So after briefly listening to my tale of woe, she put me on hold. 20 minutes later, my phone makes the disconnected sound- you know, the BOOP BOOP BOOP sound that a phone makes after you’ve been let go but haven’t hung up the phone? That evil bitch had hung up on us. So now I’m on hold again, this time after speaking with Thea, who saw the trouble with our flight and said, “Oh crap, you’re right, let me go fix that.” This was 15 minutes ago, and I’m still listening to island rhythms.

So, innocent travellers, take heed of my sad tale. Book not from Travelocity, lest ye be forced to spend 5 hours on hold with evil operators.

UPDATE: It is now three hours later, and we have finally fixed it. We leave a day earlier, but don’t have to deal with a 13 hour lay-over in Taiwan. You want to know how we finally fixed it? We gave up talking to Travelocity and talked directly with Delta.

And so it begins again. The culmination of my being. The very reason I continue to draw breath in this world (okay, not the only reason, but the most important). The activity which makes me happier than any other I’ve ever experienced. I speak, of course, of travel season.

December 15th it begins again. Leaving behind these stale American waters for the lush verdant jungles of South-East Asia. Venturing forth for the first time into these unexplored (by Lolos anyway) lands. Getting a new glimpse of cultures and beliefs only excitably read about until this point. Trying exquisite new foods and expanding the web of connections that draws this world closer together for all it’s inhabitants, each new friendship another link in this net that binds the world closer, like a corset on an overweight prostitute. Okay, that one was reaching a bit. This is why I shouldn’t try posting without my first cup of coffee.

But regardless, the excitement that is flowing through me at this moment can hardly be explained. 20 days in Thailand and Laos, with enough left over at the end for a side trip to the parental island of Saipan. Freedom from the dual tyrannies of corporate life and california shallowness. A journey into the unknown, the unexperienced, the new. It’s all I ever really want, something new, and at this juncture in my life- with so much of the world lying unexplored by myself- the possibilities are truly endless. Which is why I am relieved to impart my second piece of great news.

After waltzing around Asia, the illustrious K@ and I are kicking the dust from our heels and embarking to a new place of residence. No longer shall our souls be sucked dry from living in the Sacramento valley. No longer will I long for a place of my own, where pants are optional and ganja is always allowed. Yes, come January we are leaving the Butler ancestral residence and voyaging to the new and exciting land of Arizona. Why Arizona, you may ask? Well, why not? It’s this same logic that caused us to pack up everything last year and move to Prague, though we’d never been there. But better than Prague, it’s never cold in Phoenix or Tucson, or so I’m told. That right there meets K@’s prerequisite. It has a thriving artistic community and a plethora of community colleges where I can continue my degree. And best of all, neither of us have ever been to the SouthWest. There’s something utterly fantastic about moving to a place you’ve never been before. The unknown, now surrounding you in all places. A new challenge, and new opportunities. Plus, a new couch to crash on and things to see for good friends who visit from afar. The next ninety days will just fly by with all this to look forward to.

Yay!!! I didn’t screw it up!!! It actually tasted good! It was all vegetarian!!!

Perhaps I get ahead of myself. Several weeks ago I was high and watching the food network, which is a wonderful past-time- especially when they start airing the original Iron Chef series (the new American Iron Chef series is but a pale comparison). Regardless, I saw an episode where Tyler Florence showed how to make these tasty green chile & chicken enchiladas. I was in love. I needed to make them. If only the opportunity would arise.

At last, yesterday was my chance. The house to ourselves, Kat and I decided to throw a dinner party. One problem though, none of us eat chicken. Instead I ended up substituting the chicken with spinach and mushrooms, and the chicken stock for vegetable, and it turned out really well if I do say so, even though I did go a little overboard on the cilantro. If you find yourself hankering for some tasty mexican food, I recommend trying this recipe out.

You know what I hate? Writing an entire post and then having Firefox quit out completely randomly. I had been writing on the glory of the new Death Cab For Cutie album, and how it had changed my day from shit to shine in the span of one simple song. The first track, Marching Bands of Manhattan, off of their latest album, Plans. On a whim, when I got back to my desk from lunch, I put that album on and plugged in my headphones.

It was a like a gentle wave, lapping at the shores of all my anger and frustration. By the time Ben Gibbard’s heavenly vocals chimed in, I was a puddle of happy goo. This is not the first time Mr. Gibbard’s voice has done this to me. Refer back to the first track off of his side project, The Postal Service. The first time I heard him singing, “And I am finally seeing that I was the one worth leaving” I was in absolute awe and needed to listen to the track on repeat until the entire song was ingrained in my mind.

I am not a lyrics person. I normally could care less. I like vocals just fine, they add another dimension to the music, but it’s always been primarily about the music. The beat and the flow of melody and harmony. These are the things that I am normally drawn to in music. I learn lyrics so I can sing along with songs, but I don’t know that any lyric has ever leapt out from a song and gripped me so. Yet now Gibbard has managed to do this to me several times, and opened a whole new realm of musical appreciation to me. Lyrics like his “If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied and illuminate the nose on her vacancy signs, if there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I’ll follow you into the dark,” (from I’ll Follow You Into the Dark on Plans) reach into my brain and paint a vivid picture upon the walls of my skull.

So I’d like to say a thank you to Ben Gibbard for further expanding my appreciation/love/adoration of music, and from rescuing me from a shitty fucking day. Death Cab, Plans. Available now. Give it a listen. Or I will be forced to shit in your pillowcases. Don’t think I can’t. I have had a lot of indian food this week.

Self-pitying rant to follow. Feel free to ignore:

So, I have been sucking from the teat of the corporate cow for half a month now, and I can honestly say I have never been closer to tossing myself from the roof of a building. It’s everything I always knew it would be, and the dread of entering into those cold barren cubicles every morning sucks a little of the joy from my soul. I always knew there was a reason why I have avoided jobs like this indefinitely. The closest I’ve ever come to a job like this was the year and a half I spent pimping for the republican party in eugene, conducting political surveys weighted toward slandering the candidate’s opponents. Following that time, I needed a solid year in Hawaii doing as little as possible to recover my sunny disposition. Three months
here may ruin me for employment forever. I may have to seek solace in the embrace of the streetlife. A much simpler life, concerned only with the baser elements of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Food and shelter. What could be more important?

Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating just a little, but still, this is the most ridiculously fake and deceit-filled job I’ve ever had. Everyone walks along with fake plastic smiles plastered to their faces asking everyone if they’re having a good day, all too afraid of whether or not they fit in with everyone else to fucking just let loose and be themselves. Newsflash to corporate america: it is possible to do your assigned tasks without becoming automatons, going through your days as though it was scripted out. One thought has been crystallized within me, however. The only way to rise to the top of any company- be it Czarbucks, Borders, or Enron- you have to be insanely bipolar. I’m not talking mild mood swings, I’m talking polar opposites, looking at your boss and wondering if this is the same person you were talking to yesterday type of shit. And they always get hung up on the smallest insignificant details of office life.

Like the dress code. I have no problem with dressing up, as long as I’m getting paid adequately for it (which is the only reason I took this godforsaken job in the first place). I went out, bought some nice button-down preppy ass shirts, and wear them regularly. Now, I’m a file clerk. This involves me climbing up and down stools and reaching to the tops of shelves and removing armfulls of files and carrying them across the office. I hate to be the one to break it to my boss, but shirts become untucked while doing this. In fact, those higher up in the company have recognized this and written in a stipulation in the dress code allowing file clerks to dress more casual due to the nature of their job. My fine supervisor can not seem to comprehend this, however, and consistently gives me that “what the company expects of you” speech that makes the bile rise into my throat and leaves me shaking in rage at myself for ever putting myself in a place like this in the first place. Yet, instead of doing what I would normally do, telling them to take their regulations and shove them and walking out of another job, I am forced to swallow that bile back down where it sits in my gut and gestates into a little black ball of hate that spreads it’s cancer through-out me. This is not right. I should not feel like this. People should not be forced to subject themselves to shit like this. Staking a claim on some hermitage in Arizona seems much more feasable than subjecting myself to another 12 weeks of this spiritual suicide in CorpAmerica. If I weren’t saving more money in one week than I’d gotten in two at every other job I’ve ever had before, I doubt I would have made it this long. I don’t know why I’m posting this though. fuck it, just click publish.