Historic Gettysburg Battlefield (Photo by Buffalo).
pick up the order, then had to go several feet to the right and down the other side of the hall to pay at a self-serve kiosk. Scan my ticket, pay with my card. Lots of do it yourself stuff in airports these days. Again, I was taken aback by how much things cost in these air- ports. Coffee and a bagel was a modest $12. Oh, and please add $2 for a small tub of creme cheese. Fourteen bucks. My gate was just across the way from
the kiosk where I paid, so I found a seat to wait nearly an hour until time to board the aircraft. It seems I am always late or really early. I much prefer being early. I sat down and opened up my bag. In
the bag was a flimsy plastic knife to use in slicing my bagel and spreading the cheese. Trying to cut into the bagel was like cutting through leather. The knife broke, and I ended up pulling the bagel apart by hand. Would it hurt to serve thempre-sliced? Really? Once I had the cream cheese on the bagel, I took a bite. Well, I tried to take a bite. It was like shoe leather. Inedible. I was a little pissed. I bagged it up and walked back over to Dunkin Donuts. I found the rasta-man with the beau-
tiful dreads who had served me. “Excuse me brother,” I said. “This bagel is inedi- ble. It must have sat in the window too long.” Rasta-man said nothing, but pointed to a sign to his left that read, “Absolutely no re- funds.” Okay. I said, “Really? This is like rubber!” He said nothing and at- tempted to ignore me. I raised my voice to be sure everyone within earshot could hear me. “Wow. I sure
am glad I own Kudzoo magazine! At least I can tell the public about being ripped off.” I thought playing the journalist card might gar- ner me a new bagel, but no. And to top it off, the coffee sucked. An entire bagel and coffee, tossed into the trash. Fourteen bucks wasted. Thank you Dunkin Donuts. I hope the holes on all of your donuts close up. The flight to Atlanta was an hour and a
half. I got a great isle seat. It was a full flight and the only empty seat was beside me. There was a pretty young Indian girl sitting in the window seat. Shortly after takeoff, the young girl yelled at the lady behind her, “Stop kick- ing my seat!” The lady behind her apologized and told her she was not kicking her seat. The girl waited five minutes and yelled out, “I told you to stop kicking my seat, bitch!” Now was that necessary? The young girl pressed the call button and a flight attendant came down to speak with her. The girl told the attendant, and the attendant spoke to the lady behind us. The lady stood over six feet, maybe 6’ 4”, and her legs were very long, and pressing against the back of the young girl’s seat. The
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