Lost in la Mancha 2
Upon landing Jesse declared, "I am never flying United again!" Of course, this was to be another empty promise as he bought roundtrip tickets.
When I was five or six, my parents put me on a plane to Florida to be left in the care of my paternal grandparents for a week or two. I enjoyed flying alone; Delta pilots used to show me the cockpit and the flight attendants would let me help pass out cookies. This trip was to be different, as Delta closed its Chicago hub and all that was available was United.
The flight attendants sat me in the back and told me to stay put. The plane took off and after a while they brought around my Happy Meal. Despite the WARNING THIS KID IS ALLERGIC TO EVERYTHING note on my ticket, even the carrots had cheese on them. They apologized and said they didn't have a replacement and I'd just have to wait.
About mid-flight it became apparent there were mechanical issues with the plane, and it was rerouted to a city nowhere near Florida. We docked for about half an hour while they refueled, and eventually were told we'd have to switch planes. The surrogate, for whatever reason, was not going to the same destination as the original, but Florida's Florida, right?
I touched down in the wrong city, on the wrong plane about fourteen hours late, not having eaten since breakfast. Upon landing, I declared with the confidence of a small child, "I am never flying United again!"
And you know what? Fuck Ted. I fly Southwest. Haha.