What Happens When Non-Stop Flights Stop?

 “We regret to inform you that Spirit Airlines has ceased global operations. All Spirit flights have been cancelled, and customer service is no longer available.” This is how travelers were greeted at the Spirit Airlines counter in Terminal A at LaGuardia Airport. A cardboard sign in front of vacant terminals, just below a list of cancelled flights. 

This past Saturday, one of America's pioneers in budget air travel closed up shop, leaving thousands of travelers stranded across the country in various locales with pending refunds for trips they never quite finished. 

I felt a great deal of empathy for these folks as I was once on the receiving end of an airline going under, not the sort of thing you hope to hear about a company that is supposed to fly over things. My family was on an elaborate vacation to Mexico City and eventually Acapulco with our choice of carrier being Braniff, the airline with the whimsically painted planes. We were jet setters, with my older brother's junior high Spanish as our key to travel south of the border. 

Except Braniff chose this moment in time to have a little financial hiccup. Once we landed in Mexico City, it became apparent that due to circumstance beyond their control, they would be unable to bring us back. A corporate restructuring was taking place somewhere in Texas, and we were told that we would have to find our own way from there. 

Keeping in mind this was a long time before things like cell phones and Al Gore's Internet, so all of the communications needed to make these transactions were done with pay phones and garbled interactions at ticket counters with employees who may or may not have just lost their jobs. Suddenly the appeal of flying around in a great purple 727 had lost all its appeal, and all we really wanted was a way home. 

Eventually it was Mexicana Airlines that jumped into the breach in which we found ourselves. They picked us up and got the five of us where we were headed, and eventually safely back to Estados Unidos. It pains me to tell you that Mexicana stopped flying in 2010, no doubt leaving some other families in the middle of their dream vacations, so they won't be there to pick up the pieces for the stranded travelers left in Spirit's wake. 

If man were meant to fly, he'd been given better customer service. 

Numbers Game

 86 47

There. Now I've done it. It will only be a moment or two before the so-called Department of "justice" breaks down my door and takes me away in handcuffs. 

Eighty-six forty-seven

Those numbers have been used to indict former FBI Director James Comey who used seashells to form those numbers in a social media post. The brain trust at the "DOj" having determined that this message was sent as a threat on the life of the convicted felon and adjudicated rapist. The convicted felon made his feelings, such as they are, known on his platform: “‘86’ is a mob term for ‘kill him.’ They say 86 him! 86 47 means ‘kill President Trump.’ James Comey, who is a Dirty Cop, one of the worst, knows this full well!”

Well, if you were to believe what you read on Wikipedia, 86 is a term that originated in the hospitality industry, meaning that an item is no longer available, or that a person or people is not welcome on the premises. 

As a brief aside, I will relate the story of the crew I worked with late nights at Arby's. Rather than endlessly repeating punchlines such as "that's what she said," we gave them numbers. "That's what she said," for us became simply "3," causing us to go into paroxysms of laughter as our generally inebriated customers waited patiently for us to recover and complete their order. Our system was based on three, so we didn't have an 86, but now I kind of wish that we had. 

There is a competing suggestion that is based on a 1970's mob term to describe when Las Vegas gangsters would take victims eight miles out into the desert and bury them six feet under. This is the one that the convicted felon chose to highlight as he began fluffing up his "justice" league to go out and arrest James Comey. For arranging seashells on the beach in a pattern that might or might not suggest that the restaurant at which he was working was out of cheesecake. 

Or perhaps he was going to drive eight miles into the desert and bury the cheesecake six feet under. 

Who is that pounding on my door? 

Crisis Management

 Okay, let's start with some simple math: Gas is expensive. If you buy gas for your car for a bunch of money, you won't have enough money to buy things like video games and food. 

Everybody with me so far?

Let's try something a little harder: In 2026, U.S. oil companies are enjoying record profits. Some of them have experienced thirty million dollars profit hourly. Please note that last adverb. Hourly. If you don't have a calculator on you or have never accessed that particular app on your device, I will tell you that this means some of these companies have had days when they made three quarters of a billion dollars. In. A. Day. That's not all of them combined together. That's just one, like Chevron. Or Exxon/Mobil. It is a wonder that they continue to find places to shove those wads of cash. 

But volume is more of a geometry problem, isn't it?

So let's hop on over to the way back machine to a movie that made Michael Keaton a star. Did you ever see Mr. Mom? Not to burden you with a lot of plot details, but Mike loses his job and his wife has to go out and get a job. She lands a pretty keen gig with an advertising agency. It is her idea to start up an ad campaign for a tuna company that recognizes the struggles of a family during a recession. She suggests that the tuna company, Schooner Tuna, put the company's president in front of the camera to announce that they are lowering the price of their cans of tuna by fifty cents a can until the economic crisis is over. It's a masterstroke, and eventually Mike gets his job back and she can tell her lech of a boss to take a hike. As the economic crisis passes by. 

All that's left is for some whip-smart creative type to whip up a script for the CEO of one of these great oil beasts that promises to lower the price of gasoline fifty cents a gallon "until this crisis is over." 

"My fellow Americans. I'm Michael K. Worth, CEO of Chevron Corporation. All of us here at Chevron sympathize with those of you hit so hard by these trying economic times. In order to help you, we are reducing the price of our gasoline by fifty cents a gallon. When this crisis is over, we will go back to our regular prices. Until then, remember, we're all in this together. Chevron, the Oil Beast with a heart."

By my reckoning, the brand loyalty associated with this move will more than offset any and all corporate losses accrued in the interim. Trust me. I'm a blogger. 

The One True King

 “On this occasion, I cannot help noticing the readjustments to the East Wing, Mr. President,” said the king while just a few feet from where the "president" and first lady Melania Trump were seated. “And I’m sorry to say that we British, of course, made our own small attempt at real estate redevelopment of the White House in 1814.”

Careful readers may have noted that the previous paragraph referred to both a "king" and a "president." The "king" was making a little jest regarding the time that invading British soldiers came storming back to America and burned down the White House. The "president" in this account didn't need a regiment of invading troops, he just tore down one third of what is colloquially known as The People's House. 

Over in England, they have palaces and castles and ballrooms to spare. 

For his part, the "president" recently whined to Sixty Minutes, "The reason you have people like that is you have people doing 'No Kings.' I'm not a king. If I was a king, I wouldn't be dealing with you."

Apparently his pretend-highness has issues with subtleties such as dealing with Congress before tearing down the White House, or declaring war. A waste of valuable time that could be spent on the golf course. 

For his part, the real king spent his time addressing the long history of cooperation between his country and its former colonies. "Ours is a partnership born out of dispute, but no less strong for it," he said. "Our two countries have always found ways to come together. And by Jove, when we have found that way to agree, what great change is brought about, not just for the benefit of our peoples, but of all peoples." A statement that doesn't jive well with the Orange Worst's assertion that  Canadian, British and other troops on the ground in Afghanistan as part of the American war on terror "stayed a little back" from the front lines. When NATO chose not to rush into Iran to help out in an illegal war, the Worst huffed  that NATO "wasn't there when we needed them and won't be there if we need them again."

Perhaps it's best to close out this account of The King's visit with this little chestnut he dropped into his address to Congress: "Our destinies as nations have been interlinked. As Oscar Wilde said, ‘We have really everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language!'" One need not spend any time comparing a BBC broadcast to Faux News to agree on that. 

Just A Joke

 I do not watch Jimmy Kimmel on any kind of regular basis. 

This is probably how I missed the joke he made on his show two days before the White House Correspondents Dinner, which has now become an acronym: WHCD. Which I think is an NPR station in Delaware. 

I digress. 

Last Thursday during his monologue, Mister Kimmel made this jape referencing an event that had not happened yet: “Of course, our first lady, Melania, is here. Look at her, so beautiful. Mrs. Trump, you have a glow like an expectant widow.” 

It was not kind, I grant you, but the humor embedded in that line was based on the age difference between the two, which happens to be twenty-four years. The convicted felon's health issues help to fuel this degree of concern, insincere as it may be. 

The day after the kerfuffle at the Washington Hilton, the First Lady who is the third wife of the Orange Worst so I don't fully understand the numbering system, took to social media to call for the removal of Mister Kimmel from the airwaves. “Kimmel’s hateful and violent rhetoric is intended to divide our country. His monologue about my family isn’t comedy- his words are corrosive and deepens the political sickness within America. People like Kimmel shouldn’t have the opportunity to enter our homes each evening to spread hate.”

This statement proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that irony is dead. I don't mean to cause anyone any alarm, since it has been on life support for at least a decade, but Melanomia's tweet suggests that "people like" Jimmy are responsible for the division in our country. People like her husband, it should be pointed out, who has called for the execution of Mark Milley, the former chief of staff. He has also suggested beating and shooting protesters who dare raise their voice against his draconian policies. He has declared that his political rivals be arrested or removed. 

Oh, and he started a war without saying, "Congress, May I?"

Then, a few weeks into that conflict, he threatened to destroy an entire civilization. 

Violent rhetoric? Honey, you married it. And god willing, you'll live to regret it. 

Questions To Everyone's Answers

 "When did you stop beating your wife?"

This is the kind of question that journalists don't get to ask, but every so often, a situation presents itself that is too hard to pass up. I present to you, for your consideration, 60 Minutes correspondent Norah O’Donnell interviewing the Orange Worst the day after the alleged attack on the White House Correspondents Dinner. 

Referencing the "manifesto" allegedly written by the suspect in the very theatrical assault on the Hilton Ballroom, O'Donnell read,  “I am no longer willing to permit a pedophile, rapist, and traitor to coat my hands with his crimes.” Looking up from the text, she asked the Worst,“What’s your reaction to that?” 

The convicted felon and adjudicated rapist huffed, “Well, I was waiting for you to read that because I knew you would, because you’re horrible people. Horrible people. Yeah, he did write that. I‘m not a rapist. I didn’t rape anybody.”

“Oh, you think—do you think he was referring to you?” O'Donnell interrupted.

Mic drop. 

Because, among other things, the angry old man currently squatting in the ruins of the White House is in fact a rapist. Guilty. By a judge and jury. In 2023. The "president" is a convicted felon and a rapist. 

Why do you suppose that anyone would doubt the veracity of anything out of that mouth? That some mouth that assured us that he was "The Peace President." That some mouth that told us he was "totally exonerated" in the matters concerning the Epstein Files. That same mouth that insisted that we would all get tired of so much "winning."

"When did you stop lying?"

To Fly

 On and on. 

School shootings. 

Schools blown up by war. 

Schools closed from lack of funds. 

I work at a school named for the "Father of Public Education," and it was recently on a list set forth by our district to be closed. Families in our city are frequently caught unaware by the way the school they have chosen for their children just stopped. No classes. No lunches. No safe place to learn. 

Meanwhile, a billion dollars a day is being spent to destroy those schools in Iran. The sad irony of my least favorite poster of all time, "It will be a great day when our schools get all the money they need and the Air Force has to hold a bake sale to buy a bomber" is lost. Finding our way back to a world in which the ideal Horace Mann set forth, “Education is our only political safety. Outside of this ark all is deluge.”

We are currently lost in the flood. 

Schools are expendable for those who cannot afford it. The notion of public education has been subverted and chopped into pieces to buy those smart bombs that still need someone to guide them. 

I am on the cusp of retiring from a thirty year career in public education, but when people look at me sideways and ask, "Can you really just walk away?" I tell them that I don't think I will be far away from the institution that gave me the wings I have to fly. 

I'll be returning to the nest. To protect it. To keep it safe. To keep it open. For another generation of those in need of feathers.