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Fuckin' Jerry J - kale & cigarettes
Fuckin’ Jerry J

Fuckin’ Jerry J

Well, hell has arrived. Or I’ve arrived there. Either way, doesn’t matter.

Charleston, West Virginia. I’ve been watching a lot of Game of Thrones lately and I believe I have finally met my first Wildling.

I’m sitting at a restaurant right now trying to recount the days festivities in my journal while ordering the right food for the moment.

I asked what kind of wild life lived in the mountains. I took to my phone to Google it, mostly because I’m committed to seeing a bear or an elk and one of my friends said that I’d probably see a bunch of pictures of people from the town. “White-bearded man” would be one of them.

The excitement started long before we arrived, though.

A man was kicked off of our flight for calling everyone faggots and 10 year old girls. “Are ya’ll gonna stop being little girls now? If I’m gonna be quiet then that faggot should shut his mouth too. You ain’t got no balls, that’s for sure. Bunch of girly girls on this flight. And that fem-bot, too.” I added the punctuation to class this guy up a little because he needed it. I couldn’t see the front of his hat but I’m guessing it said, “Make America Great Again.”

There could have been a fight. He was right in front of me taunting the guy in front of him.

Thin crust pizza or perfect chicken sandwich?

But when the guy was asked to leave it could have been ugly. I unbuckled my belt, Justin hoped for the best, and Greg was videotaping it all.

He went peacefully. Which is good, I guess. Still didn’t allow me to realize my destiny.

This can all be traced back to one man, one provocative little asshole at the gate. Let’s rewind to right before boarding the plane. I’m halfway up the ramp when I hear, “Sir… you need to check your bag.” And I knew he was yelling at me because they always try to green-tag your luggage on these little bullshit express planes but I know from experience that my bag fits perfectly well and I was boarding in group 1 so I continued on my way. He didn’t relent, because he was very keen on being an authority figure today. I turned around and noticed that our dispute was holding up the line. Some might argue that I am extremely self-interested but that doesn’t change the fact that I am as situationally aware as they come. I stepped to the side and allowed everyone else to walk on by. And I went towards him, feeling a lot of heat in my chest and asked him what his gd problem was.

“Sir, check your bag.”

“I don’t need to check my bag though, it fits just fine.”

“Sir, I’m not going to argue. Check your bag now.”

“You’re not listening. You need to listen to me (super slow and heavy emphasis on MEEEEEEEE). You’re just talking at me and you don’t know what you’re talking about. My bag fits. There is no problem. I can walk it on the plane if I want to.”

“Sir, it doesn’t fit. Take the tag please.”

“How do you know it doesn’t fit?”

“It’s a small plane, sir.”

“I fly this plane all the time. I have valuable equipment in my bag. Whenever I leave my bag with you guys you drop it on the ground. Are you going to be personally responsible for all of my belongings?”

I ended up checking my bag. This guy was a real piece of shit and I got to the point where I was visualizing how I was going to end him so I handed my luggage to the other employee, a nice lady, and took my ticket stub.

So he won. Right?

Nah. I took a few steps towards the plane and turned back around. I headed for him and hit him with the 4 most devastating words in customer service, “What was your name?”

“Jerry….J” just as I read it. He was holding himself proud but his hands were trembling and his forehead was covered in sweat. And this is the part where you’re thinking oh poor Jerry J is nervous and people are mean to him and I kindly remind you that no, Jerry J was not the victim of another angry traveler, Jerry J thought his airport security ID meant that he worked for the FBI and what he really deserved was to change into his brand new Nike Frees after his shift and step in a pile of German Shephard shit on the way to his car that had a dead battery because he left his lights on his entire, miserable shift.

I don’t normally include names in my complaint letters to United Airlines but this letter is going to be an exception.

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