Air France sux

Greetings from 30500 feet in the air. ****

My days of frustration with Air France are near an end. Tonight I arrived late to my flight to Cairo via Paris from Philadelphia International Airport. The agent handed me my ticket and informed me that the back of the plane was overbooked. So he told me, “I vouched for you and gave you a seat in business class.”

I joked with Regi on my cell phone that I would be receiving complimentary champagne. Little did I know that French sparkling actually would be dripping down my throat before and after take-off.

Up to the point when a simmering hot wet towel was cleaning the crevices of my hand, I loathed and despised Air France.

Before sitting in the seat with enough leg room for an 8 foot tall man, and before I placed my shoes in the cubby hole of the seat in front of me, and also before discovering the menu for the flight included Mahi Mahi served above a white tablecloth, I was ready to kick some French Air ass.

If you read my blog detailing my time in Paris De Gaulle Airport en route to Cairo, you would know that I arrived early for my flight only to pay several hundred dollars for my luggage and hear a rude Air France agent bark orders at me.

And later, on my flight from Cairo to Paris, I was forced to pay for my ticket at the window because somehow my itinerary was cancelled. (before being cancelled it was somehow changed to a flight to London and then Nice including a reservation for a hotel and rental car for a Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. No shit.) Fortunately I had enough money to cover the cost of the ticket. On the flight, I tried to give an attendant with a trash bag my empty plastic cup and she didn’t take it. So I put it on the ground. I woke up to find her throwing the cup on my lap.

When I got home I checked my account and I was overcharged by more than $100. I sent a fax to get my money back, but they are so backed up with complaints that they couldn’t handle my problem. But I gotta tell you, right now, the back massager and recliner is making it feel much better. And so is the cognac. And so was the white wine poured from a LARGE bottle. In fact the only thing poured from a small bottle was lemon infused extra virgin olive oil. Fortunately for them I didn’t have to whip out a tiny bottle of whoop ass.

And in all fairness, the flight agent who hooked me up with business class had a Delta Airlines sweater on. He was certainly not French, as per his Spanish last name and his colleague’s request that he make her a burrito. And I still haven’t gotten a refund for my overpriced ticket. So Air France is not off the hook from the wrath of Andrew. Give me another glass of bubbly. It’s been an auspicious beginning to my career as a foreign journalist.

****This was written one month ago. I haven’t gotten this whole frequent blogging thing down yet