Because You Never Asked

ADVENTURES in CAPITALISM, II

     Perhaps the greatest adventure in capitalism, as I write, exists in the airline industry and it is reserved almost exclusively for the consumer. Not once in my last four years of trans-Atlantic flight have I arrived to my destination as programmed, nor has the coordination of my corporal arrival coincided routinely with the arrival of my luggage. Much of this aerial chaos seems to run parallel with the deregulation of this business in America and the privatization of it in the rest of the world, giving way to the no holds barred, free market approach that has been rammed up the consumer's ass in the Global Economy. (For more, see essay "Denial, American Style"). 

     This year was no exception, my flight from the world's only super power arriving too late to make my connection in Madrid. But there was a new wrinkle this time, which I will get to later in this essay. 

     Up until three years ago, I had always flown to Spain on Iberia, one of the country's national emblems. For almost all of that time, Iberia was owned by the Spanish government and it was one of the best airlines in the skies; on time, friendly service, choice of food, even empty seats once in awhile, thus alleviating the cattle car conditions that generally exist in "cattle class". True, it lost between two and three hundred million dollars a year, but when one thinks of the operating budget of a modern state like Spain, we are not talking about a lot of money. I would remind the Spanish taxpayer that they contribute infinitely more money for an Air Force (not to mention the rest of Spain's military expenditures) and never get to fly anywhere on it. 

     And then, the Thatcher-Clinton cowboys began twisting arms in the world. Iberia was privatized. The good service began to erode as the company tried to succeed on the battlefield of market warfare; scheduling delays, crotchety service, you eat what we give you, cabins attested with more people shoe-horned into less space. My patience with Iberia finally ran out with the following "adventure in capitalism". 

     A few years ago, my flight back to my homeland was delayed in Madrid for "mechanical problems". This delay eventually turned into a ten-hour marathon, broken only by a bus trip to a nearby hotel where we were fed a forlorn slab of cow flesh accompanied by some potatoes that looked as if they'd been fried in an oil spill. By the time I arrived in the States, there was only one flight I could connect to in order to get home that day. I was put on a "stand-by" list and told to hurry down to the gate. "What about my luggage?" "It'll be on the flight." "What if I can't get on?" The attendant began pecking away furiously on her Liberace keyboard. I reminded her that I'd been wearing the same clothes seemingly since the last Ice Age and they were beginning to offend. She continued the computer sonata that seems to accompany even the most trivial transactions in the global economy. Ticka-tacka-tacka-ticka-tack, on and on. Finally, she looked up and smiled. 

     Not to worry. 

     I was not able to get on the flight. After an exhaustive search through the bowels of the airport, the verdict was read: my baggage had already made the 40-minute puddle jump to my hometown. I was now a broken man. "What now?" They put me up in a hotel, transport and meal coupons included. By the time I got to the hotel, the kitchen had closed. I munched on some bar snacks and sipped a Coca Cola. The next day, when I put on my clothes, it was like putting on an old layer of skin. Very tangy. I could only imagine the virgin ecosystem that had begun to evolve in its pungent folds and fabrics. I arrived home around noon and tried to find my baggage. Due to the ambiguous nature of its status, it had been sent back to where they thought I wanted it. Perhaps our paths had crossed in flight. From that moment on, I decided to exercise my right as a disgruntled consumer. Adios Iberia. 

     (At this point, the following is relevant: In the old days of State run service, it's quite probable that another plane was lurking somewhere nearby that could have been substituted for the one with "mechanical problems". In the brave new world of free market combat, this is not an option. A plane doing nothing is a plane losing money.) 

     Since that time, I've been using the services of American Airlines. In truth, my adventures in capitalism have not been alleviated much. Basically, "la misma mierda" (the same excrement). But American has instituted one change I find valuable: they've given the herd a bit more legroom in "cattle class". 

     And now for the incident that hatched this essay. 

     About three months before this year's departure, I went down to the American counter at the local airport and asked a friend of mine, who works there, to take care of it. The longed for day of departure arrived. When I presented myself at the indicated gate for the flight to Spain, I found myself dealing with the usual raven-haired beauties that surely have something to do with my endearment for the country of Cervantes, Segovia and Antonio Banderas. Sure enough, they were all employees of Iberia Airlines. I looked at the sign behind the counter and, indeed, the flight was headed for Madrid . but on Iberia. I asked if I was at the correct gate. "Oh yes, sir". Although my Spanish was better than their English, I don't like to be presumptuous (I'd rather be presumptuous here), so I let them blubber away in my native tongue. It seems that American and Iberia, along with some other airlines, are associated in some kind of reciprocal system where all the pilots and stewardesses get to sleep with each other (or something like that). Iberia it was. My extra legroom had vanished. I suppose I should be grateful; it could have been Speedy Gonzalez Airlines. Every time the guy in front of me tilted his seat back, I felt like a factory chicken in one of its cages. 

     So much for my right to choose on the free market. 

     When I think that the Thatcher-Clinton cowboys are now unilaterally controlling the destiny of all mankind (they control the media), it's very difficult for someone like me to find any glimmer of optimism. My only consolation is that I'll probably be dead before all this implodes.      

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Email: JerryG@postcman.info