Tuesday, June 29, 2010
How Many Mg Are In An Apple
The proletariat traveling by plane
By Rolando Hanglin
Notes from a trip Buenos Aires-Madrid-Barcelona-Madrid-Buenos Aires
I do not trust the holds of airplanes, because I know million bags are lost in the airport terminals in the world with its multibillion-dollar burden sweaters, teddy bears, earrings and shoes for basketball secretary. But this time I played, to keep your hands free. Valiantly dispatched the main luggage, in order to feel nimble and lightweight.
But in the hands-free, carries a passport, dollars, airline tickets, the boarding-card, toothbrush, tissues, aspirin, deodorant, toothpaste, cologne, a sweater, a jacket, your daily medications (typical, the pill of the night, a mouthwash and eye drops) roles of migration, any purchase held at the Free-shop. I weighed: all accused in the balance 6 kilos. Then come
walks of 1500 meters. All travelers are looking for your cart. In Barajas, an employee hauling 60 trolleys. I asked: Can I leave one? Annoyed replied: No, these are for those who go! Look you in the other room ...
just was not looking, I stole a cart and fled like a criminal, with my wife accomplice. I loaded my stuff. I walked the mile, to stop the train, because the modern air stations have their own internal train, and display it proudly
- will have to leave the cart. In the next room there will be others ...
downloaded all my knickknacks, I took her up and got on the train. Ten minutes passed and we reached a site that was both U, S, 36, and Zeta, with different colors. Then a airport employee: Where do I get off to fly to Buenos Aires?
- Get off at Zeta.
- Aha. "And this is the first stop?
- Do not worry, there is only one stop. Everyone goes there.
- And so why put U, S, 36, and Zeta?
- I do not know, man ...
We arrived at the station. "Down or not down? There was a woman on the speaker:
- All passengers leave the car immediately.
descended instantly. Now, to urgently seek a cart! What if we sat down to rest? It is late, the plane would leave and not even know where we are.
found a cart and loaded our gear. Walked thousands of feet, the terrified couple of other tourists, to reach passport control. We were forced again to leave the cart. Remove your shoes, jacket, key chains, wallet, coat, watch. Going through the scanner. Be cached. Retrieve belongings after the scanner. Find another cart!
now walking again. There are no guidelines. Speakers warn: "No announcements will be made by telephone, be attentive to the displays." But ... What screen? There are thousands, with flight number, time, carrier and destination: Moscow, Dublin, Manchester, Hamburg, Kingston, Montevideo, Mexico, Houston, New York, Anchorage, Beijing. Miles! How to find Buenos Aires? In the notes that we have not specified (as they did before) Door-Gate, and sector number. Nothing. We have to look at screens. Tourists must self-managed, though not even know the language, because an airport is not a group dedicated to serving slave like pashas, \u200b\u200bthe obese passengers comfortable. Not so. The people of the air terminal is busy and impatient. Has things to do.
again force us to leave our shopping (which is money) to move a hand loading our stuff in every elevator, every change of area, each control. We
broken-backed, after 2 hours and fearing that the plane leave without us, a huge gallery of 80 meters wide and two miles long. There are advertised different gates that respond to the indication Zeta-1, Zeta-2, etc. After much walking, I see that Zeta-9 going to Zagreb. This means that we are far from shipment to Buenos Aires, if we are to follow a geographical logic!
Finally, when I despaired, we find Zeta-Buenos Aires. The flight departs at 23.45 and are 22. There are armchairs. We crumble, to be soothing to the kidneys.
know it is essential to eat something, because the total trip Barcelona-Madrid-Buenos Aires takes 16 hours. Since the present moment until the hostess served us a nice hot bowl of chicken or pasta, will spend four or five hours. We faint with hunger. And that's only going to Buenos Aires! There are passengers to Beijing, Vladivostok or Tacna! How will these fellow prisoners? Will these poor people collapsed on the floor, sleeping in a suitcase for a pillow, covered with a coat, the world's forgotten? Maybe. There is always at an airport, someone who is worse than one.
Luckily, just two blocks away from my chair there is a bar to pass. They are lining up behind two dozen Senegalese, Mexican, French and Eskimos. All standing and the broken face of exhaustion. Suddenly, we're about a tall, thin, very seriously, which apparently has something to do with the authorities of something.
- Gentlemen, this is closed! We can not attend! They have to go to the next bar, is at 24.
- But ... Does the 24 what?
- 24, 24 ... there.
And according to a vague point in the distance. I begin to leave in a hurry with my Senegalese friends, Eskimo and Mexican. After 1000 meters we come to another bar. Lined. We note that the bar has no tables. Standing there to wait until our turn, take the tray, choose a sandwich and a soda, browse through the shelves and illuminated confusing some other edible. One woman quietly revised sandwiches. The commissioned admonishes
- Please lady, I touch you snacks! If all will play ... be damaged.
- just do not touch them, sir, just trying to see what they have inside. Thus, outside, is not ... Do you understand?
- I understand, but do not touch, ma'am, please. While Mrs.
it becomes red and almost sobbing, I come to the box. Euro payment a miraculously preserved. I look around. There are no tables. Only a counter to eat standing. All passengers are still standing, and very bad face.
unwrap my sandwich and when I'm going to take the first bite, it occurs to me watching the clock: The 23.45, departure time! I take a drink the gas and go running, without eating. Crossed the thousand meters of galleries in a panic because I have announced that "no indications telephony will." At this point, my plane may have been gone.
I arrived on time, thank God. Feet again. A long line of approach. Another long line in the manga. Another long line in the aisles. When we got to our seat, is actually 1.05. We're hungry.
Oh surprise! Our seats do not match each other. The airline has divorced. Then recall that back in the game, we were warned that these notes (apparently a promotion, a promotion that we do not, a voucher to travel somewhere casting equipment) without number. You can only get the number, and the corresponding row, 24 hours before departure, and the Internet. The computer does not have traveled and there. When (one day ago) we connect to the damn company, a machine we "threw" a number of seat to my wife and another to me, but quite far from each other. Once on the plane, other passengers pray we exchanged seats, to keep our family together in adversity, after many vicissitudes. But no one wanted:
- Two months ago I have booked this seat to travel aisle! - Said angry lady. Without doubt, had paid a special rate we did not know ... We in our infinite innocence always think that our seats were good ones! Not the first, not the Business, does not the Premium, not the Executive. Travel only, nothing else: the noble and humble tourist.
Finally, a woman (Patricia) I heard on the radio for thirty years, sympathized and gave me his seat in exchange, so my wife and I can comment on the emotions experienced.
When I ask my English friends what he should build a huge airport so as to fly simultaneously million people in which large rooms are glazed and color gallery completely empty, closed or abandoned, they say, "This is a bedroom-sized airport, the aircraft that is ... sleep here, do not have to go to Frankfurt and Dallas . why it is so huge. Of course, this means for passengers to walk and walk. "
I wonder: What does it for me an airport-bedroom? How do I benefit from taking a train inside the airport, and lifts disconcerting and dizzy galleries and bars closed, and footer rows, and baggage checks?
I unfruitful. It is a long torture. With the detail that the tortured have paid $ 2000 per capita to be harassed, stripped, scanned, corridos, abused. Security measures, "he will say, are inevitable. Aftermath of 11 September and the bombing of the Twin Towers. Okay, but I bombed the Twin Towers.
I just want to go, and I'm paying too much money to walk around the world or to visit my family. I want to be treated.
suspect that everything would be better controlled in a small airport, human action, to fly to nearby destinations and moderates. Everything would be better (I suspect) if he had aero-stations in each provincial capital, watched by local police, with people more aware and in need of work.
engineers who design these airports-monster, no doubt costing millions of euros, will receive international awards, and government officials will be very proud when the mole horrible design reminiscent of a predatory bird, appears on the cover of Fortune or the Wall Street Journal. Okay. But we, the passengers, the proletariat with his blood and his two thousand dollars per-capita support the whole system ... What do we gain?
All of us live, hostesses, stewards, pilots, Free-shop girls, the security police, the guards with their drug dogs, owners and operators of carts ghost train. All. They should remember the words of Uruguayan President José Mujica, when rebuked the strikers of a state oil company, "You are to serve, not to serve."
is the essence of democracy. Public and private officials should serve us (the proletariat air) instead of cash in our anguish and our bewilderment.
If commercial aviation does not return to its core business, he predicted a quick end. Hood. And back to the ships, which arrive later but we take comfort and care surround us. As appropriate, taking account of what it's worth the ticket. Finally, we have so much trouble, just about live.
An aggregate. We appreciate the genius of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates's talent, but half of existing computers would fly away. Or better yet: give away the machines to schools and schools so that children are better prepared to face the world ahead. Computers, how they are working today (dictators trade blind and deaf man) hinder thousands of people who were awkward before touching a keyboard.
all part of a perversion that could be called cyber-world, governed by new rules, theoretically very practical.
For example: phones travelers to book three nights in a hotel New Orleans. But the line connected, in fact, a call-center. That is, an office with twenty young men and women, located in Cordoba (Argentina) Manila or Tegucigalpa. These guys that shipped on the phone, charging $ 400 per month, only read what is displayed on a screen. They do not know the hotel in New Orleans, nor other facilities for working as a restaurant in the Catalan Pyrenees and Spa in Patagonia. Therefore, do not know whether German passengers on the second floor to get up early, use the pool or plan to stay longer. They know nothing. They can not help anyone. Precisely: you can not "serve." Just read what's on the screen. Know whether the sun is shining on the east side rooms and, therefore, makes them hot. Know what are the closest to the breakfast, which they are en suite. Even know what is "en suite". Belong to a generation that relies on computers and displays. It has not felt anything in his own skin. Moreover, adolescents who "work" on call centers in the world do not feel the slightest interest in the hotel, restaurant, university, conference center or the Korean brothel for which they have been-indirectly-employed. They just want to meet the 8 hours of work to escape their homes and into the arms of his girlfriend. Do not know what is their German masters, Argentine or Chilean who call. And what are their problems. Or what is the place where these problems would occur. They are youngsters who transmitted messages. For example, at 3, as follows: "Mr. Fernandez, wake up and go to pay his debt to Mr. Gonzalez." Everything in the finest tradition of chivalrous style ... A delicacy!
This is part of what today is called "outsourcing." A ruthless way to wash your hands.
Last year I got a ticket to Barcelona for a Friday and, after a week, the company's own employees told me casually that my flight had been canceled, therefore, would not fly on Friday night but on Wednesday before the morning.
- But I can not travel that day! Protested, "There are no less than 48 hours apart ... I have a commitment, license permits, contracts to fulfill .... "How dare they do this?
- not us, sir. It was the system - told me a sweet blond girl with green eyes that would have worked well in the portals of Auschwitz.
Whatever happens, they never were. It was the system. Too bad system ... At what point we will have chosen?
By Rolando Hanglin
Notes from a trip Buenos Aires-Madrid-Barcelona-Madrid-Buenos Aires
I do not trust the holds of airplanes, because I know million bags are lost in the airport terminals in the world with its multibillion-dollar burden sweaters, teddy bears, earrings and shoes for basketball secretary. But this time I played, to keep your hands free. Valiantly dispatched the main luggage, in order to feel nimble and lightweight.
But in the hands-free, carries a passport, dollars, airline tickets, the boarding-card, toothbrush, tissues, aspirin, deodorant, toothpaste, cologne, a sweater, a jacket, your daily medications (typical, the pill of the night, a mouthwash and eye drops) roles of migration, any purchase held at the Free-shop. I weighed: all accused in the balance 6 kilos. Then come
walks of 1500 meters. All travelers are looking for your cart. In Barajas, an employee hauling 60 trolleys. I asked: Can I leave one? Annoyed replied: No, these are for those who go! Look you in the other room ...
just was not looking, I stole a cart and fled like a criminal, with my wife accomplice. I loaded my stuff. I walked the mile, to stop the train, because the modern air stations have their own internal train, and display it proudly
- will have to leave the cart. In the next room there will be others ...
downloaded all my knickknacks, I took her up and got on the train. Ten minutes passed and we reached a site that was both U, S, 36, and Zeta, with different colors. Then a airport employee: Where do I get off to fly to Buenos Aires?
- Get off at Zeta.
- Aha. "And this is the first stop?
- Do not worry, there is only one stop. Everyone goes there.
- And so why put U, S, 36, and Zeta?
- I do not know, man ...
We arrived at the station. "Down or not down? There was a woman on the speaker:
- All passengers leave the car immediately.
descended instantly. Now, to urgently seek a cart! What if we sat down to rest? It is late, the plane would leave and not even know where we are.
found a cart and loaded our gear. Walked thousands of feet, the terrified couple of other tourists, to reach passport control. We were forced again to leave the cart. Remove your shoes, jacket, key chains, wallet, coat, watch. Going through the scanner. Be cached. Retrieve belongings after the scanner. Find another cart!
now walking again. There are no guidelines. Speakers warn: "No announcements will be made by telephone, be attentive to the displays." But ... What screen? There are thousands, with flight number, time, carrier and destination: Moscow, Dublin, Manchester, Hamburg, Kingston, Montevideo, Mexico, Houston, New York, Anchorage, Beijing. Miles! How to find Buenos Aires? In the notes that we have not specified (as they did before) Door-Gate, and sector number. Nothing. We have to look at screens. Tourists must self-managed, though not even know the language, because an airport is not a group dedicated to serving slave like pashas, \u200b\u200bthe obese passengers comfortable. Not so. The people of the air terminal is busy and impatient. Has things to do.
again force us to leave our shopping (which is money) to move a hand loading our stuff in every elevator, every change of area, each control. We
broken-backed, after 2 hours and fearing that the plane leave without us, a huge gallery of 80 meters wide and two miles long. There are advertised different gates that respond to the indication Zeta-1, Zeta-2, etc. After much walking, I see that Zeta-9 going to Zagreb. This means that we are far from shipment to Buenos Aires, if we are to follow a geographical logic!
Finally, when I despaired, we find Zeta-Buenos Aires. The flight departs at 23.45 and are 22. There are armchairs. We crumble, to be soothing to the kidneys.
know it is essential to eat something, because the total trip Barcelona-Madrid-Buenos Aires takes 16 hours. Since the present moment until the hostess served us a nice hot bowl of chicken or pasta, will spend four or five hours. We faint with hunger. And that's only going to Buenos Aires! There are passengers to Beijing, Vladivostok or Tacna! How will these fellow prisoners? Will these poor people collapsed on the floor, sleeping in a suitcase for a pillow, covered with a coat, the world's forgotten? Maybe. There is always at an airport, someone who is worse than one.
Luckily, just two blocks away from my chair there is a bar to pass. They are lining up behind two dozen Senegalese, Mexican, French and Eskimos. All standing and the broken face of exhaustion. Suddenly, we're about a tall, thin, very seriously, which apparently has something to do with the authorities of something.
- Gentlemen, this is closed! We can not attend! They have to go to the next bar, is at 24.
- But ... Does the 24 what?
- 24, 24 ... there.
And according to a vague point in the distance. I begin to leave in a hurry with my Senegalese friends, Eskimo and Mexican. After 1000 meters we come to another bar. Lined. We note that the bar has no tables. Standing there to wait until our turn, take the tray, choose a sandwich and a soda, browse through the shelves and illuminated confusing some other edible. One woman quietly revised sandwiches. The commissioned admonishes
- Please lady, I touch you snacks! If all will play ... be damaged.
- just do not touch them, sir, just trying to see what they have inside. Thus, outside, is not ... Do you understand?
- I understand, but do not touch, ma'am, please. While Mrs.
it becomes red and almost sobbing, I come to the box. Euro payment a miraculously preserved. I look around. There are no tables. Only a counter to eat standing. All passengers are still standing, and very bad face.
unwrap my sandwich and when I'm going to take the first bite, it occurs to me watching the clock: The 23.45, departure time! I take a drink the gas and go running, without eating. Crossed the thousand meters of galleries in a panic because I have announced that "no indications telephony will." At this point, my plane may have been gone.
I arrived on time, thank God. Feet again. A long line of approach. Another long line in the manga. Another long line in the aisles. When we got to our seat, is actually 1.05. We're hungry.
Oh surprise! Our seats do not match each other. The airline has divorced. Then recall that back in the game, we were warned that these notes (apparently a promotion, a promotion that we do not, a voucher to travel somewhere casting equipment) without number. You can only get the number, and the corresponding row, 24 hours before departure, and the Internet. The computer does not have traveled and there. When (one day ago) we connect to the damn company, a machine we "threw" a number of seat to my wife and another to me, but quite far from each other. Once on the plane, other passengers pray we exchanged seats, to keep our family together in adversity, after many vicissitudes. But no one wanted:
- Two months ago I have booked this seat to travel aisle! - Said angry lady. Without doubt, had paid a special rate we did not know ... We in our infinite innocence always think that our seats were good ones! Not the first, not the Business, does not the Premium, not the Executive. Travel only, nothing else: the noble and humble tourist.
Finally, a woman (Patricia) I heard on the radio for thirty years, sympathized and gave me his seat in exchange, so my wife and I can comment on the emotions experienced.
When I ask my English friends what he should build a huge airport so as to fly simultaneously million people in which large rooms are glazed and color gallery completely empty, closed or abandoned, they say, "This is a bedroom-sized airport, the aircraft that is ... sleep here, do not have to go to Frankfurt and Dallas . why it is so huge. Of course, this means for passengers to walk and walk. "
I wonder: What does it for me an airport-bedroom? How do I benefit from taking a train inside the airport, and lifts disconcerting and dizzy galleries and bars closed, and footer rows, and baggage checks?
I unfruitful. It is a long torture. With the detail that the tortured have paid $ 2000 per capita to be harassed, stripped, scanned, corridos, abused. Security measures, "he will say, are inevitable. Aftermath of 11 September and the bombing of the Twin Towers. Okay, but I bombed the Twin Towers.
I just want to go, and I'm paying too much money to walk around the world or to visit my family. I want to be treated.
suspect that everything would be better controlled in a small airport, human action, to fly to nearby destinations and moderates. Everything would be better (I suspect) if he had aero-stations in each provincial capital, watched by local police, with people more aware and in need of work.
engineers who design these airports-monster, no doubt costing millions of euros, will receive international awards, and government officials will be very proud when the mole horrible design reminiscent of a predatory bird, appears on the cover of Fortune or the Wall Street Journal. Okay. But we, the passengers, the proletariat with his blood and his two thousand dollars per-capita support the whole system ... What do we gain?
All of us live, hostesses, stewards, pilots, Free-shop girls, the security police, the guards with their drug dogs, owners and operators of carts ghost train. All. They should remember the words of Uruguayan President José Mujica, when rebuked the strikers of a state oil company, "You are to serve, not to serve."
is the essence of democracy. Public and private officials should serve us (the proletariat air) instead of cash in our anguish and our bewilderment.
If commercial aviation does not return to its core business, he predicted a quick end. Hood. And back to the ships, which arrive later but we take comfort and care surround us. As appropriate, taking account of what it's worth the ticket. Finally, we have so much trouble, just about live.
An aggregate. We appreciate the genius of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates's talent, but half of existing computers would fly away. Or better yet: give away the machines to schools and schools so that children are better prepared to face the world ahead. Computers, how they are working today (dictators trade blind and deaf man) hinder thousands of people who were awkward before touching a keyboard.
all part of a perversion that could be called cyber-world, governed by new rules, theoretically very practical.
For example: phones travelers to book three nights in a hotel New Orleans. But the line connected, in fact, a call-center. That is, an office with twenty young men and women, located in Cordoba (Argentina) Manila or Tegucigalpa. These guys that shipped on the phone, charging $ 400 per month, only read what is displayed on a screen. They do not know the hotel in New Orleans, nor other facilities for working as a restaurant in the Catalan Pyrenees and Spa in Patagonia. Therefore, do not know whether German passengers on the second floor to get up early, use the pool or plan to stay longer. They know nothing. They can not help anyone. Precisely: you can not "serve." Just read what's on the screen. Know whether the sun is shining on the east side rooms and, therefore, makes them hot. Know what are the closest to the breakfast, which they are en suite. Even know what is "en suite". Belong to a generation that relies on computers and displays. It has not felt anything in his own skin. Moreover, adolescents who "work" on call centers in the world do not feel the slightest interest in the hotel, restaurant, university, conference center or the Korean brothel for which they have been-indirectly-employed. They just want to meet the 8 hours of work to escape their homes and into the arms of his girlfriend. Do not know what is their German masters, Argentine or Chilean who call. And what are their problems. Or what is the place where these problems would occur. They are youngsters who transmitted messages. For example, at 3, as follows: "Mr. Fernandez, wake up and go to pay his debt to Mr. Gonzalez." Everything in the finest tradition of chivalrous style ... A delicacy!
This is part of what today is called "outsourcing." A ruthless way to wash your hands.
Last year I got a ticket to Barcelona for a Friday and, after a week, the company's own employees told me casually that my flight had been canceled, therefore, would not fly on Friday night but on Wednesday before the morning.
- But I can not travel that day! Protested, "There are no less than 48 hours apart ... I have a commitment, license permits, contracts to fulfill .... "How dare they do this?
- not us, sir. It was the system - told me a sweet blond girl with green eyes that would have worked well in the portals of Auschwitz.
Whatever happens, they never were. It was the system. Too bad system ... At what point we will have chosen?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment