remember, remember the 5th of november.
introducing neals is a cyberpunk hiphopera that i hope people give a shit about. i’ve been working on it since february or march of this year and finally wrapped all the recording and stuff last month. it will be a testament to my insanity and ambition.
Your comment form was limited to 15000 characters, but I needed a few thousand more to properly vent my frustration. Thanks for understanding.
To Whom It May Concern:
I already know how this is going to go down - I am going to write a gigantic wall of text about how upset I am with my recent flights and interpersonal experiences with some of your employees the past week, and you are going to pretend to care about my first world problems. If you do not like to read long, drawn out whining that has been furiously transcribed on an airport floor by an irate, quasi-famous computer nerd, please forward this diatribe onto a fellow co-worker in your department with a heart of gold and a love for poorly written novels with little emotional payoff. However, if reading the rants of a mentally unstable and chronically anxious customer of your airline is your idea of a good time, today is your lucky day!
Roz at the US Airways customer service desk in the Charlotte airport (who was very helpful) told me my best course of action was to articulate my story in writing and submit it to your website - a course of action also corroborated by a response issued by your official twitter account (https://twitter.com/USAirways/status/467342229292347392). Roz also said that if I compiled a reasonable list of demands in conjunction with my story (even the semi-brief, touching version she heard), there is a high probability someone would descend from Mount Olympus to compensate me. Like every true, red-blooded American, I really just want an arbitrary amount of free stuff to cheer me up. A free flight good for the continental 48 states, some free upgrades, a handful of playing cards, a crateful of sticky pilot wings, whatever - I am a reasonably forgiving individual. To help you determine what amount of free stuff you are willing to part with to satiate my frustation, I offer up this written account of my recent journey with your company. The majority of this letter serves as a backstory for the level of garbage I endured, but if you just want the “last straw” element that led to this letter being drafted, you may exercise your right to spoiler alert and skip to the section marked “THE END”. There is one employee in particular who deserves a SERIOUS reprimand for the way he treated me in front of every customer within earshot, and if he remains an employee of your airline, he should personally apologize for his actions, and never pull anything like that again.
I am a grown man who is acutely aware of the fact that airline companies do not control the weather. I am also acutely aware that life is occasionally unfair and the meaning of life itself has been a hotly debated topic since the emergence of human language. To be perfectly honest, I feel incredibly blessed to be alive in a time period where human flight is even a possibility, so please do not dismiss me as the “complainy” type. I usually never do anything remotely like this because, frankly, my time is best allocated engaging in more positive and profitable endeavors - so pretty please, with sugar on top, empathize with me and know that I am truly miffed over this whole ordeal. I travel very frequently and have had my fair share of mishaps occur over the years, yet for some reason this stands head and shoulders above everything insane I have ever experienced.
My misadventure began May 8th, 2014 on flight AA109 out of Denver on my way to Miami. The Dallas area was under siege by a thousand tornados, so, understandably, flying a plane safely under those conditions proved difficult. After a series of delays occurred in half-hour increments for my flight and others like it, eventually all flights from Denver to Dallas were cancelled, and a terminal full of people collectively threw up their hands and grumbled. Approximately two hundred irritated souls arranged themselves into a single file line leading to the desk at the gate, verbally engaging in makeshift contests with their neighbors over who had been inconvenienced the most that morning. Even though our queue was moving slower than freeze dried molasses, we were galvanized by our collective struggle - our own personal Gray Thursday.
I had checked luggage with all of my toiletries, clothes, and some expensive audio/video equipment, so naturally I was concerned about the status of my bag. I called the AA baggage hotline at 800-535-5225 and was informed that I had been rebooked on US Airways 657 departing the following morning at 6:50am. This new route would take me through Charlotte to Miami and I was assured my checked luggage with the materials that I needed for the conference I was presenting and performing at would be joining me. I wandered aimlessly for a few hours, exploring the mysteries of the Denver International Airport until I could successfully con someone to come and pick me up. Luckily, because I live in the Denver area, I had the opportunity to go home, shower, change, eat, and sleep in my own bed. The fate of my comrades-in-arms on their way to Dallas via Denver who did not have the same luxury of an in-area residence as I did I would not fully understand until my return flight, but I will address that piece of the puzzle soon enough.
On the morning of May 9th, I called the US Airways baggage hotline at 800-371-4771 to confirm that my luggage would arrive with me in Miami. The agent explained that even though the merger between your two companies wasn’t totally completed yet, a nebulous, magical, inter-company system (the air traffic control of suitcases) would ensure that my bag would be accompanying me, regardless of which airline I was flying. Relieved, I confidently boarded my flight with restored faith in modern aviation.
I stood motionless in front of an awkwardly rotating luggage carousel in sunny Florida, gazing intently at the dark, flap-covered portal that was spitting out bag after unfamiliar bag. With the words of the two baggage agents echoing in my head, my fellow travelers darted around me, swiftly collecting their respective belongings off of the conveyor belt and exiting into waiting vehicles outside. My optimistic anticipation turned to agitated fear as the mostly-barren carousel came to an abrupt stop, along with the reassuring feeling that I was given by a random baggage agent just a few hours earlier.
My heart sank. I felt betrayed. As a man with deep-seated trust issues to begin with, I could not believe that I was lied to so brazenly. After quickly progressing through the various stages of grief, I gathered my thoughts (since I had none of my luggage to gather) and tried to determine who was to blame. Was it AA? Was it US Airways? Were they one in the same now, or were they two separate co-conspirators in a vast plot to undermine my sanity by diverting my baggage to places unknown?
I informed the organizers of the conference of my dilemma and spent the next 45 minutes or so bouncing between the two baggage offices. The agents at both locations, while eager and of pleasant disposition, were distracted by a plethora of incoming and outgoing phone calls. I no longer felt alone, as it was obvious there were others just like me somewhere in the world, frantically dialing whoever they could to locate their lost possessions.
It was finally determined that the fault lied with US Airways, and my baggage was on a flight set to arrive in Miami a few hours later. Because the conference was in full swing and I had obligations to meet the attendees as an honored guest, I filed a claim for luggage delivery (MIAUS02392077). My luggage was delivered to my hotel at 11:11PM, and at this point I had actually written this ordeal off as a cost of doing business in a futuristic society.
The truly infuriating part of this story took place a week later during my return flight on May 15th. I was booked on flight 499 - Miami to Charlotte, then continuing onto Denver on the SAME aircraft. Obviously not learning my lesson from the previous week, I checked the same bag (filled with my toiletries, clothes, and expensive electronics), assuming that my bag would be safely somewhere underneath my seat in the cargo hold of the plane for the entirety of my voyage.
When I arrived at the gate, I noticed a strangely familiar, sizable line assembled in front of the adjacent service desk. The flight had been delayed, perhaps by the same accursed weather pattern that had wreaked havoc on Dallas a week prior. Scores of human beings were trying to reschedule their connecting flights as a result of the delay, but I was comforted by the fact that my “connecting flight” was on the same aircraft.
We board and take off about an hour and a half late. I fall asleep on the plane, shamelessly drooling all over my beard. I am one with the universe, until we land.
I begin organizing my belongings in my backpack to deplane and use the airport restroom before reboarding when I noticed my seatmate had dropped his phone on the floor. When I picked it up and returned it to him, we struck up a conversation just long enough to become archetypal Palahniuk single-serving friends. His travel plans were rattled by the delay, so he planned on getting a hotel in Charlotte for the night. I told him to hit me up if he needed anything because he seemed like an interesting dude. We bumped bro-fists, slid out of our row when it was our time, and meandered down the jetway.
Returning from the bathroom, I glanced at the departure information on the gate I had just come from and neither 499 nor Denver was anywhere to be found. I asked the gate agent what happened and he sternly pointed to his right at a small line of people and told me to stand in it for further information. My newly minted friend was standing at the rear of this line, and I immediately realized that I had been bamboozled. There are no red-eyes to Denver from Charlotte at midnight - you sneaky snakes pulled an equipment swap on my flight and shipped a load of people back to Denver without me. Please understand, I had made plans to visit my uncle who was/is in the hospital Friday morning and a daughter I needed to pick up from school Friday afternoon - this is why my return flight was booked the way it was. My heart sank. I felt betrayed. As a man with deep-seated trust issues to begin with, I could not believe that I was lied to so brazenly. I was counting on you.
The man handing out new boarding passes for the following morning to the five or six of us wasn’t handing out hotel or meal vouchers because “there were none available.” My new bro and I decided to throw down our own hard earned money on a hotel, a cab, and some food together, thus the kindness of fast friends prevailed, no thanks to you. Through some nefarious connections and my dubious notoriety on the Internet, we were able to acquire weed and a six pack of brews in a foreign land, delivered to our hotel room at ~2AM. These substances were paramount in assuaging the seething disdain I had by now developed for your airline - having to come out of pocket on a bunch of unnecessary expenses, and the inconvenience of once again not having the luggage I entrusted you with.
A handful of hours later, we took the hotel shuttle to the airport, said our goodbyes, and parted ways. EVEN AT THIS POINT, I probably would have written everything off as LOL Universe, but it was how I was treated the morning of May 16th that marked the tipping point of me wasting my time writing this stupid letter.
It was approximately 9:00am when I approached the kiosk in Charlotte to check in to my flight to see if there were any first class upgrades available, because I am a crazy person and giving your airline more money seemed like a good idea. I tried every method of check-in possible, only to realize that my boarding pass WASN’T EVEN A BOARDING PASS - printed across the front in capital letters was the phrase “FLIGHT COUPON REQUIRED.” (exhibit a: http://i.imgur.com/rnhfgTt.jpg) I also needed to figure out where the hell my baggage wound up this time anyway, so I got into line.
A ticket agent named Joyce was directing traffic, pointing people in the line toward open kiosks for check-in. When I reached the front of the line, Joyce instinctively pointed me toward a kiosk. I told her that I had already tried that and that I needed to talk to a human being to settle my issues. She directed me toward station 29 on the far right, where a gentleman in a suit was helping a customer. I was standing a good six feet behind and to the left of this customer, waiting patiently for my turn to speak to the agent.
Now, I can understand that I probably looked like a homeless wizard in a slightly-worn Adidas tracksuit, but I didn’t really have much of a choice - if you guys would’ve had your way, I would’ve slept on the floor of Charlotte airport and looked terrible anyway. Having no luggage does strange things to a person.
Anyway, this guy starts yelling at me totally out of the blue asking me why I am standing there and crowding his customer. I politely responded that Joyce had told me to come over to his station for assistance - he cuts me off mid-sentence with “I don’t care what she said, get back in line.” I JUST CAME FROM THE LINE! This was in full view of other customers, a group of which had just heard Joyce direct me over there - staring at his reaction with a quixotic look on their faces, then back at me with a look of sympathetic disbelief. I BEG you to check the cameras and verify this exchange - again, it happened around 9:10 - 9:20am. I believe his name is H. Beasley.
Thoroughly furious, I walked back over to Joyce and I told her that “the guy you just directed me to at station 29 told me to fuck off, who can I talk to for some real assistance?” Joyce said that Elizabeth on the far left could take care of me, to which I snidely asked if “she was going to tell me to fuck off too.” Joyce insisted that Elizabeth was nice, which she was.
I explained to Elizabeth H. an abridged version of what had transpired the past twelve hours, asked her politely to locate my luggage, and to please get me a real boarding pass. Her and a gentleman named George for some reason could not print me a real boarding pass and wound up on the phone, on hold, with some other department in your airline for roughly thirty minutes. This prompted Elizabeth to hang up the telephone, go into the back room, and produce a paper ticket, which she filled out with all the requisite information (exhibit b: http://i.imgur.com/PO3ozAF.jpg). She also tracked down my luggage and found out that it was already waiting for me in Denver somehow.
In short, gold stars for Elizabeth, Joyce, Roz, and George for dealing with a highly irate version of me like a human being, and a steaming pile of dog feces for Mr. Beasley, whose name I was given off of the duty roster from one of your more personable employees.
At the very least, I would highly appreciate a response via email and/or a phone call. If anyone actually reads this entire thing, give yourself a gold star. It was a cathartic and spiritual experience authoring this. Thank you for your time.
Bryce Case, Jr.
sipping on a surge soda green like yoda
i have linked ytcracker.com and tumblr so this will now be the jumpoff for my inane ramblings. i also disabled the auto sign-in to chat on my website, so to hear the nostalgic dialup and AOL connection screen, you will need to actually double click on chat like some kind of barbarian.
i should be announcing more performance dates soon and i am working on finally getting some villains together to bang out my next “commercial” album. when it is complete, i still encourage stealing it, because stealing is fun.
i strongly dislike dianne feinstein.
lots of nerdyness.
Tuesday March 15th 2011
1:15 a.m. - 1:45 a.m. - ytcracker
12:30 a.m. - 1:00 a.m. - MC Frontalot
12:00 a.m. - 12:20 a.m. - Schaffer
11;30 p.m. - 11:50 p.m. - More or Les
11:00 p.m. - 11:20 p.m. - Jesse Dangerously
10:30 p.m. - 10:50 p.m. - Timbuktu
10:00 p.m. - 10:20 p.m. - Ghettosocks
9:30 p.m. - 9:50 p.m. - Wordburglar
9:00 p.m. - 9:20 p.m. - Random
8:30 p.m. - 8:50 p.m. - Dual Core
8:00 p.m. - 8:20 p.m. - Thought Criminals
http://www.ytcracker.com/v2011 will magically mirror this post like a boss.
basedworm said: I just read your ramblings and the e-mail within about your music literally turning lives around. I have to say that I feel the same way as him. You're easily the most listened to artist on my shit and it's because you're the realest rapper in the world. Whenever I have life to deal with, you're typically the very first artist I turn to because you seem to get that life happens, but you're also stronger than it and have to overcome it just like anything else. I had a break-up recently too, and it’s proven to be a little hard on me, more than I’d probably care to admit. All the shit you have to say helps almost instantly, and I’ve listened to you for over four years. Your music tells stories that you've been to the bottom only to rise back up to the top to shine light on all the little whodis and nurgas that follow you with unrelenting love and devotion. There's definitely some genuine hope within your music. Songs that exhibit this the most are ones like nerd ambition and brain dump, some of my personal favorites of your catalog.
Also, speaking as a fellow Loloradoan, you rep this state harder than anyone else I've ever known. The 303, 720 and 719 all deserve to know you as one of their own instead of bands like 3OH!3. We're all happy that you're repping us, the nerds, as hard as you possibly can. So, I think I speak for a lot of people when I say that we appreciate your work so much and always look forward to what you're going to do next, man. It gives a lot of people something to turn to, almost like a friend. It’s like depression doesn’t exist when YTCracker does, and there can only be one.
You're a true DG and nerd; you need sainthood from the spam god for sure. I hope I can meet you one day so I can shake your goddamn hand, sir.
David (Superior, CO)
thank you so much for the letter - it is letters like these that keep me inspired to keep making music
i love sharing the hardships and softships of nerd life through music and as long as people are listening, i will keep producing
we definitely have to meet and shake hands some day soon
I saw something on reddit today about using proper capitalization. Fuck that.
anyway, i am a science darkly chilling in nerdcore stickam upgrading my server on some open source science when i realize damn isn’t open source the bomb seriously mad whodis just like “shit i’m going to contribute to some boss ass shit y’all use and don’t even realize” oh yea easy apache you got me yea you got me sup php you got me you got me yea whodi you got me i do this while listening to “every day i’m hustlin’” dubstep remix like “yo these whodis is hustlin’ but they ain’t doing it for the cream they doing it for the science - THE SCIENCE”
man that’s how i feel about music
all ye rappers understand that we out here just hustlin’ but you don’t have to hustle for cheddar just hustle for the love of a whodi, you feel me?
we are changing LIVES mang - i got me an email today let me holler at some cut and paste -
"Hey, YTC, just wanted to say… thanks bro for all that you do man. I’ve been fightin depression since i found my ex is a cheating whore (lol girls srs biz); and well— the only thing that keeps me goin some times is to just chill out and listen to your music. Shit is so inspiring, nerd’s own the planet. Words are a motherfucker, ya know, say the right thing when a person is hurtin’ and Dude shit gets fixed. So yea man, just wanted to say. I’m probably one of your biggest canadian fan’s and I love what you do. thanks man"
yea fuck you haters fork() you haters double you triple you i will murder ye in my brainspace
edgar allen poe allen ginsberg ye dark scientists knew what the world was holla at a whodi fmi FMI