by the way, do you know flight 333 has shipped my iPod to Dallas?
I’ve left so many messages on so many machines, talked to one girl who claimed to be out sick for a week who transferred me to another who claimed to be sick for the next two days. Find out they’ve shipped my iPod to Dallas, despite my strong expression that they leave it where it is, and I will fly over to Oakland and pick it up.
Seattle tells me they won’t even ship it back to me because of “we don’t ship any passengers’ items due to liability issues. You can give us your Fed Ex number.” Yet they decide to ship it to Dallas.
Where I assume, it will be examined aboard the Southwest Mothership.
What is going on?
My iPod disappears on Flight 333, to be deboarded by a flight attendant acting out of her own volition, to end up in Oakland which is close enough to my home town in time and place for me to physically go there the next week and pick it up, but they send it to Dallas. My birth place, where I have not returned since I was 2 months old.
What. the. fuck.
Clearly I’m being summoned to Dallas. Just like Team True Blood in the episodes I watched last week as I was preparing to come home. Clearly, I will also be required to stay at the sickest, sleakest hotel I can find. The kind where it’s always night, and if we’re not fucking you, it’s because it’d be too easy. Clearly.
Numbers:
Tracking 798 735 752 476
Phone 214 792 560 3600
She threw in extra digits for the phone number. Even she stopped and said, “No wait, that’s not it.” But I wrote down what she said, and this is what I saw: 9 9 9
Have you listened to a stranger read off a phone number that you suddenly realized was yours?
I was born 9, 3 times.
I was born 9 times, as 3.
Let’s write an ending in Dallas.