Richard Sherman and People Who Complain Too Much

Dear Aunt Slugger,

I was thinking that perhaps you might offer some advice to Richard Sherman, the football player who ranted to a sports reporter after a football game. He is so not classy.

Sincerely,
Britney Heather Clark
Muncie, Indiana


Dear Britney,

Well you know there's nothing your Aunt Slugger likes more than sports. And by "nothing," I mean, "everything." Your Aunt Slugger hates sports, sports fans, sporting events, and sports players. All of them. My parents are heavily into football and attempted to get me and my older brother interested in watching it. When football failed, they tried basketball, since that is a very popular sport in my home state. Baseball was also a huge bust because it was not clear to us how baseball is a sport. Then they got desperate, finally installing a tetherball in back yard. This, my brother and I enjoyed. We played a lot of tetherball. We excelled at tetherball. But none of the other sports took. We are a huge disappointment to our parents.

So I am finding it somewhat difficult to weigh in on the Richard Sherman thing. Prior to this incident, I had never heard of Richard Sherman. When Facebook blew up over him, I assumed that he had murdered someone on live television. I Googled him. I watched the interview.

I will grant you that it was weird. What the fuck is a "corner?" And who is "Crabtree?" So it was weird. He yelled. He ranted. He came across as arrogant if not slightly schizophrenic.

However. HOWEVER. I a.) do not understand what all the fuss is about, and b.) think all you people complaining about what a dick Richard Sherman is need to stop it with your double standards.

First of all, what Richard Sherman did in that interview is exactly what Lewis Black does every single time he opens his mouth. And people routinely exchange cash for tickets to see Lewis Black scream about something nonsensical. Your Aunt Slugger owns all his albums.

Second, and more important, let's stop for a moment and take a look at what happens when white people do the same thing.

First, we've got the wife of the New England Patriots quarterback pissing about why the Patriots lost a game. People were surprised, but no one called her a "thug" and she didn't have to draft a goddamn treatise explaining her actions. 

And on the subject of cocky douchebags, how about Adam Levine? The white frontman for Maroon 5 has run circles around Richard Sherman in the cocky quotes department. Yet people love him, except for your Aunt Slugger, who hates him. Facebook doesn't explode with anger or call him a thug when Adam Levine opens his mouth. Instead, people weep as though they have heard the voice of an angel.

Then there are of course the 65,098 political shows that air on news networks in which (mostly) white men scream at the camera about [insert some political issue]. So for those of you complaining that Richard Sherman had a chance to cool down before his interview (thus inferring that he should've sounded like Alan Greenspan reading an encyclopedia on camera), why aren't you saying the same thing about any political commentator who has ever appeared on "Meet the Press?" I mean, those folks have time to put on MAKEUP before they get in front of the camera and they STILL end up in fisticuffs on stage.

So I feel bad for Richard Sherman. I do. Yeah, the interview was weird, but no weirder than anything that's been said in the halls of Congress. He's also a pro athlete. Since when do we expect pro football players to be refined, aristocratic gentlemen? These are folks who get paid to voluntarily jump on a pile of wriggling, 300 pound men who are all fighting over a ball. I don't know what a "corner" is, but I am fairly certain (though don't quote me on this) that the corner's function is not to wear toe shoes and a tutu on the 50 yard line and perform "The Nutcracker."

Though I would actually pay to see that. Are you listening, NFL? Boom. Two advice columns in one. 

Delta Airlines

Dear Aunt Slugger,

I currently suffer from a variety of health problems, including terminal cancer, kidney failure, schizophrenia, mad cow disease, leprosy, and smallpox. Sometimes, these conditions are hard to manage, and I start to feel depressed about my impending death and--

You know what? If I had a dollar for every whiny letter I get from cancer-ridden schizophrenic lepers, I'd be installing a solid gold toilet in my bathroom right now. The world has enough problems without having to deal with some asshole bitching and moaning about being the first case of hemorrhagic smallpox since 1978.

So instead, we're going to talk about something far more important, which is, of course, your Aunt Slugger's recent struggle with a certain mainstream American airline that shall remain nameless in this column, unless of course that name is accidentally featured in large, boldface letters in the column's headline, which would be unfortunate, but also a sad reality of the internet.

As many of my loyal readers are aware, Aunt Slugger's advice column is headquartered in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which, as you may also be aware, was hit with a massive snowstorm over this past weekend. This past weekend also featured the Christmas holiday, which, for my loyal readers in remote areas of the Amazon River Basin, is a major holiday here in the United States. A few facts on the Christmas holiday:

1.) It always falls on December 25th.
2.) There is a high volume of air travel over the Christmas holiday so that people can see their families.
3.) Because of breakthroughs in modern calendar technology, there is a high likelihood of experiencing winter weather on or around December 25th.

So just keep those facts in your back pocket for a moment while your Aunt Slugger explains her specific situation. Your Aunt Slugger flew from Boston Logan International Airport to a mid-sized Midwestern city. On Christmas Eve, I checked the weather report and saw that most of the East Coast was going to be slammed with snow the day after Christmas, which was also the day I was slated to fly back to Boston. Just to reiterate a key point here: Your Aunt Slugger, who is a professional advice columnist with no formal training in meteorology, knew, several days beforehand, that it was going to snow at around the same time she was scheduled to arrive in Boston. Perhaps it's a stretch to assume this, but I tend to think that at least one airline employee would have also been privy to this weather report, which, for the record, is publicly available using newfangled technology like "the internet" and "newspapers."

Fast forward to the day after Christmas. The East Coast is getting slaughtered with snow and high-speed winds. In Massachusetts, houses are literally falling into the ocean. It was the sort of weather that makes a New Englander hunker down in the basement with extra supplies and a Midwesterner like myself draft blueprints for a bitchin' snowman. But it was not the sort of weather you fly a plane in, even if you are from the Midwest. So I was not surprised when my flight was canceled. I was surprised, though, when the flight was rescheduled for the following morning at 5:45a.m., when (again, using the widely available weather report) it was still supposed to be snowing and gusting wind.

So I phoned the airline. I received the following message (not verbatim, but close enough): "Due to extreme weather conditions, we are unavailable to take your call at this time. Please call again later, or use our website."

So I logged onto the website, which provided absolutely no pertinent information. I tried to call again. I got the same message. I went to Target and bought 50% off Christmas wrapping paper. I called again. I ate a donut. I called again. I fought with my brother over which variety of pizza to get for lunch. I called again. I read two chapters in a book. I called again.

Finally, after getting the same pre-recorded message again, I borrowed a car and drove down to the local airport. I found a representative for my specific airline. I explained my situation. I asked if I could be rescheduled for a later flight the next day or the day after because I was concerned that my flight would be canceled because of the snow. "No fucking way" was the response. The "fucking" was silent, but implied via tone and facial expression.

I got home and checked the status of my new 5:45a.m. flight. As you have already guessed because you are not a tub of unsalted butter, my flight was canceled. I called the airline and received the same pre-recorded message. So I borrowed a car AGAIN and drove back to the airport AGAIN, where I pleaded my case to the same employee. After much sighing and eyeball rolls, she put me on an 8am flight back to Boston on Wednesday - three days after my original departure.

Before I get a bunch of angry e-mails from people who work in the customer service industry, let me clarify two things:

1.) I am aware that airplanes should not be expected to fly in the snow.
2.) I am not one of those people who screams at customer service professionals.

So don't send me some typo-ridden letter pissing about how these people are underpaid and overworked and harassed all day and how I should let the occasional eyeball roll slide and so on and so forth. One of my first jobs was as a welfare caseworker, with over 300 cases and a government cubicle in the basement of an old Sears store. I had the monopoly on overworked and underpaid, so don't talk to me about overworked and under-fucking-paid, OK? Thank you.

Where was I? Ah, yes. So I got home and let my new flight details marinate for a little bit. I tried calling the airline several more times, but got the same message. I saw reports of other stranded passengers receiving vouchers for future air travel.

Finally, yesterday (Tuesday), I got through to someone at the airline. I explained my situation. They confirmed my flight details for Wednesday. I explained that as a longtime airline customer (I had in fact used frequent flier miles to pay for the ticket), I found it frustrating that I had to drive out to the airport twice to reschedule my flight because I couldn't get someone on the phone. I asked if I could get a free upgrade or two free bags on my next flight for the inconvenience.

As you already know because you have at least a preschool education, they told me to go fuck myself.

So this morning, I got up and headed to the airport in the frigid, silent, pre-dawn hours of the Midwest. At this point, I have been wearing the same pair of pants for five days. I am tired. But I am eager to get on the plane and get back to my apartment and my rigorous schedule of snacking and drafting advice columns.

Obviously, I did not make it out on this morning's flight. I am still in the Midwest. Still in the same pair of pants. And still five hours of flying away from unloading these half off gift tags into my closet.

However, there is a bright side to all of this, which is that it's refreshing to see that a business model that involves being under-prepared for a known disruption to the core service of your particular industry and then not giving two fucking shits about your customers not only works, but also sets you up to receive federal aid money.

So you see--what was your name again? You, the cancer patient scratching at that smallpox lesion? Well, whatever your name is, let's just see who has it worse off. At least you're not dealing with the airline industry.

Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger