Despite Your Treacheries, I Am Home You Miserable Curs

Respected Weasels at SpiceJet Airlines,

I have a question. I submit it to you with the utmost incredulity, coupled with a genuine curiosity to know exactly what its surely justified answer is. I ask, why? Why do you do this? What insane joy does it bring you to play with the feelings of innocent, happy children who want nothing more than a well-flown flight back to their homeland?

There isn't much we demand from life. Or, since I musn't presume for my co-passengers (one of them grabbed three of those mottled toffees you enrich us with onflight, you vessels of sweet kindness you), at the very least I demand not much from life. I like to keep it simple. I study for one semester, keeping only some time aside for breaks of fun and frolic and peaceful walks in the park pondering over the fate of the universe lest I die an untimely, premature death or an asteroid snookers us straight into the sun. You know, cataclysmic events like that. But never mind. I study. When the time to stop studying finally nears, I do what any simple-minded, decent, humble, awesome individual would do. I book my tickets for home. Sweet home. And I arrange things nicely around that. As anyone would do. And I get bus tickets to the nearby city. And I get there. As anyone would do. And I drool a bit, thinking of the dinner at home that is surely being prepared now. As anyone would do.

But what do you do? You're not normal, simple people are you? You dont do things in a decent and organized way. There is one flight you have to take care of. It departs at 5:45 and it shall leave me home by 8:30. If you were simple and normal and decent and organized, you couldnt bungle it up. You would say to yourself, its my job to see that flight through, and I will do my job. I have a duty. I am a decent, organized, normal and simple person.

So what happens? Your being an evil, manipulative, hateful and incompetent douchebag gets in the way of all that. You text, saying that you're sorry but the flight has been postponed. It shall now depart at 7:30, you say in your most sincere electronic voice. I know you're bluffing the apology. You didnt even tell me if the inconvenience caused is regretted. I can imagine you laughing and gleefully rubbing your hands even as you spoke through that dead voice (which can't pronounce too well and says every number 3 seconds apart).

But my simple and normal soul (also organized, decent and awesome) did not seek to suspect at that moment. I tut-tutted and I forgave and I forgot.

Half an hour went by, before you felt in the need for another laugh. This time you move it up to 8:30. You hold your belly and you laugh till your sides hurt. My pain gave you joy and a reason to live. And I? I merely ran some minor abuses through my mind and carried on.

Again you struck. It was 10:30 this time. I looked up at the gods (not visible because Bangalore be a cloudy very place). I thought - This must be all. Surely in a world where everything that went around also came around, nothing more could happen. My flight's been delayed by over 4 hours and thats all.

You called again. You don't care. You just want to have your ridiculous fun. Its 11:30 now! Ha ha ha! Look at your face, you loser! Oh my pathetic life is enriched by the insignificant-in-the-larger-picture-of-life woe and misery that I've brought in yours! Woo! Hoo! He he he! *cackle cackle*

So I reach the airport. And my luggage is being weighed. And I cant even argue with the SpiceJet staff I see smiling all around, no doubt also in on the joke. For I have not the will to pursue your childish fancies and give you any further satisfaction.

You're a shameless dipshit. You make it 11:50. Right there, while I'm standing in line, you call again.

I cannot apologize for what followed. It was justified. You asked for it. The utter decimation of the SpiceJet kiosk at my hands. Bare hands. The ripping off limb from limb whatever screaming SpiceJet personnel that came within what I call my action radius. The raucous cheers from similarly frustrated but weak and chidden-crowd-types mass of passengers. The blood and flesh splattered across the glass walls of Bangalore Airport Domestic Departure. The bonfire of SpiceJet uniforms, reeking of blood and the smell of freshly squeezed human. The irreparable damage dealt to all but one SpiceJet airline at the airport by my mighty fist and mightier kick. My self-piloting the last plane all the way to Kolkata, after having dropped off the cabin crew a few miles into the Bay of Bengal.

No doubt you have heard of it by now. Assuming you've atleast still got a foot in reality, despite being incompetent and asinine and unreasonably dumbfuck-ish, you have heard.

Hear this too.

Commanding whatever power I possess, I exile you to the A&N Isles, dressed in nothing but one leaf out of your choice of tree, and rubbed with the flesh extracts of several poultry animals. I read once that the native cannibals track by smell too.

Yours sincerely, you insignificant worms,

C&B.