Tag Archives: travel

The Top Ten Things Airlines Should Change

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I’m traveling this week, and it’s hard not to notice how some airlines have stripped down the comforts of flying to save money. On some airlines it’s so bad  that I’m surprised the seats aren’t just lawn furniture duct taped to the floor. Obviously when I’m elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I’m going pass laws mandating minimum standards of comfort on flights. Here are The Top Ten Things Airlines Should Change:

1. Heated massage seats: Seriously, how great would this be?

2. When boarding the passengers, fill the plane from back to front: This would prevent people from walking down the aisle hitting all the other passengers with their ridiculously oversized “carry on” and from preventing you from getting to your seat while they clog the aisle like a piece of human cholesterol (the bad kind) trying to jam their bag in the overhead compartment. And you first class people can stop your whining now. Whether you get on first or last the plane still leaves at the same time.

3. Have the pilot mix in a loop de loop now and then: Flights are boring. This would spice things up a bit. Hello passengers, please fasten your seat belts and put your hand on top of your drinks.. My co-pilot Bucky just bet me ten dollars that I can’t get this thing to do a barrel roll. 

4. Just let us roll down the window a little bit: There’s nothing worse than sitting next to the farty passenger in the stale, stagnant, recycled air. Sometimes I want to pull down the oxygen mask just to get a fresh breath. We’d only need to roll down the windows a little. They could put a lock on them so we can’t put them down far enough to get our heads out. (who just pictured being in a plane with your head out the window like a dog?)

5. Themed Flights: Just like themed cruises. Costumes, music, Disney characters, whatever. Hooters flights, why not?

6. A USB charging port at every seat: This is the biggest no-brainer ever.

7. A Shoes on policy: I don’t care what you’re reason is, no one should take their shoes off on a flight. It’s not a beach and I don’t need to see or smell your feet.

8. McDonald’s food on board: Or any decent baseline food that most people can recognize or accept. Airline food is not acceptable and under the Geneva Convention of 1949 qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.

9. The flight attendants should have sedatives: Not for anxious passengers, but for obnoxious ones. The flight attendants could release it remotely through those little blowers above each seat and the annoying passenger would doze off for the rest of the flight not even knowing why.

10. What’s Your Seat Wheel! All seats, including first class, will be determined by a spin of the wheel at the gate. How fun would that be? There will also be a mystery celebrity on board every flight and the seat next to them is also on the wheel. Congratulations! You didn’t get first class, but you do get to sit next to Dustin Diamond!

abcnews.go.com

abcnews.go.com

If you enjoyed what you read at #ThePhilFactor today please share by hitting the Facebook, Twitter or reblog buttons below. Have a great Tuesday! ~Phil

Hotel Hell

I have to travel occasionally for my job. Part of that travel is staying in hotels. Before you read the rest of this post I want you to know that I love staying in hotels. The room is always clean. You leave and come back and someone has made your bed. For these two things alone I would live in a hotel for the rest of my life if that were possible. But there are a few things that bug me…

Picture credit: driveaccord.net

Picture credit: driveaccord.net

Mandatory Valet Parking: I’m not worried about valet’s taking my car for joyrides like in Ferris Bueller. It’s not that great of a car.  I wish I went to a hotel with valets that cool. A hotel I occasionally have to stay at has mandatory valet parking. They are absolutely fanatical about it. The hotel feels the need to have full control of my vehicle, as if their parking garage is some sort of super secret military installation. I can see the lot where they’re going to put my car. It’s not a long walk and I’d prefer to just park it myself and walk in. That, however, is not an option. Neither is them handing over your keys if you need to go get something from your own car.  First the valet offered to go to my car and get what I needed. When I said I’d rather go rummage through my car myself they grudgingly allowed me to handle my own keys, but had a valet accompany me to my car to allegedly make sure I didn’t get myself run over. I think they’re hiding something. Maybe prostitutes turning tricks in my car during the night? He quickly took my keys back, probably to prevent me from seeing what they’re hiding, or from driving anywhere without tipping him. The next morning I wanted to put some things in my car before going to a meeting in the hotel. Guess what? This valet was so insistent about not giving up the keys that I gave up and just told him to throw it in the back seat. If I got my car back and they had converted it, adding all sorts of James Bond type modifications I’d be cool with that, but that never happens. It’s still the same crappy little car I brought there and I had to tip them for not letting me touch my own car for two days.

Picture credit: blog.memberclicks.com

Picture credit: blog.memberclicks.com

The Elevator People: These people are so annoying that this post was almost completely about them. The Elevator People are those people who just cannot relax about the elevator. If you’re standing with them waiting for an elevator they’re hitting the button repeatedly, like an angry woodpecker on Red Bull, until the elevator arrives. I imagine that if they’re in the elevator they pace furiously back and forth like a caged lion. They’re even more annoying if you’re in the elevator they want to get into. They wait in front of the elevator on their toes, ready to launch themselves into the metal box the moment those doors slide open. If you’re inside the elevator when it opens and you start to walk out you’re suddenly face to face with one of these tightly wound creatures because they had to charge into the elevator, never imagining that anyone might be inside. When I’m elected President, or Sexiest Man Alive, whichever comes first, I’m going to pass a law making it perfectly legal to punch these people right in the forehead if they attempt to enter the elevator before you’ve gotten out. Hey ladies, imagine if your guy was like this about sex. Just pushing the button over and over until the doors open and then rushing in immediately. Oh wait, we are like that.

The receipt under the door: Most hotels now have elves that sneak around in the dark of night to slip your receipt under your door while you sleep. I find that kind of creepy. Just leave me the hell alone while I’m sleeping! I don’t want to know that a stranger is lurking outside my door. This past hotel stay there was apparently a tremendous thunderstorm during the night that woke my co-workers. Not me. I slept straight through until…until I heard a pack of monkeys foraging for food outside my door. From the time and noise it took I was certain that the monkeys, with banshee-like intensity, had dis-assembled the Sunday New York Times and page by page, crumpled it up and forced it under my door.

I hope you enjoyed your stay at The Phil Factor. I’ll have the valet pull your car up. As always, if you enjoy #ThePhilFactor please feel free to share by hitting the Facebook, Twitter or re-blog button below. Have a great weekend! ~Phil

 

Throwback Thursdays! The Interminable Terminal

Originally seen on The Phil Factor 08/10/2013

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“Stop calling me Shirley!” I had to fly this week for work, and as always air travel is an adventure. Figuring that Mondays are busy at airports, because of all the business travelers, I got there about two hours before my flight to give me plenty of time to wait in lines and get some lunch before I got on my plane. All went as I had planned until I got to my gate about 15 minutes before the alleged boarding was to occur. My flight was delayed for an hour. So I got all Edward Snowden-like and went up to the girl at the Cinnabon counter and requested asylum. She didn’t seem to appreciate, or understand,  my brilliant current events humor.

I was flying somewhere for a job interview that I was very excited about and while I sat there waiting for my flight to board all I could think of was the verse from the Alanis Morrisette song Ironic  that goes: Mr. Play it Safe was afraid to fly, He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye, He waited his whole damn life to take that flight, And as the plane crashed down he thought “Well isn’t this nice…” And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think? Yup. Seriously. I couldn’t stop that song from playing in my head like it was on a loop. How awful is that?

My comedic genius was also not appreciated at the security check where, just for fun, when I stepped into that tall, round telephone booth-like scanner where you hold your hands over your head, as soon as it started I screamed as if my skin was on fire just to rattle the first time fliers nearby.

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That kind of behavior may explain why my checked luggage was searched on both my way to my destination and on my return the next day. I had a small suitcase. When I got to my hotel and opened it, it appeared as if the contents had been ransacked by a rabid monkey on Red Bull. Of course it had one of those oh-so-courteous notes telling me that TSA had “inspected” my luggage. My brother works for TSA, so I’m considering photoshopping a picture of him in his TSA uniform doing something terribly unspeakable with the President and putting that photo in my suitcase just to give them something else to think about next time they inspect my luggage. I’m also saving that TSA letter and putting it in my luggage when I pack just to confuse them the next time they do it.

Lastly, if airplanes are so technologically advanced that they can do whatever voodoo it is that makes a 200 ton object float in midair for hours, why do they still use the seat belts from a 1955 Buick Skylark?

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If only I had my own airline…

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As always, if you enjoyed your stay at #ThePhilFactor please return your seatbacks and tray tables to the upright position and click the Facebook, Twitter, or reblog share button below before deplaning. Have a great Thursday! ~Phil

Throwback Thursdays! GPS= Giant Pain in My A$$

This was first posted on The Phil Factor on 07/20/2013.

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For my job I do quite a bit of driving, so I have a GPS for my car. We’ve all seen the commercials where the guy professes his love for his GPS before regaining his senses, realizing that it is just a mechanical device. That won’t be my problem. I often do talk to my GPS as it’s talking to me, but we’re usually arguing. On a previous model I even switched the voice to that of a British woman, hoping that the accent would make it seem like much less of a nag. It doesn’t. Here are a few sample conversations between me and my GPS:

GPS: In two tenths of a mile turn right………….in one tenth of a mile turn right

Phil: I know! I can see it!

GPS:….in 200 feet turn right….

Phil: I know, I’m turning right!

GPS: Turn right

Phil: Shut up! I’m already turning. Leave me alone!

Or another example is when we disagree on directions. For instance yesterday I asked it directions to a specific restaurant and it wanted me to get on a toll road for something like a quarter mile.

GPS: Take ramp on left in 200 feet.

Phil: No. I’m not going to pay a toll just to go a half mile.

GPS: Take ramp on left

Phil: No. I’m not going to. I can see the restaurant from here.

GPS: As soon as possible make a U-turn.

Phil: No, I’m not going to go on the ramp. SHUT UP! I can see the restaurant.

GPS: Recalculating. Travel two tenths of a mile to destination on right.

Phil: See? I told you!

My relationship with my GPS has become so marital-like that just yesterday I took pleasure in sarcastically correcting it’s pronunciation of a street name.

Perhaps my terse demeanor is why my GPS sometimes gives me wrong directions and possibly tries to get me killed. It often has no regard for my safety when it directs me through crime infested, gang run neighborhoods, or down streets that are closed for construction. I think it’s out to get me. At some point I imagine myself pulling the thing off the dash and flinging it out onto the highway as I’m traveling at a very high rate of speed, laughing maniacally as it tumbles to it’s tiny electronic death still babbling at me. “Turn left in…oof…make a U-turn..oww….why Phil, why?”

If I’m ever stranded on a desert island I’m sure as hell not taking my GPS with me to keep me company. To quote the great philosopher, me, technology is the opiate of the asses.

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As always, if you enjoy what you read at #ThePhilFactor please hit the Facebook, Twitter or any other share button. I just discovered yesterday that someone had recently shared one of my blog posts on Pinterest, so yeah, I’m kind of a big deal. Also, if you like my writing in small bits here you might like one of my books in the right sidebar there.

Have a great Thursday everyone! ~Phil

Throwback Thursdays! Skinheads of the Caribbean 05/23/2005

I was inspired to post this throwback for two reasons. 1) I just returned from a trip much like I did nine years ago when I wrote this post when The Phil Factor was in it’s infancy, and 2) Just the other day the poetic Marissa of Glorious Results of a Misspent Youth wrote a great poem about vacationing with your kids.

Skinheads of the Caribbean 5/23/2005

For the most part I enjoyed all the rides at Disney World and most of the people who rode them with me and my family were well behaved and considerate. I was a little disturbed by the 40-ish woman who went on Splash Mountain alone, sat next to me, and seemed to chuckle at every thing the robotic cartoon characters did.
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In 1976 when my parents took me to Disney World they, for some unknown reason, elected not to take me on Pirates of The Caribbean. Maybe they were fearful I’d run off to join the merry hooligans as they wreaked havoc upon the seven seas. Or maybe they, like most parents, didn’t give a rats ass what their kids want towards the end of 10 hours walking around Disney and just wanted to get back to the hotel bar for a beer. Either way, I’ve spent the last 25 years feeling cheated that I missed out on that ride.

I felt that finally justice would be served as I proudly marched my kids into line for Pirates of The Caribbean. Then I noticed 4 young adults in line in front of me. They were “skinheads.” I say this not just because the three young men had shaved heads. It wasn’t the knee high leather boots they were all wearing that gave away their political leanings. Using my brilliant powers of deductive reasoning I concluded that they were “skinheads” because one of them had a tattoo on the back of his neck. It said, “skinhead.” I’m thinking that you’d better be pretty damn sure about your political affiliation to have it tattooed on your neck. What if in ten years he decides to be a Republican? Nevermind, bad example, the tattoo would still fit. I just never imagined that skinheads would choose Disney World for vacation. Don’t you think they would want to visit Alcatraz or perhaps the jail cell that Mr. Howell locked the Brady’s in when their Grand Canyon trip went awry? Although I don’t agree with the skinheads’ political and social beliefs I do have to say that this group was polite and well behaved, unlike my friend from Pittsburgh.

To read the reference to “my friend from Pittsburgh”, read: The Drunk that Saved Pittsburgh in it’s natural habitat on the original Phil Factor blog.  I was reminded of that particular post on my recent train ride from Paris to London when two drunk forty year olds sat near me. One was so drunk that he was unable to get himself out of his sweatshirt, so the other completely drunk guy tried to help and the next several minutes were amusing to say the least.

Have a great Thursday! ~Phil

The Top Ten Things I Learned in London and Paris

10. It’s just a ten minute walk: If you ask anyone in London directions to anywhere they’ll tell you it’s just a ten minute walk. Me: “Excuse me sir, I’d like to visit the Swiss Alps. How do I get there?” English doorman: “Oh that’s easy. Just go to the corner, turn left, walk a bit and then go right at the sign. It’s about a ten minute walk.”

9. The English are terrible at giving directions: No offense to my English friends, but some of your countrymen are completely barmy when giving directions. I don’t know, maybe they were just screwing with tourists for fun. When I’d ask for directions I always needed to ask directions two more times along the way.

8. It’s time to spruce up your money: The queen is on every piece of money. It’s confusing. You’re a country that’s been around forever and only one person is worthy of being on your money? How about Elton John, David Beckham, Dr. Who or the Monty Python guys?

7. Every building is important: I took a guided tour of the city in the open top of a double-decker bus with a tour guide giving information over the P.A. system. Every frickin’ building in London is at least a thousand years old and used to be something important. Tour guide: “The building on your right may be a McDonald’s now, but in the year 1237 it was the McDonald’s where William Shakespeare wrote all of his plays while noshing on a McRib.”

6. The English don’t learn: About 500 years ago half of London’s population was wiped out by a plague transmitted by fleas from rats. The English were saved when Bennie Hill accidentally knocked over a lantern in Mrs. O’Leary’s barn and the whole city burned down, killing the rats and their fleas. Last week it was a very pleasant day as I strolled through a park and saw many, many English happily feeding squirrels out of their hands. Yes, the same squirrels that we in America regard as nothing more than rats with fluffy tails. Hello? Has it occurred to the English that squirrels can carry fleas? When there’s another plague in London I won’t be surprised.

5. The French are nice: Contrary to their reputation I found the French to be very friendly. Of course I only spent a day there and I was spending money in their shops and restaurants, but whenever I entered anywhere I was greeted with a cheerful “Bon jour!” and when I left a just as friendly “Au revoir!”  Definitely nicer than going into stores in the States.  The picture below is me on the second observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.

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4. If you’re lactose intolerant France is not your friend: I ate at two small restaurants on the day I was there. Every item on both menus included cheese.

3. The English know how to start the day: Big breakfasts full of ham and sausage and eggs. I miss those. The English don’t stop there though. They add eggs to all kinds of sandwiches all day long too. They also eat a lot of duck. Duck eggs, I’m not sure about.

2. The American Champagne: In conversation with me an Englishman joked that Coke is “The American Champagne.” Um, yeah, so what? You want to start a war over it? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

1. Bicycle, Bicycle! I want to ride my bicycle…: In England the cyclists are suicidal. The cyclists share the roads with cars, and there is no designated bicycle lane. London streets are not straight. They’re mostly curvy and the taxis, cars and buses fly around as if they’re in a Grand Prix race. The cyclists, without helmets as well, weave in and out of traffic with aplomb. What’s nice is that since cars are on the opposite side of the road over there, at most crosswalks they painted “Look right” or “Look left” for the pedestrians. I only almost got clipped by a taxi once.

1A. Hyde Park is good for jogging and snogging: London’s Hyde Park, which is akin to New York’s Central Park is good for “jogging and snogging” as my sarcastic tour guide put it. I’m not sure if the jogging and snogging are simultaneous or occur on separate trips, but it’s nice they’ve put up a sign and designated an area of the park for it.

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As always, if you enjoy #ThePhilFactor please share by hitting a social media button or two below. Have a great Tuesday! Au Revoir!

Philliver’s Travels: My Trip to London and Paris in Pictures

During my overnight flight to London I fell asleep. When I awoke I found myself tied down, flat on my back, with dozens of tiny Englishmen scurrying about. Either the English are extremely small or I had become a giant overnight. At first they were fearful and in no mood to free me, but when I said I had to pee they relented. I gained their trust and they finally allowed me to roam freely. At first I won them over with my charm to the point that they even put a sign on the side of their iconic red, double decker buses:

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I apologize for the blurriness, but the buses in London always travel as if they’re trying to achieve warp speed. But I did say “Touchbase” fourteen times. You know how the British paparazzi are. They followed me and wrote down everything I said.

I couldn’t wait to see the most iconic monuments in London and Paris. Sadly though, because of me being a giant over there, they weren’t as impressive as they look on TV.

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This is the glass pyramid entrance to The Louvre in Paris. For a pyramid, not that big..

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They really took offence when I sat down on Stonehenge. I thought it was an outdoor toilet. Obviously I’m not going to post that picture. After a day of my stomping about picking up their monuments as if they were toys, the Brits and the Parisians got sick of me and set up a website imploring their governments to have me deported. Again, I found this out when I saw the advert on a double decker bus that whipped by my ankle at 700 mph. Here’s the link to the site: BeatPhil.com

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At the end of the day I went to Piccadilly Circus to meet the King of England for a break dance battle to settle our differences. I let him win to help repair relations between myself and England. How sweet is that outfit, right?

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Since I just got back last night I didn’t have time to write a narrative post about my trip but I will probably do so one or more times in the coming week, As always, if you enjoy #ThePhilFactor I’d love it if you did that social media sharing thing by hitting the Facebook, Twitter, or re-blog buttons below. Have a great weekend! ~Phil