
Once upon a July dreary,
while I sat at O'Hare, weak and weary,
Over many a crew bag and sleeping flight attendant back
and neck sore--
While I stood there, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
snapping,
It was someone angrily tapping, tapping on the Unimatic
board.
"'Tis some scheduler," I muttered,
"tapping at the Unimatic keyboard--
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I reconciled
that it was in this bleak Domicile,
As each misconnected flight attendant gazed wearily upon
the floor.
Eagerly I wished to deadhead---but was given a four-leg
assignment instead
From my ignored contract I read with dread-'I'm
illegal' I tried to implore--
But like the many six-digit employees at UAL
before--
Nameless now for evermore.
Presently my soul grew
stronger; hesitating at the crew desk no longer,
"Sir," said I, "I'm going over to gate
B-4;
And the fact is that I am through, and so your
reassignment will not do,
My contract may mean little to you, tapping at your
Unimatic keyboard,
Yes, I doubt that I've reached you!"
As I was ready to walk out the door;---
I got a smirk, a DNF, and nothing more.
Back into the terminal
running, maneuvering to the gate with cunning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than
before.
"Surely," said I, "surely there is some seat
open on this flight"
Ten minutes to go, it's gonna be tight, and this CSR
will be quite sore---
Let my heart be still a moment, after all I've done
this before;---
'Tis business as usual---in fact, it's becoming
quite a bore.
But the agent, sitting
lonely on the crowded podium, spoke only
This one word, as if hiding deep in his soul his employer
did outpour.
Nothing further he bothered to say--it was getting late in
the day--
Someday his new Union will have a say, but for now this
one word bore---
Gliding pass the snarl on his lips, rattling my hopes to
the core;
Quoth the Agent, "Nevermore."
And the Agent, never
caring, still is staring, still is glaring
On the crowded podium of UAL corporate lore;
And his eyes have all the flair--my jumpseat ticket he
begins to tear,
As the popcorn smell around the terminal burns my nose red
and sore,
Fifteen hours duty today and still no rest save on the
domicile floor;
My enthusiasm shall be lifted---nevermore!
O hath this job become too
much to bear? This industry? This mess with U.S. Air?
I sit here now and ponder the beginning-the nostalgia of
never having flown before;---
The days before all this mess---where six-leg shuttles
were minimal at best,
Then WHQ grew and greyhound travelers came anew---eroding
the thrill to the core;
Respectful days long ended---now my weary state sits next
to a 1K on the floor.
"Same mess for me," said he, "Fly here
again? Nevermore."
Christopher Lee
Dedicated to Mr. Poe, UAL Flight Attendants, and 1K's everywhere (especially during irregular domestic operations!)