I hate you, US Airways.
As if flying wasn't inhuman enough, you make me feel like an expired slab of meat. Not prime rib or tri-tip. We're talking gizzards at best.
Sure, you lose my bags and make me miss connections every time. But couldn't you, just once, pretend you care? You and I were both raised in Pittsburgh. We could have been close, like brothers. But no, you decided to grow up to be evil.
Next time, to save myself the grief, I'll just write you a check and just not show up. That will be make me feel much more dignified. You'll still get your money, but you'll have to be satisfied with making everyone else feel like crap.