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Pilot 'diverts United Airlines flights and kicks family off' after parents complained about their small sons seeing violent PG-13 inflight movie.

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A United Airlines pilot diverted a cross-country flight and kicked a family off his plane after they complained about their young sons watching a violent PG-13-rated in-flight movie, the family claims.


According to an anonymous account the family sent to The Atlantic, the family was met at the plane and questioned by an FBI agent, two Customs and Border Security agents and two police officers.


They say the captain over-reacted when they asked for the movie on their February 2 flight from Denver to Baltimore be switched off.




Diverted: The pilot landed the Denver-to-Baltimore flight in Chicago so that he could kick the family off the plane



The parents were horrified, they said, by the graphic violence and sexual images that were being played on the in-flight movie 'Alex Cross.'


'On our plane, an A320, the movie was projected on drop-down screens above the seats, such that we could not shield our young children from this inappropriate content,' the outraged family wrote.


'Alarmed by the opening scenes, we asked two flight attendants if they could turn off the monitor; both claimed it was not possible.'


The other nearby passengers agreed that the movie was inappropriate and said they did not mind their monitor being turned off. The flight attendants said they could not.


Finally, out of options, the parents asked if the captain had the authority to turn the television off and asked for the captain's name. They received no response.


'Throughout these interactions the atmosphere was collegial. no voices were raised and no threats, implicit or explicit, of any kind were made. The flight continued without incident, while my wife and I engaged our children to divert their attention from the horrific scenes on the movie screens,' according to the account published by the Atlantic.


Moments later, the captain announced that the flight was being diverted to Chicago because of 'security concerns.'


'After landing a Chicago police officer boarded the plane and, to our disbelief, approached us and asked that we collect our belongings, and follow her to disembark,' the family wrote.


'The captain, apparently, felt that our complaint constituted grave danger to the aircraft, crew and the other passengers, and that this danger justified inconveniencing his crew... and a full plane of your customers, causing dozens of them to miss their connections.'


They said it took 'five minutes' for the FBI agent and other law enforcement officials to determine the family wasn't a threat.


They said even the FBI agent was 'incredulous' about the captain's behavior.


They say they have still not received an apology from United.


FMI: http://www.dailymail...ight-movie.html

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Não sei quem é o mais imaturo dessa história.


O mundo está cada vez mais cheio de bebês chorões (e não estou falando das crianças)


Aliás, no mundo antes do AVOD, do IFE, não lembro de só passar filme "da Disney" nos projetores dos aviões (embora, obviamente, por se tratar de exibição coletiva deva haver um limite)

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Esta atitude ridícula da United e do comandante do vôo me lembrou uma outra bem diferente que eu li recentemente.

De um Comandante (com maiúscula) da American Airlines:




Airline Pilot Confidential: The Teddy Bear Incident





It’s the middle day of three back-to-back turns–pace yourself.

In fact, it’s the second leg of the middle turn, Dulles International, 7pm–time to get out of town: the elephant walk of international widebody jets commences shortly. If we can push back even five minutes early, we can beat the line–and the wake turbulence delay.




Use the captain’s invisibility cloak: the ability to do most pre-flight planning on the smart phone. Check the weather, the route, the fuel load. Add more fuel. Sign the release with a touch of the screen, then send a hard copy to a gate printer, all from the cockpit. Wait for it to finish printing then slip into the terminal discretely, invisibly, to pick up the paperwork, avoiding the gate chaos directly. Don’t make eye contact, don’t invite hassles, complaints, requests, anything that delays the door slam and brake release to get ahead of the fat boys headed for the runway. Still have to fly to DFW, drive home–then back out to do the turn again tomorrow. Minutes from pushback, be invisible now.


But wait. Out of the corner of your eye, you see it: a teenage girl, on her phone, tense; next to her, what could only be her younger sister in tears. No parents, no adults, just the agent telling them both, “You either board now, or you’ll have to fly tomorrow.” That sends the little one into big sobs.


Less than fifteen minutes till push. Can you maybe say you didn’t see any of this? But you did.


“What do you need?” you ask the older, maybe sixteen-year-old sister.

She puts the cell phone down for a second, plaintive. “She left her backpack at security.”


Sigh. The agent is looking at you pointedly, his eyes saying we need to board now and shut the aircraft door. But from the tears in the young girl’s eyes, you pretty much guess what’s in the backpack. I consider taking the youngster back through security–but then think better of it.




We’d have to run to the center of the terminal, down two escalators, onto the train to the main terminal, up two more escalators, then find the security checkpoint that might still have the backpack–then retrace our steps, before departure time in fifteen minutes. Not going to happen


I catch the older sister’s eye. “You have some ID?” She nods. “Let’s go.” I head off at a fast walk toward the mid terminal; “Wait here!” she tells her little sister, and the agent slumps the message damn you captain. Big sister’s on my heels, asking, “Can we do this?” Just shrug; “They’re not leaving without me.”



We tumble down the two-story escalator two steps at a time, shoving past others like obnoxious travelers. I envision people watching, trying to figure out why an airline captain in uniform is running away from a teenager in hot pursuit. I also remember the miles I ran that morning before flight.



Even though the automated voice is warning that the doors are closing–do not delay this train–I do anyway, holding the door as she jumps aboard. “It’s got all her school books,” she says, out of breath. Right: I have a big picture of a fifth grader hauling a load of schoolbooks on spring break.


“No worries,” I say, “It could happen to anyone.” She nods. “Special guys in there?” I ask casually. She smiles sheepishly.


I don’t care: that’s a very real tragedy for a youngster, losing all the stuffed guys that mean the world to them. Not on my watch.


We spill out of the train on the far end, then WAIT: this will take us to baggage claim and out of the secure area–we need the TSA checkpoint! We dash back through the closing exit doors, then push through the boarding passengers and out the other side.


Two sets of identical escalators–both going down. Means we have to rush up the steps–but which ones? “Which security checkpoint did you use?” I ask. She looks confused; they are identical, not sure how one could really know anyway. “Let’s try this one,” I say, rushing the steps.


We reach the TSA supervisor’s stand. He shakes his head. “No pink backpack here–try the other side.”

Figures. We run the length of the concourse and arrive at the opposite checkpoint. “You’re lucky,” a cheerful TSA agent in a pressed blue shirt says, “we were getting ready to send it to lost and found.”

Identification checked, signatures. She sees me eying her sister’s backpack. “Uh, we need to start putting a nametag on this, don’t we?”

I nod. Lesson learned. It’s confusing, especially kids traveling alone. “I was on the phone with my Mom,” she says, “hoping we could get someone to drive out here and pick up the backpack.”

“No worries,” I say, in my mind’s eye picturing the waves of 747s and A-340s pushing back, lining up for takeoff. “Anyone can lose stuff at the airport, especially at security.”

We retrace our steps as fast as we can, me feeling the morning miles, my friend feeling and looking relieved. At the gate, she hands the backpack to little sister who still looks mortified.

They rush down the jetbridge to board. I walk, telling the agent “Just charge me with the delay.” He gives me a glare that says I was going to anyway, which I answer with a smile that says I don’t care.


The elephants already started the parade and we squeezed into the conga line. Sure, I’d have some explaining to do a thousand miles or so west. But no one missed their connection in DFW, no one was unduly delayed; and most importantly, no one’s little world collapsed with the loss of everyone they loved. That, to me, matters a lot.


Because we don’t just fly jets–we fly people. That, and the occasional special bear.

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