Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Air Travel = Funny

I flew back to San Francisco today. I asked one of the secretaries at my office to book me a flight out of Newark through D.C. that would get me home at a reasonable time. What does she give me? A 6:25 am departure out of Newark arriving 25 minutes before my connecting flight. Thanks bitch. This meant I had to leave at 5am. I stepped out the front door and was met with humidity that had already crept past 70%--perfect for wool slacks and a thick cotton dress shirt. I am dumb.

Adding to the comfort level of my trip home was a packed 60-seat plane the size of a Plymouth Voyager. If the Nazis had passenger jets in 1941, they would have used the plane I was on to transport the Jews to the concentration camps. We were crammed in that damn plane like our last names ended in "-stein." I hadn't been that uncomfortable since I was awoken by a New York City police officer asking me why I was throwing liquor bottles and seat cushions out of a moving RV.

I was one of the lucky ones, though. I had an aisle seat! That meant only my entire left arm was jutting out into the aisle and only my entire right leg was jammed into the seat in front of me. Space was so tight that I had to type this like I had flipper-arms, with my elbows attached to my sternum. I was a sexy manimal.

If that wasn't bad enough, our departure was also delayed by 20 minutes. There were two people to blame for this added bonus: some skinny douchebag in a knockoff Armani suit and a fat half-breed with a trombone. I can't fault the skinny douchebag too much, however. His secretary called him as he boarded to inform him that his connecting flight was canceled and there were no other flights going to his destination through Dulles today. What I can fault him for, though, is standing stalk still in the middle of the fucking aisle while taking his phone call. It's not like the plane didn't already feel like we were all bits of meat fighting for position inside a sausage-casing. I honestly didn't even notice the traffic jam he was causing until someone behind me yelled, " HEY SEACREST! SITDOWN OR GET OFF THE FUCKING PLANE!" God bless sweaty angry Italian women.

The half-breed was truly to blame for our extra "together-time" on the ground. At 6'3" and 300+ lbs, this guy was probably half black, half Guamanian. I could tell he was Guamanian because he smelled like salami...don't ask me, man. It's not my fault pacific islanders love processed smoked meats. Half-Breed looked like he could be Adam Duritz' older brother. In a certain light though, he looked like the bastard son of a black man in the Air Force who lost a bar bet and went hoggin.'

He sported long, braided black hair that hung down to his ass and Fu-Man-Chu moustache-goatee combo a la Tank Abbott. He wore TIGHT brown shorts, top-sider deck shoes, a gold Hawaiian shirt, and a large gold chain with attached gold conch shell. This Guamanian nightmare was a P-I-M-P...until he decided to bring a fucking trombone onto this Plymouth Voyager with wings.

If you've ever been on a small jet you know that the overhead bins are remarkably narrow--so narrow, in fact, that they preclude the secure storage of, oh, I don't know...maybe A FUCKING TROMBONE! Well Manila Gorilla insisted it should fit because it fit on his last flight--A 777 FROM LONDON!! I was so stunned by this Grand Canyon-sized leap of logic that I couldn't speak. I was unaware that people this dumb did not die in childbirth. The flight attendant, of course, told him she would have to check it for him and, naturally, he refused. This little dance of the morons was what really added twenty minutes to Auschwitz Airlines flight 1939.

I now officially hate Guam. I am going to make it my life's work to eradicate the "Pacific Islander" bubble from all standardized forms. You delay my flight, I erase your cultural and ethnic identity. Fucker
___________________________________________________________________



Power walking through Dulles to get to my connecting gate, I crossed the path of a father and son in full Boy Scout uniform. I probably wouldn't have noticed them--or at least found the scene somewhat endearing--had the son not been at least 18 and didn't have a slightly modified Hitler-stache...EXACTLY LIKE HIS FATHER! The father was carrying a Boy Scout backpack over one shoulder and the son was sporting all his merit badges. I'm sorry, but 7:30am on a Tuesday is too early for that much unintentional funny.

I tried to walk past quietly on the way to my gate. I failed. Luckily I was walking next to a guy who saw exactly what I did. I turned to ask him a question. LOUDLY:

"Hey dude, I didn't know the annual NAMBLA convention was held in D.C.?"
We both laughed but the Boy Scouts didn't notice. This didn't sit well with my walking partner, so he pulled out a Daisy Cutter. He pulled some magazines out of a plastic shopping bag he was carrying, handed them to me, ran ahead, turned around, stopped the Boy Scouts dead in their tracks, opened the bag wide in front of them and yelled at the top of his lungs, "TRICK OR TREAT!"
Now keep in mind, this is the United terminal at Dulles International Airport on a Tuesday morning. It was not sparsely populated. Everyone--and I mean EVERYONE--stopped what they were doing to turn and look. I thought the father was going to punch this guy. Instead, the son choked up and asked 'what the man meant.' (Holy Shit! Were they part of a "special" troop? Do they even have those? Were those merit badges for things like "Not Shitting Yourself for a Week" or "Tying Your Shoes without Drooling Down Your Leg?" Oh man, this could rank right up there with that time in Vegas I watched tard cheerleading on ESPN.) As the son looked to his dad for reassurance, Trick-or-Treat guy fell to the ground in fits of laughter, mumbling something about always being prepared. There are some really fucked up people in this world...
___________________________________________________________________
I'll make this part short if for no other reason than I have neither the energy nor the intestinal fortitude to recount in full the issues I had with my flight into San Francisco.
I will start by mentioning that United flight 869 from Dulles to San Francisco offers connecting service to Hong Kong. That means lots of Chinese people--in this instance lots of Chinese nationals returning home. Do you know what's worse than a room full of Chinese nationals who had to get up so early that they didn't have time to shower before leaving the family shipping container? A PLANE full of Chinese nationals who had to get up so early that they didn't have time to shower before leaving the family shipping container. Do you know what's worse than that? SITTING NEXT TO TWO OF THEM! I've never beckoned the sweet release of death so earnestly.
There's a simple equation that explains where I'm coming from:
Recycled plane air + Chinese national stench + airline omelet breakfast = PLEASE KILL ME!

8 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dude,

Try flying on a regular basis to havens such as: Little Rock, Wichita, Anywhere in Oklahoma, North Florida, Kansas City and many other locations in bumbofuck.

The combined fragrance of geriatric decay, toxic gas bubbling out from bathrooms visited by said geriatic folk, aisle seat near that bathroom, any seat near that bathroom on an ERJ or CRJ aircraft, will definitely enlighten you. For extras, add on a fat sweaty lady next to you one one side, and a clinical test subject for the new "Rotten Eggs" scented toothpaste on the other, you will have achieved nirvana.

There is no God.

August 3, 2004 at 6:39 PM  
Blogger The Lovely S said...

Have you ever flown from Germany to Florida on a 10 hour flight, sitting between a man who is on his way home from Iraq because half of his body was just blown up in a landmine and an old european woman who wants to practice her english on you? Let's add to the fact that you have actual tears streaming down your cheeks because you're jonesin' for a cigarette, you've had to pee for the past 6 hours but you can't get up because you don't want to knock the broken arm and leg of the Vet who is drifting in and out of sleep, and the closest thing to solace you have is Jersey Girl playing on the TV scream (which you can't even hear it because your earphones are broken).

so have you? no? WELL THEN YOU DON'T KNOW HELL!

And Adam Duritz is hot.

August 3, 2004 at 11:17 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Please rewrite your stories about the cheeseburger and the homeless guys and the other ones you posted with it. I don't remember the details, I just remember laughing til I couldn't breathe.
-misguided angel

August 4, 2004 at 7:53 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Sounds about as much fun as my GREYHOUND ride from GAINESVILLE, GA to DETROIT, MI!!!

Long story as to why I was in this predicament so I'll skip that, but nonetheless the trip started in Gainesville.......where I had to wait 5+ hours for the bus the last 2 due to the bus being late. Therefore I missed my bus in Atlanta and had to wait another 2 hours for what was supposed to be an express bus to Detroit. Turns out this was not an express bus, it took fucking forever and as you can imagine the Georgia to Detroit bus crowd is quite the cast of characters. I think my favorite patron was the crazy black lady who was either sobbing loudly or yelling about "whitey" and "crackers" and how she had a college education.

Luckily for me the good Cpt. Morgan and Mr. Beam helped me through this nightmare, that and some good weed that I partook in at about every stop (which there were an assload of as it was NOT an express bus).

Traveling sucks

August 4, 2004 at 12:09 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

DRex's travel stories= funny
other travel stories= no funny
Stop trying!
-misguided angel

August 4, 2004 at 12:29 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Whassup with the stinky commies? (Or in my particular case stinky-ex-commies?) The smelliest flight I ever took was a Pulkovo Airlines (St. Petersberg based Russian airline) from Moscow to St. Petersberg. Lots of polyester, lots of b.o., and the in flight meal consisted of appetizing smoked and pickled herring. I'm starting to believe that there must be some connection between the communist lack of attachment for personal possessions, having a smaller than average sized wardrobe, and not feeling the need to bathe, deodorize and/or wash clothes that often.

So I'm going to whorishly suck up to you Drex, but it must be done. As usual you brightened my day with an insightful, witty, and amusing tome. Keep it up.
--Nurgirl

August 4, 2004 at 12:59 PM  
Blogger Pebbles said...

Awesome Parker.

Now please write about the display pool at the Alameda County Fair and getting scolded by a toddler.

August 4, 2004 at 1:42 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Try a flight from NYC to Amsterdam sitting next to a nineteen year-old, blue-eyed, Dutch girl who was originally supposed to sit in the seat in the row just in front, but decided to sit next to you anyway. Then finding out later on she was a model.

August 5, 2004 at 1:47 AM  

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