Dear Diary: West Coast Bound
I grabbed a Stoudts American Pale Ale at the airport bar just to the left of the our gate. I drink Stoudts APA regularly, but never paid $11.44 for a pint. $6 is usually the norm. However $6 felt like a bargain as my nerves raced in overdrive. Flying does that to me. I would’ve paid $30 for a beer simply to take the edge off. The Pilsner Urquell that followed felt like outlet shopping at the dented-and-scratched store once the middle-aged female bartender tossed the $6.88 check on the bar in front of me.
Two pints in and I was ready to board. I make a quick and preventative run to the men’s room, but could only manufacture a barely noticeable dribble. As I washed my hands, I thought back to the TSA screening. I went through the body scan and was told to stay in place. Two officers looked at my scan. I turned to see what they were looking at and my entire waist was a yellowish glow on the scan. What the fucccck? I was the idiot who forgot to remove his belt even after hearing the warning 47 times while standing in line. My pants felt unusually baggy so I assumed my belt was off. I realized afterwards that I chose to wear jeans a size too big so that I would be extra comfortable on the flight.
We boarded. Our seats were towards the end of the plane because we procrastinated as usual. That had us one of the last to board.
When I was in the TSA line, listening to the belt-removal messages that I ignored,I also heard a younger female voice say “I just found out I’m pregnant on this trip. I don’t know if I want to go through those scanners. I would hate to find out in twenty years they caused some defect in fetuses. ” An older male voice responded, “I have two boys, 21 and 26, and everything is always your fault any way. I turned to get a look at this dude. He looked about sixty with a white beard and a hat from a Philadelphia animal non-profit that I knew from volunteering.
Well, that dude had me standing in the plane’s aisle, an aisle too small for anyone with a BMI over 15, unable to get to my seat. He insisted on jamming his bag into the overhead, rather than check it in. This is after numerous warnings from the flight attendants that all additional bags needed to be checked in.
Again and again, he slammed the door of the overhead compartment down, hoping he arranged the bags with enough Jenga-like precision so that the door would close properly. A line formed behind me of other procrastinators or people who just preferred sitting in the back, all unable to get past this dude as he wrestled with the overhead compartment. A large contingency of people then stood and helped rearrange luggage so this dude would sit down. His kids were probably right in blaming him for everything.
Once we got into the air, a zombie crawl to the bathroom brokeout. Passenger after passenger walked down the aisle. MUST USE BATHROOM. NEED BATHROOM.
I had an aisle seat so I was particularly aware of the crawl. Being 6’1” and sitting seats that would be tight for Peter Dinklidge forced me to stick a leg out into the aisle. I had them hug the seat in front of me so they’d be as unobtrusive as possible. I was constantly pulling my leg in front of me as the zombies kept coming. If I kept them in front of me, I risked whatever circulation dilemma comes with sitting too long in air travel.
The zombies stepped on my toes. They banged into my shoulder. I had ass and crotch in my face when two zombies passed each other next to me. My foot ached. Nobody said sorry or excuse me. They simply went on their mission. MUST GET TO BATHROOM. God forbid they’d let us “average” folks use the bathroom in first class. One bathroom for eight first class passengers and two bathrooms for the other 160.
When the drink cart finally saw a break in the zombie crawl, it flung into action. This, of course, caused a backup of zombies trying to get past the cart to get the bathroom. Was everyone a coke-head? I know some people have bladder issues, but this was comical.
I grabbed a Jack Daniels and a Heineken off the cart. I paid with my visa, but tipped $5 in cash. Always tip the cart server! I have never tipped and not gotten a free drink. Moments after the cart finished up, an extra Jack Daniels magically found it’s way onto my tray.
I watched two episodes of The Wire. I’m the last person not to have seen it. I’m working on it. After two pints, a can of Heineken and a Jack on the rocks, I was doomed. I was one of them. I stood in the aisle walking, MUST GET TO BATHROOM! MUST USE BATHROOM!
For more articles and nonesense follow: @ViolationsGreg on Twitter and Violations Greg on Facebook. Please excuse any typos….this was written on the road and in a stream of consciousness.