Liquid Courage/Explosives
A little over two weeks ago, terrorists attempted to disrupt my travel to a business meeting in Houston, Texas by plotting to blow up ten airplanes over the Atlantic ocean. I have not yet determined why the terrorists hate me, but I assume it has something to do with how I prefer to fuck my virgins here on Earth so that I can brag to my friends about it later.
The following is the story of my journey that night, over two weeks ago...
~~~~~
I’m sitting slump-shouldered in the Crown Room at the Atlanta airport, Amarula coating the inside of the fifth or sixth glass of the evening. My flight was delayed a couple of hours and given the state of my life, the nation, and the world, I’m hesitant to believe that my mood is going to change any time this decade.
Not to say that "big picture" (air quoted) life is terrible. But you know what I want to do all the time? What I really want to do? I want to write.
Nobody cares, of course. Ooo...do you wanna write? Are you a tortured artist? Do you yearn to be understood?
Who gives a fuck? Surely not the over-served software saleswoman at the bar right now, who has decided to let loose another button on her blouse, hoping the bartender will show her why once you go black you never go back.
These are the ramblings of a drunken traveler. A scream in a sea of screams.
Oh Jesus. How fucking emo have I become?
Okay, this is totally gay, but keep in mind that I'm drunk. Or I’ve been drinking. Hold on, I’m gonna stand up right now.
Seriously.
Yeah, okay, so I’m tipsy. Not drunk. Shit, my plane is probably going to board soon. I’ll write from the plane. It’s a piece of shit commuter, so I may actually have to fly the thing. I’ll let you know.
~~~~~
Goddamn it. I just checked the departing flights screen quick before heading to the gate. My plane was delayed another 45+ minutes. The airlines are turning me into an alcoholic. I wouldn’t be drinking on Thursday night if I was at home. Okay, that's a lie. But you get my point.
So did I mention yet that I came to the airport three hours in advance with basically nothing but a hairbrush and socks? I had deodorant, but they made me throw it out even though everyone knows that terrorists don't use deodorant. So I came here three hours early only to discover that there was absolutely no line at security. Walked up and breezed right through. Never, ever happened to me before at Hartsfield-Jackson airport. I assumed there was a law against it, in fact.
So I had time to kill, coincidentally, given that that's exactly what the terrorists DON'T want me to have time for. I went to the nearest airport bookstore to buy some emergency deodorant, in order to have a mild level of self-respect at the meeting tomorrow morning. And I think we all know that airport bookstores are known for their wide variety of deodorant. Would you like Speed Stick in green or pale green? And we're out of green. The pitiful look and tone of voice in which the clerk at the store addressed me suggested that someone had shit in my carry-on.
But, now, I’ve got time to kill and an open bar here. Bartender made me his “specialty” drink about a half-hour ago that one of the other bar patrons eyed-balled and described as “kind of a white Russian”, to which the bartender said, “Yeah, it’s a white Russian on steroids”. So now I’ve got drug testing to deal with. I've made a mental note to blow out my lats later.
I've been in the airport for four and a half hours.
And I think I just saw lightning outside. Or possibly there's about to be a Kiss concert on the tarmac.
Nope. By the looks of the rain hitting the window now, someone better be figuring out exactly how big a cubit is.
Shit.
~~~~~
Ever since I wrote on this very site about my realization of the fact that I will likely be in the workforce for another 25+ years, I’ve become, um, obsessed with that idea. It is all I can do to keep it from crushing me. I'm going nowhere with this thought, other than to let you know that I'm being crushed under the weight of that which is barely in my control. This is why people turn to Jesus, because hey, why not? Jesus is totally hot for lepers and shit, so he'll LOVE your fucked up psychoses.
Another five fucking minutes just got added to the “scheduled” departure time, by the way. I've been around long enough to know that airlines don't work in five minute increments. Something's up.
I'm heading down to the gate. It's about ten til ten.
~~~~~
Okay, not that this is suspicious at all, but they've bumped our scheduled departure time to 10:15 and it's now 10:45. So now we literally have to go back in time in order to take off, which you KNOW is going to add to the delay. There are some pissed off people in the gate area right now. I'm going to start walking around and spreading some rumors about the captain. Oh wait, here comes the flight attendant to make a gate announcement.
"Ladies and gentlemen, due to mechanical problems with the plane, Flight Blahblahblah to Houston has been canceled, please go to the ticketing counter three gates to my left to re-ticket."
That's it. Maybe spit on my ass before jamming it in next time, okay Delta? Maybe give me a goodbye mix tape or something? Cocksuckers.
~~~~~
At the ticket counter, I have weighed my options. I have to be at a meeting at 9:00 am in Houston. Which means my flight has to arrive no later than about 7:00, given distance from the airport and traffic. Which means I'd have to try to make a 4:30/5:00 am flight tomorrow morning, if such a thing exists. Which means I would have to get up at about 3:00. Which is approximately 4 hours from right now. And it would take an hour and half to get home from here. I explain my math to the kind lady at the ticket counter.
"Well, there's another flight to Houston that leaves at midnight over in the next terminal. You should be able to make that one."
I was really kind of hoping you'd tell me to go home and get some rest and there's just no way I'm getting to Houston, but okay, I'll play your little games.
Terminal B, here I come.
~~~~~
Well, the people here at the midnight flight to Houston do not look pleased. This flight has been delayed as well. And many of the harried freaks from my original flight are also here. Some people are starting to soak rags on sticks in some oil. That can't be a good sign.
My slight buzz is starting to wear off and the real world is creeping in at the edges. Airport smells are starting to become intensely stale. The fried foods have mixed with the leather store smell and pretzel odors have intermingled with dried sweat. It is one o'clock in the morning. I'm going to die here. I can see that now.
The captain has just walked up the gangway from the plane and grabbed the intercom.
"Okay, I'm only going to say this once and then I don't want to hear about it again, am I clear? It's just me and the guy from food service down there and we did our best to clear this plane for takeoff. It's as clean as we can get it between the two of us, so things might not be nice as you're used to, but we're getting this plane to Houston tonight!"
The goddammit is implied.
The crowd has literally burst into cheers and applause.
~~~~~
The plane took off about a half hour or so later, a little after 1:30 in the morning. I had arrived at the Houston airport around 3:00.
When I arrived in Houston, I took a cab to my hotel. My driver had a very rudimentary understanding of both the rules of driving and the laws of physics. I don't believe we actually maintained a position in any particular lane for more than about .3 milliseconds during the nearly hour-long ride. Also, based upon the temperature he was keeping his car, I'm pretty sure he was storing meat and/or a body in the trunk.
I arrived at my hotel around 4:00 and slipped into bed about 4:30. I would get a full two and a half hours of sleep before waking to go to my meeting.
The terrorists don't understand that if they just keep inconveniencing us long enough, we'll just kill ourselves. It's a much cleaner war that way, I assure you.
