I swear i'll be writing more in 2014

Monday, June 22, 2009

Back From Vacay ... A Tale of Flight

When the stewardess told me she didn't need my credit card for my glass of wine yet because it was a long flight, I knew this flight was destined for greatness, despite its turbulence. They take cards on planes now ... dangerous. Running a tab on planes just seems like it's not a good idea, but it was fantastic on this day. The fact that the stewardess understood me, without ever having seen me before is a good thing, though I'm sure she's seen more than her fair share of douchebags ordering drinks while wearing a t-shirt supporting their local baseball team.

This leaves me to piss. I was seated next to a freckled-face ginger (redundant I know), blue hair who must have been so proud of her "A" boarding group seat selection that she fell asleep in her aisle seat right around take off. You'd think someone who wants to sleep on the plane, and has his/her choice of seat, they would go window, get one of those neck pillows, draw the shade, shut off the light ... boom, you're left alone for 4 hours. I could hardly wait to wake up her up with the tragic news that I was a 30 something that's had a few adult beverages and needed to urinate with my facial expression saying, "Listen lady, pick a window next time. I have to piss."

Miraculously, after a Chili's weak Jack'n Coke, a beer and a half, and a glass of wine, I'm a camel on this plane. It's a long drive to a Key West bachelor party, only the entire opposite. If my urine storage facilities are being calmed at the moment, its probably because of the smell though. I don't know what this Phoenix-bound Floridian stereotype has in her feed bag, but there have been times I've left last night's dinner in my sink and it's smelled better than this. It smells like a skanky concentrate of a hobo's proud return of his first real food in days. Of course, between the wine, whiskey, beer, boneless spicy chicken wings and ultra-processed cheese'n crackers, whatever she's got in that feedbag is definitely curing the slight hints of uh-oh I'm dropping. It's nice to have someone to point the finger at sometimes.

I'm deep in my 2nd glass of wine, still unurinated and flying over Texas for what seems like an eternity. It's no wonder why I opted to add several hours to a Phoenix drive to avoid this state. Even at 30,000 miles, very flat, boring and sandy. If the state of Texas was a body part, it would be an elderly woman's cooch, but even as I say these awful things, Texas starts turning red and gaining texture, though still Joan Rivers sandy. The wine has definitely taken affect. This red starts to bring back Phoenix memories, good ones, if that's even possible.

Before I get to Phoenix, gotta bet back to the reason why I call this website, "The Daily Deuce." Farting on a plane is quite a dangerous social endeavor, but I learned a lot on this flight about it. What makes farting on a plane do-able is that the roar of the engine will always be more powerful than the giveaway sound. On top of that, everybody's ears are popped, most people have headphones on and all you really have to worry about is the stank (unless you have feedbag lady next to you, in which case you don't have to worry about the smell at all). What's unique about flatulence, and I have exactly zero data to back this up, is that if your first one doesn't smell, you're clear from then on until you eat again. I'm love the freedom of literally knowing my farts don't stink right now and this is the perfect segue into my Phoenix arrival.

I arrived with as much optimism as a new kid in school. I even began to think how it wouldn't be entirely bad if my flight got delayed until the next morning so I could cab it into Tempe and see some places that could've become old hangouts had I lived in the city for more than 6 months. I thought about how funny it would be to walk with my friend Mary around the town and show her the place I actually lived at (kind of an inside joke, but have to include it). So yeah, I'm in Phoenix and I'm smiling as my plane is pulling into the gate ... or was pulling into the gate ... it stopped. So now we're just sitting here, inside the plane, waiting, starting to get concerned about my connection. Eventually I got inside the airport and noticed my flight had been delayed a couple hours. So it begins.

What's unique about Arizona is they don't celebrate the time change. You can go as far as to say Arizonians have a purer concept of time than you and I ever will. However, let's say someone is travelling from the east coast, through Arizona to Reno, Nevada and that person is trying to arrange meeting up with someone travelling from the Central time zone through Las Vegas and coordinating phone calls versus flight times. I felt like a 3rd grader wandering into an algebra class so I gave up easily.

Instead, the rage that had built up between delays, booze and complicated math due to time zone inconsistencies was taken out on the blonde airline attendant, who's job it is to basically stand there an act as the complaint department. Now that we need our boarding passes even before we get to the gate, those gate people are basically just standing there for the confused, and the angry, and I was the latter.

"Excuse me, are their any other flights going to Reno tonight so I can get there sooner?"
"There's one going to Vegas now, but its kind of full."
"What the hell am I going to do in Vegas, I'm meeting people in Reno?"
"Well, then you have to wait sir."
"Is this flight really going to leave at 7:40, or is that just to get our hopes up? Is there any chance it will leave earlier?"
"There's always a chance sir."
"Is there a chance it won't leave at all and I'll be stuck in this fuckass cowboy town all night?" (I didn't really say that, but did say something to that extent loudly so people could hear me while I was on the phone with someone coordinating the Reno arrival).
"This flight should be leaving at 7:40 sir. There were some weather issues in Dallas ..."
"Well listen, I'm going to walk over to that bar yonder (Zach does the little walking thing with his fingers in the most condescending way possible) and grab a couple drinks. If for some reason this flight leaves earlier, will you please make an announcement over your little loud speaker there so I don't miss my flight due to your company's disorganization?"
"I'm sorry sir, you'll just have to keep checking."

Arizona, how much I missed thee.

I'm going to end this story here for now.

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