Travels
I’ve been a regular jetsetter these past two weeks, despite only actually flying once (but it was round trip!). Last week, I went to Pittsburgh to visit Scottie too Hottie, and this weekend I went to New York to visit Patty and Wilson.
Pittsburgh:
Like Cleveland but dirtier with more shit to do. Plus, Yuengling for $1.50 which is a solid gold deal, people. The zoo was bitchin’ and had TWO (count ‘em!) baby elephants which were SO totally bitchin’. I could probably see myself working/living in Pittsburgh someday.
New York:
What can I say? It’s some kinda town.
As you might know, I hate flying like nobody’s business but the only thing I could think of that would be worse than flying was taking a 5 hour greyhound trip to Cleveland to ride for 8 hours in the car with Brian and Steve, so you bet your ass I flew. The flight was (very) mildly bumpy on the way to New York, and this combined with sitting near a really loud and annoying 3 year old plus her even louder, annoying-er mother had me a little on edge. All I could think was “hurry up with that cart already and give me my goddamn 3 ounces of diet Pepsi so I can enjoy something before this heap explodes!” But then because I was trapped at a billion feet and because I’m pretty self-absorbed I got to thinking about why I would ask for diet Pepsi anyhow. If I really thought I was going to die shouldn’t I just go a little nuts and get the regular Pepsi? I mean, really live it up before the inevitable crash and burn? It was through this that I think I really convinced myself that I’m not actually afraid of flying and that I should stop being such a goddamn baby about it. So, bring it on. I’m totally ready to watch Con Air.
Once I got into New York, it was New York as usual. I got out of the subway stop near the Met where I was almost immediately greeted by some batshit dude who snarled and then repeatedly barked at me. “Well! Top of the mornin’ to you pooch!” Then, I walked around the met, compliments of Patty, and soaked up the high culture.
The next day Patty and I did mad shopping around Union square, where we basically started a new fashion trend by inventing the big-hat-that-covers-your-face-so-people-can’t-tell-you’re-a-dude hat. It’s for people who are actually dudes, but like to dress like ladies. On our way home from shopping, we spotted two “ladies” (wink!) that need to order our hats, with expedited shipping. One of the “ladies” (wink!) had obvious male pattern baldness and a mean five o’clock shadow. Why do it half-ass, girls?
We did all kinds of other crazy things you do in New York, but I’m afraid that my best story of all is about the flight home. Now, to get to Laguardia I needed to take a train and then a bus. Being labor day weekend and all, I thought that Laguardia might be a circus, so I left pretty early. Well, it wasn’t and I got there super early only to find that my gate had flights to Detroit booked all day. I asked the NWA dude if I could get on the flight that had just boarded, and he said “hell yes, AND you’re the last empty seat AND it’s in motha fuckin’ first CLASS GIIIIIIRRRRRLLLLLLL!!!!” Which is what it sounded like to me when he told me I would be sitting first class. Obviously I was stoked to not have to sit in the airport all damn day, and not have to sit with the hoi polloi in coach. So I get in there, and everyone else has already boarded. The lady puts my bag in the overhead because I’m too important to worry about that shit, because I’m some kinda business genius who flies first class and shows up 5 minutes before my flights take off…anyway, this guy I’m sharing with, who is maybe late 50’s or 60ish, looks asleep or dead, so I tap his shoulder and say “excuse me, I’m on the inside.” I waited for a minute for him to make some sort of sign of life, but it was in vein. He didn’t move, or talk, or even look up. So, I put my bag over on my seat and crawled over him. I sit down and arrange my shit under the seat in front of me, and he leans over and sorta waves his hands around down there. Then I touch my hair, and he touches his hair. Then I fix my glasses, and (even though he is wearing goddamn glasses) he pretends to fix his. After all these weird movement coincidences it occurs to me that he’s doing everything I do. My first thought was, “oh man! This is hiiiillllllarious!” quickly followed by “oh jesus, he’s going to murder me on this flight! Coach! I want coach!” and then topped off with “fuck this weirdo, I’m just not going to move.” So, I got out my kindle and started reading, and obviously he pretended to read a fake book. Most of the time I was actually reading so as not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was bugging me, but when I did check in on him I noticed that he would move his thumb along with me to click his imaginary “turn page” button. His attention to detail was no joke. I would move my toes and I could see him moving his around in his shoes. I kept crossing my legs really tight in hopes that he would crush his balls, but he just crossed his ankles and switched when I switched. But, the weirdest part is, when the lady came around with the “snack basket” filled with delicious things that the people in coach have to pay for, he totally snapped out of it. He took an apple and some Twix and then put them next to him and immediately started reading his “Kindle” again. Of course he ruined the goddamn snack basket for ME, since I refused to eat with him mock nibbling next to me because I knew he wasn’t actually going to eat his goddamn snacks. I did use the opportunity to drink some diet Dr. Pepper (diet because I’m not afraid of flying anymore!) while he was retrieving snacks so that I wouldn’t have to see him unscrew his bottle too.
I thought a few times of just totally spazzing out to see if he would do it too, but I was worried he was go berserker and strangle me.
As a first class customer, you get to board AND exit first. This was problematic for me, because the dude I was sitting next to was sort of dead unless I was sitting down and moving around a little. So when it was time for our row to go, he made me step over him again. By now I was sort of pissed off about this crazy-ass douche who is obviously not retarded because he still cordially thanked the lady for his goddamn Twix that I was not permitted to enjoy, so I left my backpack on when I stepped over him which knocked his glasses half off of his face. He didn’t move at all to fix them, and I didn’t apologize. The lady thanked me as I left the same way a mom would thank a babysitter when she knows her kid is a little asshole. “Yeah.”
