Not Very United Airlines

I swear to god, there's a big black cloud named GONG SHOW that looms around me every single time I enter an airport.  Unfortunately for you, I drink too much vodka to remember most of the other GONG SHOW stories, I just remember the feeling of the GONG SHOW as I walk in those shitty automatic doors.  Airports just have that smell... Like a hospital mixed with a mangy dead raccoon. And of course, the smell of rotten intestines as we ALL know there's someone always shitting their pants nearby.

It started in Mexico this morning, as I was dragging my lopsided, one wheeled suitcase through the rickety streets of Playa Del Carmen. I decided that since I haven't had an income for 6 months, that maybe I should consider taking the $14 Greyhound instead of the $100 taxi (I know...gross)   Turns out, I survived, head in tact and all. I even knew enough Spanish to know the number "3" so finding my terminal was a walk in the park.   I get in and leave the balmy air for some good ol' bone chilling A/C. You know what DRIVES ME?!  When they make those back and forth wait lines that you have to walk up and back 1654 times to get the 15 feet to the check-in counter. This part was also awkward because I made solid eye contact with a mega hot chick (she had the coolest haircut) and I'm pretty sure she was a lesbian and she may (or may not have) been checking me out every one of those 1654 walks. (I mean, that wouldn't be that big of a deal, but I just didn't know how to act, ya know?  Do you do the same lean over the counter or the "accidental pen drop" as when there is a hot guy behind you?  If I was a lesbian checking out another girl, I'd just want her to bring me a piece of pizza and then we could just walk to the court house and Id put a fuckin ring on it. OH WAIT, that applies to me right now.  And boys, I'm single.    Veggie pizza with feta please.)

I'm not exactly some jet setting snob, buuuuut I'm not far from it.  I dont exactly show up with bombs taped to my legs and wonder the the hell I have to take my shoes off at security like some meatheads. I know how to dress for flights... Something comfortable, easy off/on shoes and something  warm because its always freezing. (But a tank top underneath because its always hot) Soooo this Irish man in front of me shows up like he's ready to spar in a fencing competition.  He looked like a fucking Knight. ARE YOU AN ASTRONAUT? Is this a DUMBASS CONTEST?!  WHYYYYY DEAR LORD?!  It was a long wait for him to get through the metal detector and by the end of it I pretty much had my foot up his ass while prodding him to get his 40 pound metal belt off.

I decided to just get away from the dumb people and resort to the fanciest looking wine bar and stay away from the slugs of the earth that hang out at Sbarro pizza (don't ask me why I know what it's called, I have noooo idea) so I order myself a water (seriously! No...like, SERIOUSLY) and a caprese salad.  Salad comes out and I'm wolfing it down like the mal-nurtured kid I am and guess what? There was a chunk of chicken in it!  I haven't eaten chicken in like 5 years and its half delicious but I'm half gagging because all I can think off is all the beakless, caged up, pecked up, featherless mutant of poor dying chickens that I have seen in my disgusting obsession with disgusting documentaries on Netflix.  Spit out chicken. Pay bill. Almost die.

I decide I'm going to wash the chicken flavour out of my mouth so I go on a hunt for a Starbucks.  Nothing that a little Hazelnut Macchiato can't wash away.  I'm standing in line checking out the menu when I notice a little Spanish señor staring at me.   Don't think much of it and keep looking at the menu... I look back and he's still staring. I make eye contact with him so he can see my zits and see that I'm not, in fact, Scarlett Johansson.    Well, he KEPT staring. I pick up my drink and bolt away... Only to find him lurking in the walkway. I look down and pretend to answer my phone and gypsy off around the corner and run away back to my gate. (Disclaimer: it's always scary being a girl by herself anywhere being approached by weird, staring men so stop fucking doing that, you jerks)   I feel a pang of relief when I see the C39 on the pole so I can slither away behind it with my Beyonce album.  WELL GUESS WHO ROLLS UP?  TONY.  That bastard found me. He continues to tell me his entire life story and asks for my phone number. I tell him I don't have a phone. He says he saw me answer it by Starbucks. Shitballs!  I want to tell him that its my friends phone and she in in the bathroom (you know, baaaad case of Mexican diarrhea) but that didn't seem smart because I didn't know how long he was going to sit there for. On a whim of trying to save my life and my first born child, I just told him my email instead.  Can't WAIT to read that one. I'll post it if he writes me.

The GONG SHOW is not even over yet. I notice the C39 gate has ZERO electrical outlets and since I've been blaring Beyonce for hours now, I decide to charge up the ol phone a tad to get me through the flight. I see 4 outlets by C38 so I take a gander, suspiciously eyeing up any more weirdos who might want my coveted email address.  I look over and spot an old man wearing an eye patch in beige cargo shorts that are hiked up to his gullet. His wife is plump, wearing a velour navy sweatsuit with a terrible blonde bob and progressive shading glasses.  No way in hell they even know what a computer is so I'm not scared of having to leak my hotmail to these weirdos.  I sit down on the floor beside them and we are bullshitting in no time.  My dad didn't pass along many genes (thank God) but the gift of the gab is something I thank him for.  We get talking about where we are coming from. They ask me, I say "Playa Del Carmen, you?"  "Bahamas" says the old man. I point at his eye patch and say "I KNEW there were Pirates in the Caribbean!" and continue to laugh like a drunken hyena. (I don't even know of the Bahamas are in the Caribbean)  He laughs too and makes a joke about losing his parrot! LOL!  His wife mentions something but I'm laughing too hard to hear her... And back to Beyonce I go...

So I board the plane. I'm right in between a ginger monster from Little Rock, Arkansas and a pleasant looking older man from Denver.  They were clearly reserved and conservative men, looking much like 70 year old Baptist pastors. We exchange hellos and like any normal, courteous, smart folk do, start thoroughly discussing American politics and laws on marijuana. Surprisingly, those ended well! I suddenly thought of the EXACT stories to share with these guys... A) getting in a drunken fight with Jenna Jameson in Vegas and B) the Sidney Crosby headboard sign.  Well holy cannoli, batman, you should have seen the looks on their faces! (the best part was having to explain who Jenna Jameson was)

So this is where I WANT TO DIE. For real though. No accidental chicken eating but seriously the worst feeling ever. We are just getting up to get off the plane and...

The Pirate!  Him and his Paris-Hilton-In-50-Years looking wife are just a row behind me!  I didn't even know they were on the same plane as me so, like a typical orphan, I feel like we are family. I yell across the aisle, while giggling like an asshole "Still no sign of your parrot?!"   His wife FEROCIOUSLY turns around and YELLS at me " IT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY, HE JUST GOT HIS EYE REMOVED". Well. Well. Well.    She shut me right up and it was the worst.  I gave it a minute and leaned over and quietly said "I am so sorry. I would never mean to offend you".  Neither said a thing and that was that.  I felt like the hugest dink in the entire world and I hated myself... for 2 minutes... Until I heard her shit talking me when we were coming down the walkway.

Dumb Lady: "Well, I told HER straight. What a bitch."
Parrot Man: "Its okay"
Me: *Feeling TERRIBLE, walking quietly behind them, don't know if I should say anything, hating myself*
Dumb Lady: "No, it's not, what a rude bitch"
Parrot Man: "Don't worry about it"
Me: *Blood starts to boil, my mind is racing with what I should do next...  I said SORRY, and I know you're mad at me but I wasn't being a 'bitch', I had a good heart, geez.  He was joking too.. Fuck man, HE'S THE ONE THAT MADE THE PARROT JOKE IN THE FIRST PLACE*
Dumb Lady: "I can't believe her, what a thoughtless ...."
Parrot Man: "Shhh she's RIGHT behind us"
Me: *Does a running drop kick and kicks her right in the ass*.
JUST KIDDING. I did not kick her in the ass but I wanted to. Holy shit, I wanted to so bad.  Especially after I was making Naomi Campbell jokes earlier. SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED. Just kidding.  I respect my elders so I graciously said, while gritting my teeth into fucking tic-tacs,
Me: "I'm truly sorry sir, I thought we were joking and I didn't mean to offend you"
Parrot Man: "Seriously, it's okay, don't worry."
Dumb Lady: (yelling, again) "JUST DROP IT ALREADY!"
Me: *somebody, hold me back quick!*   Just kidding. Again. I wouldn't do that. But now I REALLY wanted to smack those ugly glasses off her face.  But you know what I did instead, I yelled back.
Me: "Well, you're being really rude too!!!"
And then I literally sprinted away like I was a gazelle rounding 3rd base for a home run in the bottom of the ninth to win the fucking World Series. And then... I cried.

I wish I was lying to you. But I'm not. This is my life. And this is the GONG SHOW I call air travel.  Bastard Wright brothers.. Ruined everything.

I'm happy to report that I'm on my descent into Saskatoon right now, reporting this nonsense from the air. A baby only screamed for the first hour, the pant shitting has been at a minimum and the flight attendant has only a mild case of the popular condescending asshole virus.   Oh, and a guy totally rubbed his balls on my arm but whatever....minor detail.

And Im even happier to report that Im now at home, editing this with ichiban in my lap. Those who know me know that this is what my dreams are made of.

xo, lace