Availble First at Fight!
After my fight in Japan I decided that a trip to Las Vegas was in order. This would give me a chance to release some of this supposed steam, shake off some stress, and create some stories to laugh at later down the line. This story begins at end of a blatantly fantastic trip to Vegas that I cannot hardly remember, which unfortunately is pretty much how every trip to Las Vegas ends up for me due to a high pain tolerance and propensity to start drinking contests, in which no one really wins. After my alarm rang for 1.5 hours I shook myself into consciousness and through an alcoholic fog I realized that my plane is now boarding, as I inspected my bomb blasted hotel room- the shrapnel of clothing, shoes and phone chargers scattered about. I quickly cleaned the salvageable debris and hustled out the door, stumbled into a cab, tipped the smelly cab driver as I watched what was sure to be my plane soar above the strip into the hot desert air.
Happily hungover I made it into the airport expecting the biggest hassle of my life but was surprisingly met by a smiling face and great customer service by the chubby cheeked lady behind the American Airlines counter, who despite my hat that exclaimed “Fuck Off,” booked me on the next flight on U.S. Airways, that left in about an hour. I cheerily thanked her, and shuffled on to the gates, in my sweet Osiris sneakers, one laced and the other that I never had the chance to strap up- leisurely strolling with my carry-on luggage toting behind me, stopping to get a large water and attempt to recount some off the wildness that I had just undergone, and try to rehydrate my brain.
The water barely put a dent in my hangover by the time I got to the gate, so I just chopped through the haze best I could and swam into the confines of the plane just as they were making the final call, and what do I have here? A glimmer of sunshine in this sea of despair- my entire row of seats, all to myself. A veritable luxury suite in the state of exhaustion that I was currently in. I jammed down the earphones that I had bought from the robot vending machine at LAX and cranked Hed Candy Winter Chill while I poured myself into my king size leather bed behind a random guy and a sweet old lady wear a green sweater. Now comfortable I recounted some of the hilarious moments from the weekend, including standing on a couch screaming, telling a blackjack dealer that "you will burn in hell for your sins against humanity" and pool party moments that included me in a blue speedo and a rubber chicken.
From my reclined position I drowned out the world and searched the web on God's little gift to the world, the iPhone. As I was waterboarding planet earth, a bulbous, angryfaced woman in the familiar gestapo uniform of a flight attendant, skimmed by the aisle and paused by my comfortable palace that I dubbed "Row 21" and mumbled something lower than the sultry sounds of a woman singing over a synth-pop riff. She had the evil look of a cartoon villan that had let herself go, turned witness on the evil empire, went into the witness protection program and ballooned up as she worked a job she hates. I was Mayhem's complete lack of concern, and as she continued to stand there, I shrugged and buckled my saftey-belt. This appeased the she-beast and she stomped back to the front of the plane, undoubtedly to her evil headquarters.
An hour from now I will be happily skipping off the plane, getting a delicious starbucks (grande iced americano, soy milk and two splendas- "The 'Hem") and leaving the devils codpiece of Las Vegas far behind me. It has already obtained far too much of my sweat, money and soul on this trip. Let me twitter that bit about "devil's codpiece," I think, giggling- suddenly mid-twitter a new set of eyes staring me daggers appears, this time from the rear of the plane. She is younger, but looks just as mean, only in a plasticky-robot way that women who wear too much makeup have. She says something, I continue to ignore, until she cranks her volume up to cut directly through my sweet techno-lullabys, I still can't make it out exactly but I hear a "tack tack tack" that only this model of bitch-bot could release. I yank my earplugs out and sit up with "Huh?"
Meanie 5000 launches into this full on monouloge that I attempt to understand, just catching "FAA regulations.... ...Electronic devices... ....did you not understand?" then she begins to speak to me in the tone and language you would speak to a five year old when explaining to them that if they are good they will get presents from Santa. "Ma'am, you don't have to speak me like that, I understand," "well, then turn off your electronic device!" at this point I show the lit screen of the iphone and press the top button that deadens the screen. "Is it all the way off?" she says, her lack of iPhone knowledge didn't surprise me, she more than likely runs on windows. "Yeah" Apparently pleased, she locomotions back to the back of the plane. But once she left, I started to bubble in the fact that I had been talked to like I just figured out how to wear big boy pants and did very little to nothing to defend myself- no- to defend the honor of all mankind who is well aware that my 7-watt iphone isn't going to take down a jumbo jetliner, and anyone who believes that should not be allowed to ride an airplane. So I cranked up Goldfrapp and googled the FAA. The mighty manatee from the front of the plane anticipated this and as if she threw a smoke grenade- there she was again.
She appeared out of her fog and I realized why I had such disdain for her. She had the same body type and pixie/oger haircut that every grade school teacher that had ever sat me in the corner had. "Do you NOT UNDERSTAND?! ALL ELECTRONIC DEVICES ARE TOO BE OFF! I WILL TURN THIS PLANE AROUND!" I heard the pilot rev the engines and I could see the tire marks of the runway approaching- we were already on our way to take off- this sea creature was bluffing. "Reeeeeally? You're gonna turn the plane around? Heh." I said calling her on her bluff. Before I could get the snarky "Heh" out of my mouth, she was on a full sprint to the captain's quarters. Then I got worried. No way. I felt the plane lurch a bit, then *BING* "This is your captain speaking, we seem to have a little problem, and will be returning to the gate, but will be on our way momentarily."
"Shit." I said aloud. She wasn't bluffing and I suddenly realized I would be exiled from my kingdom and back into the grime of the Las Vegas airport. Defeated, I resigned to the fact that I would be in LA much later than expected, so I called Cat, my cool headed ride from the airport to who I explained "They are doing a fucking U-turn right now, I'm not coming back til later- yes I'm serious- No, it's done, the lady fucking hates me," I could see staring her with a satisfied look of death from her devilish galley and could see the gates approaching. Cat begged me to apologize and beg for forgiveness, which I'm terrible at, but for the sake of my sanity, I took off my "Fuck Off" hat and pushed the call button and earpiece in my ear, was coached how to be nice. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood, I-" "YOU HAD YOUR CHANCES! WE'RE HEADED TO THE GATE!" I resisted my urge to scream obscenities and pleaded "Ma'am, please, you are being unreasonable, you're gonna make all these people late because I have an iPhone on?" looking around at the passengers for some compassion. Suddenly the old woman in the green sweater exploded, "'YOU' MADE US LATE! YOU!"
"SHUT THE FUA-" I popped off, before realizing I've lost my mind. Yelling at old ladies? I lose. I sat there alone, in disbelief, thinking about the millions of times I'd flown and never even turned off my phone, without consequence, and I am now paying the price. The plane came to a rest and I realized that I must look like a carefree skateboarder that just spent the weekend enjoying my life, while Sea-pig and Robo-bitch slaved away, tossing peanuts at overweight tourists and sitting next to a flying portopotty, reading US weekly and wishing there was more to life than this. I suddenly felt a bit of remorse for them. Not much though because I went to look for all my stuff in the seat-back pockets I emptied all of the inflight magazines onto the ground- childish, I know, but hey, they are throwing me off the plane because they don't like the way I look. Damn, is there a such thing as 'style discrimination?'
"That is not neccessary!" Robot piped up from behind me. Damn they are sneaky, I followed the nice filipino lady off the airplane and when I got to the Evil Lair of the Sea Creature I looked her right in the face and said, "You've won today, but you will always be miserable." Which, meant that her mean spirited attitude was going to always end up with her feeling terrible, but instead sounded as if I was putting a voodoo curse on her.
Actually, I did put a voodoo curse on her, and that is for her to be a little more understanding, regardless of how offensive someone's immediate appearance may be, or how gruff they appear, not to judge them on their last 48 hours in Vegas, and what they appear to be at the moment, and that being a stickler for the rules usually ends up in a delay for everyone. But unwittingly, I also sprang a curse on myself- to be more understanding of people that may not be happy in the careers they have chosen, and to possibly be more compassionate towards these types, without constantly ignoring the rules, no matter how ridiculous or petty. I'm glad I walked away from the experience learning something, and I'm glad I'm finished writing this, the drink cart is coming down the aisle and Delta Has the best peanuts.
Mayhem
-Sent From My iPhone