Hey all you, friends, fans, family and creditors!

So recently I was traveling between South Carolina and Chicago, and had the nightmare flight of all nightmare flights. I know I know, you say you've had an awful one too! Like where all the attendants have to offer in the way of liquid refreshment is warm Fresca. Or maybe the latch on the bathroom door kept coming undone so that by the time you were finished doing your business, you had already had many eye contact moments with the person in aisle 26. I'll tell you, there isn't much worse or more embarrassing than having to do the "walk of shame" on an airplane. By that I mean sauntering gingerly towards your assigned seat after leaving a Havana Omelet simmering in blue airline juice like some kind of surprise behind door number 2, all while smiling at unsuspecting passengers as you pass. Not that I would know, mind you, I'm just assuming….

Anyway, this flight took place during a malicious and ill-timed snow storm that was battering the entire upper midwest, and smearing it's white contents up across the north east. Basically, all the airports were slogged. I heard that the entire staff of the airport in Detroit just gave up and left, considering their battle against old man winter's onslaught an exercise in icy futility. I'm sure they feel that way in spring and summer too though.

Anyway, I'd already been delayed getting out of South Carolina (a state very fond to my heart), and was layed over in Charlotte NC. The original lay over was only supposed to be 35 minutes, but as it extended into an hour, then two, I quickly realized I should prepare myself for a nice stay, and rather than just sit and stew in the terminal gate (which had already been moved twice), I'd take stock of the airport's array of attractions. Now, if you are ever layed over in an airport, and it's not of your doing, (i.e. you didn't miss your connecting flight because you were laying a Havana Omelet), there isn't any nicer or more amenity laden aero-drome than Charlotte. No joke. They have the full compliment of your standard fare "chocolate-covered-salsa-salad on a pretzel" eateries, pre-digested juice bars, and booger smeared periodical establishments. That's just a given. But Charlotte also has a nice array of local flare. Take for instance the Harley-Davidson of Charlotte booth, the first place I stopped on my time-killing spree. It's was a hoot. The first thing I did was sit on the new Fat Boy Custom that beckoned me. It was parked adjacent to the moving walkway, and if you had much of an imagination, you could hold the handle bars and pretend you were motoring past a long line of people who were just standing around looking at you. In truth they were gliding past me, wondering who this guy was that was sitting atop a new Harley, which was adorned with a sign saying "Do Not Touch", twisting the throttle and making really LOUD engine noises. VRROOOM! Then I went in and looked at shirts and whatnot when I realized the poor girl that was sitting behind the counter was crying and yelling at someone on the phone about having to work and whatever. She was in a really bad mood, and was verbally laying into the person on the other end, who might have been her boyfriend before that conversation. I decided I could help the situation, so I picked up a little pink Harley of Charlotte shirt that was meant for a female bulldog and got the girls attention by waving at her frantically, both arms in the air. "What do you need?" she snarled. I held the little pink shirt up to my chest and said "Um, do you think this would look good on me?". She didn't find it funny, hung up her phone and left the store in a huff.

The next store I stopped in what Hats R Us of Charlotte. I tried on various MLB caps of the vintage design, none of them looked good on me. Then I saw their sunglasses rack, which held a variety of specs, retro and new age. I picked up some red "window blind" style, and turning to the could of Hip Hop inspired fellas standing next to me who would obviously know what I was talking about, I cooly adjusted the frames and said, "Hey man, do these make me look like Kanye?" The laughed pretty hard, as did the clerk, although I know he was just trying to make the sale. He did.

Cruising through the airport at 9PM, sporting my red Kanye Wests, pink dog shirt dangling from my black jeans, I must have looked a sight. But my airport excursion wasn't yet over, for just around the corner I could detect the faint scent of a Mrs. Fakegrandma's Candy Factory and Duty Free Cigarette Emporium. As any wayward traveler knows, there is a method, a tried and true system for dealing with this kind of place. You go in fast, with government issued shock and awe, moving and darting between the rows of fudge and turtles, never pausing or gazing long enough on any one piece of goody goodness to let the clerk think you are easy. Their sales training will prove no match to your superior moves, and you will be able to scam them out of no less than 3,500 calories worth of free samples. The fact that it's near closing time and they don't care will also help your cause. However, props to this place, they had something I'd never seen before, and acting perpetually unsure, I sampled it many times. A dark chocolate dipped Ruffle potato chip. I told them I'd be back. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! (That's my dastardly laugh.)

This concluded my venture into the wonderful Charlotte airport. But little did I know the adventure had just begun.

Now it's time to tell the rest of the story, the real meat of this tale. It's time to get on the plane.

Standing in the terminal, the delay was now past 3 hours. And once again the lady at the counter gets on the horn and says "Sorry folks, for those of you on flight 7654 to Chicago, we are still delayed. We are waiting on our crew to get here from Boston, and are trying to locate another crew. After a huff, and trading rolling eyes with others (the standard and excepted practice), I noticed a couple, this man and woman, who were acting strangly. They were a bit giddy in their actions, lots of nose rubbing and "should we, I don't know, I think we can, but can we, I don't know, let's do it!" type of quick hushed conversation before bouncing off, hand in hand, towards the terminal bar. He looked like Glen from the movie "The Wedding Singer" and she looked like some kind of failed sweater model from a 1993 JC Penney catalog. Really, they reminded me of that sketch from Saturday Night Live, "A Couple of A-Holes in a counseling session" or whatever situation you can think of, where the guys is like "Babe, want a warm Fresca babe? Babe, Fresca? Want a warm Fresca babe?". And she finally replies bitchilly "Uh yeah…." So yeah, this couple was total douchebag material. Anyway, it was good people watching.

Finally the airline finds a crew and they make the announcement to board, calling groups 1, 2, 3, 4, etc, I notice a girl asleep on some chairs. A guy tries to wake her up, she isn't moving. I figure she is dead, shrug my shoulders and move on towards the gate.

Walking down the chute I feel like saying "Moo".

I get into the plane, intentionally bumping first class heads with my bag as I pass, dreaming of dropping that Havana Omelet in the first class tub, making my way past row after row of irritated passengers.

Then a wave of shear terror washes over me, as I get closer to my row and realize that the Douchebag couple are occupying two and a half of the three seats. Oh my god.

The guy, who we will now call "Glen", is already amped up and jittery as I start to sit, and he stops me and says "Yeah man, this is the F'ing party row!! Are you ready to F'ing party??!!?? YEAH!!" I just smile politely and buckle up. He has his Ipod in, and it's on full blast, but though the ear buds are in his ears, the speakers are backwards, firing this terrible Euro Techno dance music out into the general public. And Glen is just dancing in his seat, kicking his legs, licking his wifes face, air drumming with his index fingers, etc. I try to ignore him by digging into a really compelling magazine article about a magic necklace that filters out bad air and evil magnetic rays, available for only 3 easy payments of $49.95 through Air Mall.

Glen's wife starts crying for tequila, and as she breathes towards me, I realize they have been stuck in the airport all day, drinking. They are shitfaced, and antsy. He tries to impress her by saying "Honey, I can get you a tequila, right now, but when we take off, you have to take me in the bath room and give me something in return." He keeps on, talking loudly about the mile high club and what's gonna take place in that privvy. I'm thinking about the Havana Omelet. He has a bag of Starburst, and isn't bothering to take them out of their wax-paper wrapper, that's how bombed he is at this point, and in between chews he says to his lady, "That's right woman, I'm taking you to Chicago for your birthday! Yeah! Party! Mile High Club!!!" Sensual.

But she is fed up. You see, we are still sitting at the gate, have been for 30 minutes or so. And every time the captain gets on the horn to tell us that we are next in line or whatever other fib he has in his game book, Glen yells out "F you man!! Let's just F'ing take off already you asshole!! You suck!! Mile High Club!!! YEAH!!" I just hold the Air Mall up to my face, not believing what's happening.

The wife is really upset, and no longer caring about her destination, she calls the stewardess over and says "Can I get a friggin' update, because if we are not taking off in 3 minutes, I want off this damn plane". The stewardess, bless her heart, knows she is dealing with a lush, and tells the lady to hang on. I hear her go back to the airphone and call the captain, telling him that a woman wants and update or wants off. The Captain gets on the loudspeaker again in his best Chuck Yeager impression, saying "Sorry for the little delay folks, we are just waiting for our final paperwork and, bla bla bla bla bla." Glen is shouting, F this and F that, munching unwrapped starburst and filling our row with un-listenable music. He is Fidgeting around, at one point un-buckling his seatbelt for no reason, only to try and buckle back into mine, pulling it with all his strenth when it doesn't come easily, causing my eye balls to pop out. He says "DUDER! Was that yours?? PARTY!!"

So in a moment the stewardess comes back over, and asks the wife if she wants off the plane. Glen has gone mentally MIA at this point and falls silent. The wife says to the stewardess "Where is my friggin update?" The stewardess replies confusedly that the Captain just made an announcement. But the wife cuts her off and says, "Listen bitch, I asked you for a God damn update, and you can't even give me that. You are useless, so why don't you just Beat It." Somewhere you could hear multiple cars screeching to a halt. The stewardess looks at the wife deadpan and responds "No, why don't you get your bang, because you are off this flight", then goes back to call the Captain. She does it rather loudly and now people in the plane know something is up. People are huffing. The stewardess asks me to get up so the couple can get out of the row, so there I am, standing, and the plane isn't moving, and everyone in the back half is looking at me like I'm the culprit. I was scared, so I ran to the back of the plane and hid behind the cart of warm Fresca. As I'm heading that way, the stewardess is asking the couple to get their stuff and de-board when the guy points at her and menacingly says "Look bitch, we aren't moving, we are going to Chicago for her birthday, and if you come back here and bother us again, I'm going to snap your F'ing neck."

The stewardess hurries towards me and calls forward, telling the Captain to call the police.

So here we are, delayed even more, as the TSA authorities and local Po Po come marching towards the back of the plane. And Glen I sitting there, cool as a douchbag cucumber, bobbing his head to the techno, air drumming, and chewing wax paper. They ask him politely to get up and go. But does he do that? No. He stands up, smashing his head into the overhead compartment, and screams at the cops "Look you assholes, I've been at this airport for the last 4 hours!!! If you want me to get off this plane, you are damn well going to have to drag me off and take me to jail!!" Which they do after a short scuffle. And Glen is kicking people in the shoulders and screaming "F you!! I hope you crash!!!". The wife is tagging behind saying, "We didn't do anything, what did we do? Just let us go to Chicago."

When Glen is gone, the Captain gets back on the speaker and says, "Does anyone else want an update?"

Finally the plane takes off towards Chicago, and I sit comfortable in my vacant row, enjoying the bag of starbursts that Glen and his wife saw fit to leave for me in their rush to get off the plane.

I figure the FBI, TSA and Homeland Security are still shaking Glen down in some empty room somewhere under the Pentagon, trying to figure out what he knows about Bin Laden, Area 51, the Easter Bunny and Kurt Cobain's true killer.

So there you have it, and I hope you enjoyed it. I'll do this more often!

Heath.Absentstar