Monday I flew back from Mississippi where I was visiting my family and new nephew, JR.
For a nominal amount of money, I had the opportunity to upgrade to a first class ticket. Since I’d never flown in the fancy ass first class I decided to go for it.
Here’s the part where I wish I could tell you it was a total waste of money and that I regretted doing it.
But that would be a lie because it was the best money I ever spent.
Not only are the seats spacious, but the booze is free! That saying, “The best tasting beer is FREE beer,” is true times a bajillion when you’re on an airplane. I drank white wine until I was sweating Chardonnay and had to stop reading my book because the words on the page were dancing.
The only drawback from this little scenario came about 10 minutes after we landed. The first thing I did was a bathroom to break the seal in. Then I set out to meet the Husband at the appointed location. Now, I knew I was a touch inebriated because the level of concentration on using the motor skills it required to balance all my crap in the bathroom stall was extremely elevated. Plus I was sweating like I was in a sauna. The gravity, however, of my impairment wasn’t fully realized until I tried to mount the movable walkway that takes you toward baggage claim.
You see, I’m not one to dillydally in airports. I put my nose down, forearm up and go to it. Apparently, I also use a death grip on my luggage. Or so I learned when I stepped onto the moving walkway and the escalator teeth latched onto my baggage, ripping it from my grasp and sending me down to my knees.
As I tried to steady myself and get back onto my feet, I saw that my entire luggage --including my purse -- was now hung up at the entrance to the moving walkway. The travelers behind me, no doubt surprised at such a spectacle, were jumping over my shit so as not to be thrown down too.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been drunk and found yourself on your hands and knees on a moving walkway. But only those who have can fully appreciate how disorienting nature of this position. The only thing I can compare it to is trying to hang on to one of those old-school merry-go-rounds powered by 15 of your fellow second graders. That’s kind of the same sensation.
Anyway, if it hasn’t been for my inebriation, I think I could have gotten my shit together and retrieved my belongings. But, alas, that wasn’t the case. As I crawled backwards toward the entrance, the same folks who had just jumped over my luggage were now stumbling over me.
I’m sure it was only a few seconds of this, but it felt like forever. Immediately, I realized I wasn’t really progressing toward my trapped baggage. I was just a hamster running on a stationary wheel.
So I gave up and just sat down in the middle of the moving isle and decided when I got to the end of walkway I’d just try and roll out of the way, hopefully avoid getting trampled. Screw my purse and luggage.
And that’s when I saw my rescuer – a young man talking on his cell phone and carrying his own baggage. Without putting down his phone, he scooped my luggage and purse up and walked to quickly to where I sat. He placed my luggage beside me, then pulled me up off the moving belt.
ALL WITHOUT INTERUPTING HIS PHONE CONVERSATION.
When got to the end of the moving walkway, he pulled my luggage off, placed it in my hand and offered a smile and a gentle nod. I thanked him profusely, but he waved it off, smiled again and kept on trucking toward his destination. AND TALKING ON THAT PHONE. Never once missing a beat.
When I finally reached my husband and relayed to him the story, he asked what the man looked like so he could thank him for helping me. I couldn’t recall much of his description, just that he was wearing a Texas A&M t-shirt.
“Oh! He was an Aggie,” I said.
“OF COURSE, he was,” my husband said, as if I had said something so obvious that a retarded monkey would have shook his head at me and thought: DUH ,LADY.
We didn’t manage to bump into my savior again before leaving the airport, but I know that somewhere there is a very nice young Aggie telling all his drinking buddies about this drunk woman sitting on the moving walkway at the airport and how he pulled her to safety.
Thank god for Aggie honor.
Of course.
For a nominal amount of money, I had the opportunity to upgrade to a first class ticket. Since I’d never flown in the fancy ass first class I decided to go for it.
Here’s the part where I wish I could tell you it was a total waste of money and that I regretted doing it.
But that would be a lie because it was the best money I ever spent.
Not only are the seats spacious, but the booze is free! That saying, “The best tasting beer is FREE beer,” is true times a bajillion when you’re on an airplane. I drank white wine until I was sweating Chardonnay and had to stop reading my book because the words on the page were dancing.
The only drawback from this little scenario came about 10 minutes after we landed. The first thing I did was a bathroom to break the seal in. Then I set out to meet the Husband at the appointed location. Now, I knew I was a touch inebriated because the level of concentration on using the motor skills it required to balance all my crap in the bathroom stall was extremely elevated. Plus I was sweating like I was in a sauna. The gravity, however, of my impairment wasn’t fully realized until I tried to mount the movable walkway that takes you toward baggage claim.
You see, I’m not one to dillydally in airports. I put my nose down, forearm up and go to it. Apparently, I also use a death grip on my luggage. Or so I learned when I stepped onto the moving walkway and the escalator teeth latched onto my baggage, ripping it from my grasp and sending me down to my knees.
As I tried to steady myself and get back onto my feet, I saw that my entire luggage --including my purse -- was now hung up at the entrance to the moving walkway. The travelers behind me, no doubt surprised at such a spectacle, were jumping over my shit so as not to be thrown down too.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been drunk and found yourself on your hands and knees on a moving walkway. But only those who have can fully appreciate how disorienting nature of this position. The only thing I can compare it to is trying to hang on to one of those old-school merry-go-rounds powered by 15 of your fellow second graders. That’s kind of the same sensation.
Anyway, if it hasn’t been for my inebriation, I think I could have gotten my shit together and retrieved my belongings. But, alas, that wasn’t the case. As I crawled backwards toward the entrance, the same folks who had just jumped over my luggage were now stumbling over me.
I’m sure it was only a few seconds of this, but it felt like forever. Immediately, I realized I wasn’t really progressing toward my trapped baggage. I was just a hamster running on a stationary wheel.
So I gave up and just sat down in the middle of the moving isle and decided when I got to the end of walkway I’d just try and roll out of the way, hopefully avoid getting trampled. Screw my purse and luggage.
And that’s when I saw my rescuer – a young man talking on his cell phone and carrying his own baggage. Without putting down his phone, he scooped my luggage and purse up and walked to quickly to where I sat. He placed my luggage beside me, then pulled me up off the moving belt.
ALL WITHOUT INTERUPTING HIS PHONE CONVERSATION.
When got to the end of the moving walkway, he pulled my luggage off, placed it in my hand and offered a smile and a gentle nod. I thanked him profusely, but he waved it off, smiled again and kept on trucking toward his destination. AND TALKING ON THAT PHONE. Never once missing a beat.
When I finally reached my husband and relayed to him the story, he asked what the man looked like so he could thank him for helping me. I couldn’t recall much of his description, just that he was wearing a Texas A&M t-shirt.
“Oh! He was an Aggie,” I said.
“OF COURSE, he was,” my husband said, as if I had said something so obvious that a retarded monkey would have shook his head at me and thought: DUH ,LADY.
We didn’t manage to bump into my savior again before leaving the airport, but I know that somewhere there is a very nice young Aggie telling all his drinking buddies about this drunk woman sitting on the moving walkway at the airport and how he pulled her to safety.
Thank god for Aggie honor.
Of course.
2 comments:
only my daughter could
popeye
your stories are wonderful.
that shit could only happen to you.
escalator teeth frighten me.
-everette
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