Well, I’m away again. Not that anyone would notice. Once again, I won’t be very “posty” until next Wednesday. I’m going to do everything in my power to get the NFL Picks up tomorrow, and I’ll be checking in here and there. One of these days I really am going to find someone to help me crank out this garbage.
So, I was flying (read: milling around O’Hare Airport) for most of the day yesterday. Airports are amazing for people watching, but also for just listening to people’s conversations. I think everyone is nervous and they just chatter away.
Getting on my first flight the lady in front of me is running her mouth about how she hates flying. I’m sure everyone in the Jetway loves hearing about it 10 minutes before we take off. Her rant immediately bonds her to the person in front of her. She also does not like to fly. Hey, ladies, Amtrak would love the business. But lady two says, it’s not being in the air, it’s the enclosed spaces. “I could never work in a cave she says.”. Work in a cave? Cave men didn’t work in caves. Think of the millions of jobs she missed out on because she doesn’t find a cave to be a suitable work environment. Unreal.
I’m sitting in the next to last row, also known as, watch the parade to the can and hope everyone keeps it social. The row in front of me is entirely open, except for a guy who is standing in the aisle and hawking the rest of the plane. Five seconds before get ready to lock it down some guy comes in and takes the window seat in his row. He’s devastated. I should note now that he’s approximately 50 yrs old and rocking the open short-sleeve button down over a t-shirt look, which was last successfully pulled off never.
He says to the new guy, “If you didn’t show I was going to ask that girl in the middle seat up there if she wanted some more room. The one in the hoodie.”
The late arriving guy makes some non-commital noise. What do you say to that?
“She’s beautiful,” the moron drones on. “European.”. 10 second pause to let the awkwardness set in. “You’re not as pretty.”
New guy, probably contemplating getting out and walking to Chicago, “Thanks.” Great answer. That’s the only acceptable response there aside from, “Wow, you’re really creepy. Geeeeeeeeet it together.”. Time to mention hoodie girl’s approximate age was…20.
At O’Hare I had all the live long afternoon. I roamed. What to eat? I hit up multiple concourses. Airport Sushi? No. Johnny Rockets? Tempting, but a milkshake could be a GRAVE error. Wolfgang Puck? Wolfgang no. Finally, I just went into Chilis even though I don’t like sitting by myself in a restaurant. I was immediately rewarded for my risk.
They sit me awkwardly close to a prodigious hoss. His two-top is wall-to-wall dishware. He’s got the bottomless toastadas (well played as a single). He’s got the worst thing on Chili’s menu, that skillet queso crap, and he’s got a burger. Now like I said, the guy had generous dimensions, but this is like sitting down to lunch with an entire bag of Tostitos, a jar or salsa, a jar of queso, and a burger. I wanted to take a picture, ask the guy to autograph a napkin, but just then he said he was done. Hardly touched it. Image shattered.
Final flight of the day. I’m on a pretty small plane. Three seats across–total. Tiny aisle. The lady beside me looks terrified. Then the dead give away, she starts looking at the safety card. I hate to be the bearer of bad news lady, but…ok, nevermind, read your card.
We survive take-off, the flight attendant utters the words, alcoholic beverages will be available for six dollars, and the lady dives into her wallet like an eager pre-schooler into a ball pit. She’s counting her money, massaging it, waiting.
The guy comes up and in Chris Farley drag voice the lady says, “Give some damn red wine, man!”. Or something thereabouts. The guy checks his cart. No wine. At this point I’m thinking there may be a breakdown. We may have to turn this bird around and head back to Chicago. But, the flight attendant is prepared. How about a pre-made mojito? Pomegranate Martini? Red wine is obviously this chick’s life-blood, but she’s desperate. Hit her with a martini. In the next 1/2 hour she sucks down two.
Not sure they helped, but she managed not to not faint during a little bump on the landing. Score one for Absolut.
I think that’s all I’ve got. For this trip, anyway.