Travel reminds me that there are not enough shovels to hit the collective faces that need shoveling.
Sitting in the airport waiting on a flight, minding my own business and reading SI. Some fuck comes up, flops into the seat on the opposite side of me, whips out his cell phone and begins a conversation. Full volume.
YEAH, I'M IN THE AIRPORT. WAITING ON THE PLANE. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.
If I could have gotten a shovel through security, I would have bashed the cell phone into his ear and then smashed out all his teeth. Shut the fuck up, dude.
No shovel, so I move. Another loud ass fuck parks a seat over, whips out the cell and starts blabbing. He's got earphones and a mike so he's screaming into his chest. With a shovel? I'd have buried that mic in his lungs.
Move again.
Floppy hat lady begins walking and talking. Again full volume. No escape.
Plane delayed. All babble for hours. I wish for a meteor strike.
Plane finally shows up. Was going to have a two hour layover. Now? Might not make the connection. They stop the plane on the tarmac, 200 yards from the entrance. We're at gate E36. I have to make gate C34. I have six minutes. I ask the stewardess if she can let them know I'm coming. She says no. If I have a shovel, she's walking with a limp the rest of her life.
Run -- literally OJ it -- from E36 to C34. One of the carts hauling old people honks at me as I try to dodge through the space. Shovel? The driver would be without her weave.
Get to the gate. Plane has not departed! I'm out of breath, panting. And I say "Jesus Fucking Christ, that was a long way to run. I can't believe those sonsabitches had me haul ass through the airport like that. Mother fuck." Guy in front of me turns around. His black suit is actually a priest's attire. Collar and all. A look of reproach, but I ignore him.
In an amazing coincidence, I'm seated in the same row as the priest. Next to him. The other side of me is Haji Baba. Speaks no english. First thing he does is try to pry open the McDonald's sundae he carried on board and waste the whole package of nuts all over my lap.
"JESUS, dude..." I draw another look of scorn from Father Flightplan.
Fifteen minutes into the flight, Haji Baba takes off his shoes. Now in addition to the stench of the McD's meal he half consumed, I'm smelling the stench of sour Fritos wafting up from the floor.
I can't take it. "Could you put your shoes on?" I tell him. He smiles and nods. "Shoes. On" I point at my foot. He smiles and nods. "SHOES. ON!" He smiles and nods. Fuck it.
Ten minutes later, Haji Baba is asleep. He keeps flopping over on me. I keep shoving him back the other way. The priest won't look at me. I think about hitting him in the back of the head with a shovel.
Finally land.
Immediately a cacophony of cell phones and numbfucks screaming into them. It's 2 in the fucking morning. Who are they calling? Haji Baba calls somebody. "Bimby pimby, nahnoo nah!" I hope that means "my feet fucking reek" in Hindarian or whatever he speaks. I'd use a special shovel on Haji Baba. I'd bash every cell phone on the plane into oblivion.
Bag collection uneventful.
Need a cab. It's 2:30 now. Three people in the cab line. Some Guido, Haji Baba and me. Guido gets a cab. Haji gets a cab. *Crickets* 20 minutes... 30 minutes....airport now deserted.
Battered mini-van screams up. No markings at all. Older guy with wild hair rolls down the window waves a clipboard in my direction and says "I'ssa cab. Get in and I'll find a cab for you..." What? What does that mean?
3 a.m. No other options in sight. So I open the side door.
Back seats of the van are gone. Just the middle bench remains. There's no meter. In the back is a box of black plastic bags, two bottles of bleach and a bag of rags. There's a roll of duct tape hanging off his gear shift. I've seen enough Dexter to know what that means. But it's 3 a.m., I'm tired as fuck and I figure he's old enough that if I keep my eye on him I can fight his ass off if he tries to make a move.
We drive around. He jibber jabbers, I don't understand half of it because of the accent. He goes to the taxi dispatch area, drives through, blows the horn at a cab sitting there idling and drives off.
"Thassa guy ASS-hole, real sonzabeech!" he tells me.
And then he drives me straight to the hotel and unloads the bags. I try to give him $40 and he won't take it. Takes $20 after I insist.
Him? I figured he was gonna shovel me. But I wouldn't shovel him.
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