Monday, February 15, 2010

Memoir Monday: How American Tried To Ruin My Trip.

(Hey guys and gals. It's Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y'all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the brand new button!!)



I really don't like American Airlines.

This hasn't always been the case, and truth be told, wasn't even the case when I took off from Tulsa. Although it sort of blossomed there. Let's go back to the beginning...

It was Tuesday morning. Our flight was a 9:45 in the morning and I didn't want to be late. We left our house at 8 to make the hour drive to the airport. When we got there we were met by a sweet little old lady that was around 237 years old. I don't remember her name, but she had a voice that you'd want in your head all the time.

"Let's just go right over here, guys. Okay, we're just gonna slide this card right in here...okay, now see? It's not charging you anything at all, no it's not. It's just checkin to see who you are. That's right. See? Yeah, just finding out who you are. Is this you, Alicia? Well isn't that just a pretty name? And are you Travis? Yes you are. So we're just going to push a few more buttons...and there you go! Look at you! All booked up! How easy was that? Yes it was."

I'm pretty sure she scratched my head and kissed me on the cheek. I loved that lady.

However, that was the last nice person we met.

Enter airport security.

Yeah. I haven't flown since the 9/11. I've heard all the jokes about security, but I just thought maybe they were exaggerations. I was wrong.

We just tried to do what everyone else did, but for me, that wasn't good enough. I left my cell phone strapped to my belt and my money clip in my pocket.

I beeped.

"Do you have any metal on your person?"
"Umm... Yes?"
"Is that a cell phone?"
"Yeah."
(shakes head) "Sir, you ought to know you can can't carry that through a metal detector. And a money clip? Sir."
"Can we please take it easy on the people who haven't flown before?"

At this point, a line started to form behind me, and I'm pretty sure I saw the glint of a sniper scope in a birds nest ready to take my head off, so I quit my bitching, stripped balls naked and did the helicopter with my cash and prizes through the detector.

Okay, not really.

We were seated together for our 2 flights to New York. I gave her both the window seats on the way, so that I could get them on the way back, not knowing what would happen...

The seats on airplanes are really small. I will use a quote from Family Guy about "Anal Point" as a reference. "It's like a really small parking space. At first you think there is no way you'll get in, but then you tuck in the side mirrors, and whadda ya know, you're in there."

I got the buckle on in my first 2 flights with some trouble, but not much.

We landed in New York, and the trip happened, which is another blog for another day. Then we got snowed in a day. So our flight (and EVERYONE ELSE'S EVER) were switched to Thursday out of Newark, NJ airport.

That flight was headed to a layover in Chicago, and I got a window seat.

But.

Since there were so many people, we wound up getting this response to what turned out wasn't actually a ticket in our hand.

"Folks, you're promised a spot on the plane, but only if there aren't enough people on it already and only if that guy over there by the window comes up to me and tells me that a pink cow has just wandered across the tarmac carrying a suitcase full of oranges and wanting a connecting flight to Montana."

Um. Yeah.

It wasn't that bad. But it was pretty close. I'll spare you the details of the wait, but I had a long talk with Ginger Mandy while I was there. If you don't read her blog, you should. (shameless blog plug, FTW!)

I also tried to purchase a t-shirt to wear home because I was wearing a hoodie with a sleeveless shirt under it. At the place of business I was in, I said, "Do y'all have anything bigger than an XL?" The attendant said, "No." And I said, "Do y'all not get many fat people through Jersey?" The room went completely quiet. So yeah. I guess being husky isn't allowed in the Newark airport. And while it may be tolerated, jokes about it certainly aren't.

Since EVERYONE AND THEIR FUCKING MOTHER is utilizing carry-on space now, and since we were in GROUP FUCKING SIX and pretty much the last people on the plane, it so happened that they ran out of carry on space, and we had to check our bag. I was furious, but what can you do?

We got on seats near the front of the coach section, close enough to smell what first class was getting to eat, which pissed me off. I also couldn't get my seatbelt buckled on this plane. Which adds credit to my theory that they don't like fatties in Jersey. I tried for 20 minutes to get the flight attendant's attention, but she was up front suckin off the first class people. I finally got the extender, (heh) and I calmed down a bit.

Then we just sat there.

And we sat there.

And we were just sitting there and I was starting to get the swamp thighs because I have husky thighs and they don't like to be stuck together for that long because they start to sweat and make my balls feel like they're in a humidifier and that's no good for anyone.

Then the captain comes on.

"Folks, this is your captain and I just want to say that we are currently waiting on the catering for this flight. It was supposed to be catered in Chicago, but it has to be done here. I know that currently one of our fat coach passengers is suffering a case of sweaty balls, and I'd just like you to all join me in making fun of him for being fat and asking for the seatbelt extender."

Cue laughter.

Not really, but he did say the part about the catering. We were waiting on the damn FOOD. My thing is, if I'm the fattest person on the plane, and I can go 2 hours without cramming food down my gullet, then you can too. That's real.

Finally we took off, and get to Chicago without incident. We go through a similar ticket experience. We find out that we aren't sitting together, which upsets me, but then The Missus pulls off the best bullshit she has EVER done.

"What seat do you want?"
"Well, I want the window seat. You owe me."
"Okay." (pretends to do some calculating) "They're both window seats."
"That's fine, just pick one and I'll take the other."
"Okay, I want this one because it will board quicker."

She boards the plane.

Then I board the plane.

As I am walking to my seat, I look up at the chart, and I find out that my seat is NOT a window seat.

That's okay, because it's an aisle seat.

NOT.

I AM IN THE MIDDLE FUCKING SEAT.

So of course I start wondering what the people in the seats beside me will think about a 350 pound guy sitting  next to them. As it turns out, that should have been the least of my worries. You see, the man to my left weighed about 350 pounds, and the man to my right probably tipped the scale at about the 300 mark.

Did you read that?

That's 1000 pounds of man in one row.

Have you ever driven a car that's really needing alignment, and you almost have to keep the wheel turned the whole time you're driving so that it keeps the car going straight?

Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's what the captain had to do to balance us out THE ENTIRE FLIGHT.

I plopped down between those two fatties, and we formed a super suction seating arrangement that allowed me to not even have to fasten my seat belt. If that plane had crashed, our row would have been the safest one on the plane. The g forces required to suck me out of that spot cannot be calculated even by the smartest of computers. It was the safest I'd felt the entire trip.

The Missus? She was in a window seat at the back of plane chatting it up with a Chapel Hill fan.

I pulled out my iPod to try to make the trip go by faster, but lo and behold, the guy to my left wanted to chat it up about everything from what I did for a living, to what I was doing in New York, to how my dad died. Seriously. I'm going to let everyone here know what the etiquette is when someone behind you puts on a pair of headphones.

You ready?

SHUT THE HELL UP!

There. You're all caught up, and now you know why I hate American Airlines.

Other Non-Squished Flights Down Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM!)

Bambi's Memoir Monday: And This Is Your Name?

BigSis' Memoir Monday: Old And Dried Up? Not Yet!

Greg's Memoir Monday: At The Train Station.

Corrie's Memoir Monday: The Unimaginable Happened.

Josh's Memoir Monday: Inked.

Daffy's Memoir Monday: If You Can't Take The Heat, Get Outta The Kitchen.

Kat's Memoir Monday: Memories.

Kate's Memoir Monday: Busted. (again)

Juicebox's Memoir Monday: Old School Style.

LB's Memoir Monday: More Mardi Gras Mayhem.

Scribe's Memoir Monday: Welcome To The Chop Shop.