Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I arrived at LAX ridiculously early, because I'd miscalculated the
amount of time it would take me to drive the 405 freeway. On the day I
arrived in Los Angeles, I'd sat on that horrible strip of concrete for
more than ninety minutes. But the time was cut in half on the day I left
town. It probably had something to do with sunspot activity, I'm
not sure.
Immediately I was given a fewmore things to worry about.
The woman who checked me in said my flight had been delayed thirty
minutes, because of "weather back east." Then she proceeded to
cast serious doubts on whether or not I'd make my connection in
Cleveland. "If you have to spend the night there," she said,
"Continental is not responsible for your hotel room or food,
because these delays are being caused by weather and out of our
control."
Wonderful. They're already laying the groundwork for another
cluster-fuck.
I went to my gate, and had lots of free time on my hands. So I wandered
into a nearby eaterie, called Ruby's
Diner, and had breakfast. And I
don't know if I was just especially hungry or what, but that shit was awesome.
And how many times can you say that about food at an airport?
Then it was a waiting game. Here's a guy who was sitting beside me, all
reared back and making snoring sounds like a luxury liner coming into
port. Oh, this was going to be an excellent day.
After we finally got going, the pilot told us that despite the delayed
departure, we'd only be arriving in Cleveland about seven minutes late.
That made me feel a little better, but I had visions of us sitting on a
runway for thirty minutes. Or me being trapped inside the plane once we
arrived, behind some fatass with all his earthly belongings packed into
the overhead bins.
I'd never make it; I only had twenty minutes to work with, and it was
pure fantasy to believe anything else. My only hope: the flight out of
Cleveland would be delayed as well. Supposedly it was snowing there,
like a bastard someone said, so that was my only chance. I was trying to
prepare myself mentally for a night in Ohio without a toothbrush or
change of clothes.
A few minutes before we landed, one of the flight attendants made an
announcement. She said there are several passengers aboard who have very
tight connections to make. Please be courteous, she requested, and allow
these folks to exit the plane first. Cool!
But she might as well have been blowing diarrhea in the wind. Nobody
gave a crap about anyone but themselves, and clogged the aisles like a
hunk of cheddar in a poopshoot. I started hollering that I needed off,
but there was nowhere for anyone to go. An Asian woman a few feet away
joined me in my campaign, and finally the sea parted. It was me, the
woman, a well-dressed man, and a not so well-dressed man.
And we were off to the races.
"Here they come!" a woman shouted into a walkie-talkie, as we
sprinted off the plane. "They need D25 and D28!" she said. We
were running, just full-out. Man, my love handles were in motion.
We made it to an escalator, and took a breather on the way up. All of us
except Well- Dressed Man, that is, who continued sprinting up the moving
stairs. And I tried not to laugh when he tripped and fell, and his
briefcase exploded in a mushroom cloud of business memos. Good stuff.
At the top of the escalator was one of those beeping carts, with a Civil
War veteran behind the "wheel." Jump on, he hollered, and we
went tearing through some sort of underground tunnel. The old guy was
blowing his horn, and sending people scrambling. I was concerned we
might crash, we seemed to be traveling at a speed far beyond the
boundaries of common sense.
But we made it, to another escalator anyway. He told us to ride it up,
and run like hell to our gates straight ahead. And that's what we did.
Asian Woman and Well-Dressed Man went to D25, for a flight to
Philadelphia. Not So Well-Dressed Man and your humble correspondent went
to D28, for a flight to Scranton/Wilkes-Barre.
I was huffing and puffing, as DEVO might put it, like a fat boy in lead
shoes. I ran up to the gate attendant and handed him my boarding pass,
and my partner in hilarity was right behind me. "Oh, we haven't
even started boarding that flight, sir." he said. "We're
running a few minutes behind."
"Christ!" screamed Not So Well-Dressed Man. Yep, he's from
Scranton, I told myself. The guy seemed all pissed off about it, but I
didn't care. I wouldn't be spending the night in Cleveland after all.
We'd freakin' made it. It was a shocking turn of events, and I
called Toney to give her the good news. I don't think I adequately
conveyed what I'd been through, because she seemed unimpressed that I
was at my correct gate in time to make my next flight. There was an air
of "that's what you're supposed to do" to her voice.
We flew home on one of those little Amelia Earhart planes, with
propellers and the whole nine yards. The flight attendant was a
recording, and I think there were only eighteen seats on the thing. I
could feel the vibration of the engines in my wiener, and it was noisy as
all hell. We swayed and swooped and rumbled through the sky. But it got
us to Scranton, and that's all that mattered.
The much-dreaded trip was behind me now, and my new Big Ass Television
would be delivered in the morning. As I drove toward home, I was almost
giddy. I considered stopping at the beer store for a case of the golden
elixir, but was a good boy and drove right past it.
--
I arrived at LAX ridiculously early, because I'd miscalculated the
amount of time it would take me to drive the 405 freeway. On the day I
arrived in Los Angeles, I'd sat on that horrible strip of concrete for
more than ninety minutes. But the time was cut in half on the day I left
town. It probably had something to do with sunspot activity, I'm
not sure.