So getting off "The Rock" has been quite refreshing. It feels great to finally be cold for once and being on the mainland definetly has its perks. See on Maui, I am just some asshole tourist. On the mainland, I'm just an asshole.
My stay in Seattle is terse and I'm dropped off at the airport to head to Boise. Next time you are at an airport, take a look around and ask yourself, "Am I in real life version of Sim City or what?"
Normally, I travel very light. I'm not one for material possessions which leads me to believe I was a kickass nomadic herder in a previous life. I'm going to be on the mainland for about a month and a half and I have to check one bag. Not because I want to but because airport get kind of nervous when they book a one way ticket for a young male with no luggage
As I approach the plane, it becomes abundantly clear why my ticket only cost 55 dollars. Great, a propeller plane. This is like riding a fucking Shetland Pony at the fucking Kentucky Derby. I should have coughed up the extra twenty dollars and flown on an actual jet. In a jet we would get there faster and probably would be gaurenteed a greater then 50 percent chance of survival. I guess rich people's lives are worth more.
Getting on a plane is always a little offsetting. While in the catwalk I always am thinking to myself, "which 300 pound bohemeath will be sitting next to me?" More then not I pick the right one too! I can add this to the list of worthless skills I poccess right next to the ability to pick the slowest grocery line.
It turns out I lucked out today. I am placed next to an only mildly obese elderly person. This is America, and by some approximation, today I have lucked out.
The plane takes off and we are airborne. The old women next to me starts to apply makeup and my mind starts to wonder. When you don't care about personal appearance or social norms you are allotted more time to pick up on things or people don't. The smitten young 20 something couple snuggling in the corner, the flight attendant that was in the bathroom only long enough to piss and not wash her hands, and when your lucky, only really luck, the occasionally breast feeding nipple shot. I really don't care what people think of my appearance. Today it was jeans, hooded sweat shirt with slippers. While the women next to me is putting on makeup she could potentially miss a guy soliciting a handy underneath an airline provided blanket. A thinking man might call me pedantic
As the beverage cart rolls down the aisle, I carefully mull over my choices. ""Hmm … apple juice. I had apple juice yesterday. How about cranberry cocktail? Nah, that's only like 3% juice. That wouldn't be good for my health. Oh, wait what is that?!?"" We have a winner! Sure enough I spot a Heineken amidst the cans. I distinctly remember in the preamble that they were serving juice, coffee, beer and wine. Why should I let some stupid clock tell me when it is and is not ok to have a beer?
There is no way I could pass on a free beer. I think the last time I did was when I was like 14 when the old man offered me a sip around the campfire. I am sure that I had my reasons. I have a had a distinguished palate from a very young age and the old man has a tendency to drink fermented horse piss.
Society tells you that having a beer at 6:50am is wrong. But I have never been the one abide by social norms. I have been accused of a lot of things in life; being obnoxious, shallow and even statutory rape but one thing I am most certainly not is shy. Enough with the self talk Garrett I think to myself. Self affirmation is mental masturbation – man up! "I'll have a beer," I assert like it's happy hour somewhere. I proudly show her my Montana ID and I have my beer. Score: Montana 1 Washington 0.
The best part about the whole situation was my seating location. I had elderly people on both sides of me, a couple of young business people in front of me, and some more middle aged people sprinkled in the mix. And with out fail I pop the top and it's about as loud as the can of beer you open during the open credit at a movie theater. Yeah, I raised some eyebrows for sure buts that's what I am here for. Stirring the pot on another unsuspecting group of conservative people at a time. Sadly, no one else follows suit and I am stuck drinking my beer alone. This wasn't the first time and probably won't be the last.
Time continues to elapse and my beer has been completely imbibed. Asking for another round crosses my mind but even I have my limits. I have never been a fan of Heineken myself, I recommend Summer Wheat by Henry Weinhard for a good breakfast beer.
I don't know if it was the alcohol or the fact I am sitting in what equates to be a giant 7,000 ton vibrator, I think about what it would be like to have sex with a flight attendant. Not specifically one on this flight but any flight attendant. They are quite lackluster and homogeneous by breed. Most likely a high school drop out and had an unwavering desire to "see the world." I imagine most to have between 3-5 and kids. This includes the obligatory bastard child from a pilot, or at least someone posing as a pilot, in the chili's airport lounge. But what really give me the giggles more then anything is the thought the airplane it is the perfect perverts paradise. Think about it. Besides the extacy induced rave you went to last weekend, when is the last time you have ever made so much physical contact with people you don't know? As Tyler would say, "Now a question of etiquette. Do I give the ass or the crotch?" I have done Tyler one better. How about the shoulder? Yes, that's right. Next time you are sitting on the isle, lean your shoulder out while your favorite stewardess walks by. It's a sure fire way to get a shoulder full, and perhaps a face full of ass, if your lucky. I love being the topic of angry conversation when she tells her stewardess friends, "that asshole in 22-B just felt me up!!!" If anyone calls you on it cause a major league distraction by going off on a rant saying that if the person sitting next to you takes up one and a half seats then they should pay for one and a half seats! And if anything you are being sexually harassed because Mr./Mrs. Bohemeath massive arm flab makes it impossible for you NOT to be in the isle. Note this only works if the person sitting next to you is a 300 pound bohemeath and you are skinny little shit. I would hate for anyone to look like a fool. But extra kudos to you if you are that invidious 300 pound bohemeath causing the ruckus!
Everyone needs to check this guy out. What a man child!