Saturday, April 23, 2005

Big Jay does Big Sur

I'm in not-so-sunny California right now, getting ready for the Big Sur marathon. It was one shit storm after another with the airline getting over here. I flew out at 6am, certain I'd get to the sunshine state in time to pick up my race packet by 6pm. But apparently only a retard would be so foolishly naive. I, in case you didn't grasp that, would be said retard.

The first plane was grounded because the cleaning crew left a clip in the gasket around the windshield and the cockpit was losing pressure. Now, see if you just kept right on reading you apparently didn't hear me right. I said the first plane was grounded because the cleaning crew left a CLIP in the GASKET around the WINDSHIELD. Who the fuck crams clips into the gasket around a windshield to clean it? Is it a cleaning requirement to spit shine the bottom side of a gasket? Is that not an obvious safety hazard to anybody else?

So the first plane lands, they pull the clip, patch the seal and off we go...40 minutes late. I land in Denver just as my fucking connection to San Jose is taxiing down the runway.

Shit.

I get on a second plane and after everybody has boarded the pilot comes on and says that there's an electrical malfunction and the seatbelt signs will not light up. Big fucking deal. What he should have done was walked out and silently mouthed, "Are there any deaf motherfuckers up in this rig? Cuz this son of a bitch ain't got no lights and your hand-signaling asses need to stay buckled up. Safety first, bitches." That way only those on a need to know basis would need to know and the rest of us could have gone on our way to the big C.

But no, we have to wait for Wilbur the mechanic to come and take a look. Wilbur, not equipped with a full deck himself, somehow leans in too far to wherever the fuck they keep the fusebox on a little boeing and drops his Bic ink pen into the abyss. Holy mother of christ, somebody call the FAA!

And I think someone did. We were asked to unboard the plane we had just boarded and told we would be sitting in the waiting area for an undetermined amount of time until the pen could be recovered. Are you fucking kidding me? For the love of god, people, what in the hell was this pen made of, titanium and diamonds? Look, brother, I got a shitload of pens for you. Take one. Knock yourself out. Here, take this one, it works on presurrized airplanes. I won't be fucking needing it!

"Excuse me, ma'am, can you tell me what the contingency plan is here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your back up plan in case the pen is never recovered. Is there another flight we'll be put on?"

"Oh, no, sir, they're all booked solid."

Should I punch her now or try to get a few more answers out of her? "So how are we getting to California today?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

You stupid little--Breathe. Calm down. Inhale, exhale. Idiotic moron! What the fuck is your purpose with this airline, to PISS me off? Inhale. Hold it. Exhale slowly. Now imagine her gripping the wing of the plane as it soars over Nevada. Yes, happy thoughts. Much better.

Late, and tired, I'm here. It's almost 7pm. Gotta go carb load with the folks I came with. My goal is to finish. Fuck time.

What the hell am I saying? Like I could back down from a competition. Here's to hoping I trample some little old woman on the way to the finish line.