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|Hilarious antics ensued after my latest trip home.|
|I started the trip back to school in Lost Wages, Nevada. We go there every year for a Dental convention. After losing my standard $70 in the casino and making it up by consuming $500 worth of champagne and caviar at Bally's Sunday brunch, I was feeling pretty good about life, the universe and everything. |
Then, I got in my rental car, and started the drive towards McFUCKERS FUCKED UP INTERNATIONAL.
Think of the labyrinth in the movie...um....Labyrinth. Pave over the bricks and leave the adorable bog of eternal stench right in the terminal, and you should have a good mental approximation of this pit. So, I navigated the maze, the bog, and yes, our stunningly brilliant and effective TSA ("Have your possessions been in your possession for the duration of all existence?" NO, MY DEAR FRIEND MUSTAFA PACKED THE BAG! DIE INFADELS!!!)
I get on the plane. An Airtran plane (cold shivers...like the kind you get after dry heaving on alcohol) has enough knee space for a few of the most deformed midgets. Being 6'4" in height, this is a problem for me. The plane is packed to the gills, mostly with folks that went to similar buffets that I did, except for every meal for a week--you know, average fat-asses. My row was blissfully absent of them, but that only slightly makes up for the surgery I am going to need to extricate my legs out of my ass (Yes, thats right, my legs popped out of the pelvis' sockets, and lodged themselves there).
Fine. Small seats. Big fucking deal. Everyone bitches about that. The force multipliers of annoyance in ascending order: overnight flight, 1 drink (no refills), constantly clogged bathrooms, and then the unthinkable--a fucking drug addict OD'd on the plane! YAY! I was awakened at 3:30am to "Are there any doctors or RN's onboard? Would you please press the attendant button?"
Oh. Oh fuck. Not happening...lalalalalalala
I should have pushed the button.
Stewardess: "Are you a doctor sir?"
Doctor (In stout, super-hero voice): "Yes, Haywood Jablome, MD."
Stewardess: "This way Doctor, she says she having difficulty breathing."
Dr. Jablome: "Shortness of breath, eh? Well, looks like she's doomed. Throw her out the porthole and get me the fuck home."
Instead, a couple of RN's took a concerned crouch about three rows in front of me. They brought her oxygen, water, morphine, more oxygen, oxygen mixed with morphine and water, herbal douches, prayer circles...fuck if I know...and it didn't fucking help. We circled Dallas for an hour, then landed, sat on the ground for 3 hours while more doctors with stretchers, and then the DEA and police came on board and searched for her bags in the cargo hold.
I got into Memphis after an 8 hour flight, that would normally take 4.
Oh, but that's just half the story...
I get my bags and head out into the parking lot in search of my dad's newly Ebayed moving van. The guy left it in long term parking, so I had to march about 3 miles. Fine. Got to the truck, it looks like a good van for 4k...but we must have pissed the guy off. He left it in the lot for 6 days for a total charge of 66 bucks to spring it. Then, he couldn't be bothered to leave 1 FUCKING GALLON OF GAS IN THE TANK. He must have deliberately timed it for maximum-fuckup.
SHIT-ASS TELLER: "Is there a problem sir?"
Dr. Jablome: "Um....hold on....(rev-rev-rev-die)....yes."
SHIT-ASS TELLER: "I'm going to have to ask you to move your vehicle, sir. You are blocking the lane."
Dr. Jablome: "Fine." (head explodes)
Why must thou fucketh with me, O universe!?