February 2009

I spent three days in Atlanta on sales calls last week. I’d tell you all about it but I’m still trying to bounce back from several things. Chief among them, my experience in the airport on Wednesday night. (Oh Atlanta? At some point we are going to need to have a very long conversation about your lack of clearly marked streets. I know we are in a recession but street signs have never been considered a luxury in my mind. Seriously. Think of it as a favor to the directionally challenged like me.)

Got to the airport two hours early for my flight. Could have caught the earlier flight but chose not to given the fact that the sky had opened and showered bright light down upon me when I was told I had been upgraded to first class on my return flight home. BOO-YAH!

The looming clouds in the sky should have been a sign I should get the heck out while I could….but no. I was too busy dancing the dance of the first class upgrade, imagining myself being catered to, well fed and rested upon my return home.

Flight. Choice. FAIL.

What was my first clue you ask? Well, the fact that there was no where to go and wait except for a tiny restaurant/bar with no seats for starters. Apparently, if you choose to fly American as I most often do being from Dallas, you get punished in Atlanta which is the hub for Delta. In this terminal there are two choices. First, Burger King which honestly I would have gladly chosen but it was closed and secondly, said tiny restaurant/bar…which was full. I finally found a place to wedge myself in and order a glass of wine. The man to my right was a nice guy, late fifties, very excited to tell me all about his mosquito killing products. To my left? Different story. Let me tell you, if ever find yourself sandwiched between a crazed DJ doing Jaeger bombs and a guy telling you about the latest in mosquito killing technology and can’t decide who to talk to? Choose the bug killer dude.

It all went well for the first hour or so. I learned more about killing mosquitoes than I ever have in my life and quietly read my book all the while counting how many Jaeger bombs this guy was going to throw back. (Lost count at five…) At some point during the second hour, the DJ (DJ Lou in case you were wondering) decided I was somehow interesting and started asking me a whole lot of questions about my sex life. I’m not sure if it was the wholesome pony tail or the velour track suit that screams “I Am Mommy” that started this line of questioning, but there it was. Still, there was exactly no where else to sit as all the flights were being canceled.

Proving that you should never utter the phrase, “I just don’t see how this can get any worse” the situation took at southward turn when DJ Lou ran out of Jaegermiester. Thankfully, they had tequilla on hand as well and he switched his liquor of choice. Still going strong with the sexual comments and questions, and now sweating profusely, I finally looked at him and asked what on earth he was thinking drinking like that and then asking me those questions.

“Well, for starters, the Valium I took earlier ain’t kicking in and you look like you can tell a dirty joke.”

Huh. DJ Lou had a point. I mean, I don’t know about the Valium and what not…but I can for sure throw out some of the raunchiest jokes ever heard and not bat an eye. But we weren’t done. DJ Lou wanted to spin for me and asked me what kind of tunes I liked in the tiny overcrowded bar. First answer: “Classical?” trying to throw him off. No go. Second answer: “Country?”. Still no go. Figuring out my age, DJ Lou chose to spin some 80′s tunes for me complete with the WHACKA WHACKA WHOOOO DJ sounds that I just don’t get because I haven’t been a club kid in a very, very long time.

As if this isn’t bad enough yet, all the rauchy LOUD sex questions combined with my personal DJ mix, at this point that I should tell you that DJ Lou was a big dude weighing in at at least 300 lbs. Starting to finally get a buzz on, he looked at me and said, “Hey Mamma…wanna earn some bucks tonight?” Not knowing where this might go, I immediately threw up in my chicken nugget basket and then took the bait.

Me: “Oh sure, I’m in need of a few bucks…what’s it gonna take?”
Him: “Just carry me to the plane if I pass out and I’ll pay you 20 bucks.”
Me: “Um…I’m pretty sure I can’t carry you…how about if I just kick you in the nuts when it’s time to go?”
Him: “Deal.”

Quite possibly could have been the easiest twenty bucks I’d ever make in my life. I didn’t get to kick him in the nuts (shame really) but we did race together to the jetway to make our flight an hour later. At which point I realized WE WERE ON THE SAME FLIGHT.

DJ Lou and I were seated pretty far apart on the plane and I finally made it home late that night having no more interesting run ins. The guy next to me on the flight fell asleep the minute we pulled back from the gate and I was so happy I wanted to hug him. Instead I just sat very still…listening to him snore, and thinking it might be the best sound I heard all day.

That upgrade? Totally wasn’t worth it.

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