breaking hearts has never looked so good
Airplane TV monitors have the coolest static. Ever. I wish I could have it as my screensaver. I’m writing this at 37,000 feet, somewhere over Anytown, USA. My laptop says that it has 1:38 minutes of battery left, which is perfect, because I touch down in Chicago in almost exactly that. I think the dad sitting two seats over is pissed at me. I was watching Equilibrium on my laptop, and his little girl who is probably 7 or 8, turned to watch the part where Preston breaks someone’s hand, knee, and arm. I am a horrible influence on children.
I hate O’Hare. Everyone does. Sitting in SeaTac, which isn’t that great either, we all commiserated about how much O’Hare blows. Hopefully the hour and a half we have there will be enough to get something to eat, because what they serve on the plane, ala shit in a box runs $10. It’s hard to get mad over the price point, considering my dinner last night was $70, but that was excellent.
Let me go into detail.
We walk in around 8:45 for our reservation, dressed the part of young aristocrats. Not knowing that it was customary to be fashionably late, we had a few minutes to peruse the scene. Both of the hostesses were gorgeous. The heavy wood doors that the doorman closed behind us were padded with black leather on the inside. The whole place, and especially the bar, are done in leather and dark wood. The lights are low, and there’s candles and old-fashioned lamps lighting the place.
The hostess finally beckons to us and takes us through the restaurant to our table. We had a corner booth. At arguably the best restaurant in Seattle. We ordered table service, and sat back and watched our tuxedoed waiter make Caesar salad, dressing and all, from scratch. I ordered a 16oz ‘baseball cut’ steak. I assumed baseball was some kind of a fancy steakhouse term, but I wasn’t prepared for what I got. My steak was literally the height of a baseball, not to mention fucking excellent. When they come to ask you if you want dessert, they put this silver tray of fruit, nuts, cheese, and crackers in front of you, also on the comp. The cheesecake I had has forever ruined cheesecake for me. Every cheesecake from here on out will be a crime against the slice I had last night.
Here’s a trick for all you cheap bastards out there, one of my favorites. Most people don’t know good wine from their ass. Instead of trying to look like a wine connoisseur at a fancy restaurant, order a mineral water. It won’t be on the menu, but they always have it, and many times it will be free because some of these high society types won’t drink tap water. You don’t look like an idiot, and you always feel like cash-money ordering things that aren’t on the menu, and receiving that knowing nod from the waiter. But now, back to the story.
We capped off our last night in 2900 on 1st with an exchange of fire between N304 and N204. Out last minute cleaning of the fridge left us with a formidable arsenal of eggs, condiments, and other assorted foodstuffs. After playing “throw the eggs over the Escalade,” we threw a few onto Mike and Eric’s balcony. Fifteen minutes later we got our response. I went out to survey the damage and stepped on something wet and slimy. Our balcony was covered with a wet, odd smelling liquid, and what looked at first glance like a water balloon. We’d been condom-ballooned. The bastards filled condoms with water, oatmeal, ketchup, salsa, and various other kitchen products and launched them up at us. I had stepped on the condom-balloon. I hopped through the apartment on one foot to the bathtub to wash my foot off. Steve, not wanting to touch the unpopped balloon, picked it up in bubble wrap and flung it back where it came from.
When I went out the next morning to see it in the light, on the street below I saw Mike and Eric loading their car. They saw me. Mike, seeing my disgust with the state of the balcony, lost it and began laughing hysterically. Eric sprinted back to the building fearing return fire. A summary glance of the balcony confirmed it as a total loss. I’m glad that it was our last day.
Moving out of the apartment was easier than I thought. It’s easier to pack everything in the apartment than it is to pick and choose what to bring from all your worldly possessions. Getting up at 6:30 to do it however, is another matter entirely. I do not function as a normal human being at 6:30 in the morning. I lack primary motor functions and the ability to conjugate verbs. That I found my way to the shower without assistance is nothing short of a small miracle. After loading the car, Steve and I managed to make it to SeaTac with time to spare and headed to our separate ticket counters. Steve was flying Delta, who is conveniently located next to the elevators. I was flying United, whose ticket counter is located in the 7th level of hell, next to the pool of despair.
After them not giving me my ticket, but instead this ‘departure management’ slip that I’d just have to exchange at the gate, I headed for the long security lines. Every line I went to, there was a diminutive Asian lady who would tell you that the next line was shorter, and to go there instead. This happened 3 times. I don’t know if it was three identical women, or just woman who was really fast. And sneaky. By the time I finally got to a line, I’d spent longer walking than I would have waiting in the first line. Asshats. Unlike my last attempt at going through a major metropolitan airport, this time I didn’t get the ‘terrorist special.’ Although they did X-ray my shoes.
After getting to the gate, and talking to the douche at the counter, he managed to straighten out my lack of a ticket, and even get me a boarding pass to use at O’Hare. It’s nice when once in a while, when you find someone working in the airport that doesn’t act like they’ve just had a badger enema.
So far the plane has been alright. They showed Shrek 2 as the in-flight movie, which turned out to be quite good. They put me and Mr. Rykov across the aisle from each other, effectively dividing a family of four. It is their little girl next to me that I traumatized with vivid imagery of breaking limbs. I have to find some way to entertain myself for another 50 minutes. This guy a few rows up has one of those retarded inflatable airline pillows. It looks like he’s wearing a hemorrhoid donut around his neck.