Day One: The Day The Earth Stood Still

My inclusion on this particular trip was what might be referred to 'last minute' or 'half-assed'. So about a week and a half ago, I scrambled around to try and get plane tickets and hotel reservations that were both convenient, and cheap (all that talk about garden gnomes helping you book your trips? bullshit) Despite Captain Kirk trying to negotiate my trip, I managed to get a reasonable itinerary set up; 4 days, 3 nights in San Diego; fly out Thursday, and back on Sunday. Awesome, right? Psh, please.

Let's start with Thursday which started off on ad note with a 20-minute storm making my roughly hour-long commute to work 2 hours*

*Expected time. I wouldn't know, since I had to turn around before I ever got to work and drive home to catch my flight.

Getting to the airport was easy, despite half of the combined armed forces of America being in the U.S. Airways check-in line ahead of me. However once I passed security, things started going south. The first notable happening was when everyone was waiting to board the plane, and the flight crew instructed the passengers that because this was a full flight, people with larger bags would need to check them. First of all, just because a suitcase has wheels and a handle does not mean it's a carry on. It means you're an asshole. Second...ly, if the staff tell you there is no room on the plane for your swollen, oversized tenement on wheels, don't try to sneak it on board. There were two people I saw who stood in the aisle for a good 5 minutes looking at the full overhead storage with a shoot-me-in-the-face-I'm-an-idiot look on their (unshot) face. I think at that point, the flight crew should not only check those persons' bags, but they should drop a heaping deuce right inside, and zip that sucker back up.

Now as fate would have it, of those genius people happened to be in my row. I'd like to take a minute to describe this gentleman. He was in his late 30's, early 40's, with a gelled up guido-hairstyle and an oversized button-down shirt that he refused to tuck into his black slacks, the likes of which fell on his (some kind of animal print) shoes. As if this alone wasn't enough to warrent judging this book by its cover, for the entire duration of the flight, this man had on a pair of those sunglasses-without-color things with a big fat PRADA on the frame.

From the moment he sat down, he was on his iPhone-wait for it- AND his blackberry talking to what I can only imagine is a sun-dried husk of a girlfriend and god knows who else. He even continued talking after the stewardess came by and gave him the "hang up" sign so we could get ready for take off. No, this guy was too cool for take off. It was only when the stewardess stood there and watched him pry the phone from his ear and turn it off did he manage to shut the fuck up.

All the while this is happening, the pilot comes and tells us that the storm that had come through this morning (and ruined my earlier commute) was in our direct flight path, and there appeared to be another storm headed in the alternate flight path. As a result, we ended up sitting on the runway while the radar people got thier shit together.

Back to the Douchenator. Upon hearing that he wasn't going to make his flight, he got out his phones (both of them) and started calling his CLEARLY important contacts, telling them he wasn't going to make the dinner reservations they had. After he did this, he proceeded to let out a series of attention-seeking sighs, grunts, and seat-shifts (which I, being myself, let go unanswered) until he pushed the flight attendant button. His request wasn't super out of the ordinary: he wanted a beer. Fair enough. However, while the plane is on the ground, the airline does not allow *coach passengers* to order alcoholic beverages (first class can for some fucked up reason). Well, the Douchenator did not like this. He did not like this at all. He proceeded to call the stewardess back, and tell her that he "needed" a beer because he "had a killer day" (note: this is taking place at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday) and began to demand that one of the first class passengers order him a beer, and that he'd go up there and "sit on their laps" if he had to. Classy, classy guy.

Well thankfully (or maybe not? READ ON!) the plane finally took off, and landed in Charlotte, NC. I had of course missed my connecting flight, and was currently awaiting a re-route (along with about half the passengers on the plane). But as I was in line at the ticket counter, as one last cherry on the shit-cake, I saw the Douchenator walking out of some airport shop with an obnoxiously large "Sharper Image" face/neck/body/someone-else's-body pillow to use on his next flight. To whomsoever be next to him: I wish you luck.

Now, as for that replacement flight...