25 October 2007
84. Road Whoring: The Plane
Hey wanker, our flight leaves at 11. So I’ll pick you up at the ass-crack of dawn. Also known as 7. Why so early? We’re flying out of the world’s busiest airport. And you tend to suck at this traveling thing. Be ready.
Flying out of Atlanta’s Hartsfield International can be a production. The event before the event. The best thing to do is use this super-cool equation: Departure Time - Bullshit Time = When We Leave for the Airport.
Bullshit Time is the time spent dealing with bullshit before we get in the air. I won’t explain it all now. You’ll see later.
OK, it’s 7am. You’re not packed, you haven’t eaten and you can’t find your passport. You know what that’s called? Bullshit Time. We’re only going to L.A. so the passport can stay missing. Get your shit together. Tard.
There are three ways to get our happy asses to the airport. Cabbing it is a money drain. Driving means $12 a day for parking. Or we can pay less for off-site parking with a shuttle ride. The train means driving to a MARTA station, parking and spending a minumum of a half-hour trapped in a stinky rail car. We’ll drive.
8a EST. Not bad. We already have food, coffee and we even made time to pause and gawk at the squished raccoon in the middle of the road. Here’s some Kahlua and Frangelico for your coffee. You can’t drink all day unless you start in the morning. Did I mention Atlanta has some of the worst traffic in the country? Here’s more Kahlua.
9a EST. Check out all those off-site parking lots we’re passing near the airport. They’re building even more.
9:10a EST. This is the closest parking spot. Two feet and a heartbeat to the terminal. Huh? You mean that guy over there stroking-out on the ground down Row S? Don’t mind him. He’s always writhing there.
9:20a EST. Did I mention it’s quicker not to check a bag? This is wait #1. Hanging out in line at the Delta ticket counter. Notice how many confused people there are here. It’s normal.
9:45a EST. Hartsfield has north and south terminals. Delta’s got most of the South Terminal. Now that we’ve checked in, we’re going to meet up with the cattle from the North Terminal to get ID’d with our boarding passes. This is wait #2. You haven’t flown since 9/11? Oh shit, you’re in for a treat. Grab a plastic Ziploc bag over there. Put all your liquids and gels in it. You’ll have to get rid of that toothpaste. It’s more than three ounces. Yeah, I know this drama can be dumb. Just be glad you happened to bring little bottles of booze. Wait, you can’t fill the bag that full. Give me a couple bottles and I’ll put them in my own bag.
9:55a EST. Wait #3. The security checkpoint. Notice there are two main entrances. Each of them splits into a ton of conveyor belts and x-ray machines. Pick the left entrance. It’s quicker. Then keep left. As we get closer, odds are 2-1 we’ll see someone get testy.
Here’s what you do:
Grab a grey tub. Put your shoes in it, and the Ziploc bag. Yes, you have to take off your shoes. Just do it. Get another tub for your jacket. That’s correct. No jacket-wearing fucks get past security. Anything on you that’s metal can go in the tub, too. Woah, woah. Hold on to your boarding pass. No, keep it with you when you walk through the metal detector. Phone? In the bin. Holy crap, are you going to be that melting-down testy-traveler person? Do you have a metal belt buckle? In the bin. Yeah, I’m sure they’d enjoy it if you went through naked. But make sure you scream, “I’ve got a bomb in my ass!” It’s more entertaining that way.
10:15a EST. Did you like getting the wand treatment? It’s your fault for refusing to take your ring off. Stop it. Why are you getting pissy? You need to drink more. Try the Crown Royal. Tasty. But chug it. We’ve got to go. Wait #3 is the train to the concourse. We’re going to Concourse D. Fourth stop.
10:30a EST. Gate D-2. Walk faster. We’re all the way at the end.
10:35a EST. Right on time. If we had hit any more delays they would have shut the door on us. Flight time is four hours, but it’s usually 4 1/2-to-5 hours from gate to gate.
12:58p PST. Welcome to LAX.
1:20p PST. Did I mention it’s quicker not to check a bag? Baggage claim is this way.
1:35p PST. Let’s walk outside and find a shuttle so we can get our rental car.
1:55p PST. The grey Ford Focus. Get in. Off to the hotel. Traffic won’t get too bad yet.
2:20p PST. A hotel right on the beach. Check-in shouldn’t be too painful.
2:31p PST. Here’s your room key.
2:34p PST. Clock it. It’s 5:34p Eastern Time. 10 hours 34 minutes. Over 10 hours from your house to the hotel. Ha. I win.
OK, you owe me the $315 for the round-trip plane ticket, $38 for the rental car and $155 for the hotel. Why you wanted to make this bet and do a dry-run for next month’s event is beyond me. But at least this way you also don’t owe me the $69 for my rego.
Well, we’ve got 10 hours before we have to fly back. Were are you taking me out to eat? Any four-star restaurant will do.
Flying out of Atlanta’s Hartsfield International can be a production. The event before the event. The best thing to do is use this super-cool equation: Departure Time - Bullshit Time = When We Leave for the Airport.
Bullshit Time is the time spent dealing with bullshit before we get in the air. I won’t explain it all now. You’ll see later.
OK, it’s 7am. You’re not packed, you haven’t eaten and you can’t find your passport. You know what that’s called? Bullshit Time. We’re only going to L.A. so the passport can stay missing. Get your shit together. Tard.
There are three ways to get our happy asses to the airport. Cabbing it is a money drain. Driving means $12 a day for parking. Or we can pay less for off-site parking with a shuttle ride. The train means driving to a MARTA station, parking and spending a minumum of a half-hour trapped in a stinky rail car. We’ll drive.
8a EST. Not bad. We already have food, coffee and we even made time to pause and gawk at the squished raccoon in the middle of the road. Here’s some Kahlua and Frangelico for your coffee. You can’t drink all day unless you start in the morning. Did I mention Atlanta has some of the worst traffic in the country? Here’s more Kahlua.
9a EST. Check out all those off-site parking lots we’re passing near the airport. They’re building even more.
9:10a EST. This is the closest parking spot. Two feet and a heartbeat to the terminal. Huh? You mean that guy over there stroking-out on the ground down Row S? Don’t mind him. He’s always writhing there.
9:20a EST. Did I mention it’s quicker not to check a bag? This is wait #1. Hanging out in line at the Delta ticket counter. Notice how many confused people there are here. It’s normal.
9:45a EST. Hartsfield has north and south terminals. Delta’s got most of the South Terminal. Now that we’ve checked in, we’re going to meet up with the cattle from the North Terminal to get ID’d with our boarding passes. This is wait #2. You haven’t flown since 9/11? Oh shit, you’re in for a treat. Grab a plastic Ziploc bag over there. Put all your liquids and gels in it. You’ll have to get rid of that toothpaste. It’s more than three ounces. Yeah, I know this drama can be dumb. Just be glad you happened to bring little bottles of booze. Wait, you can’t fill the bag that full. Give me a couple bottles and I’ll put them in my own bag.
9:55a EST. Wait #3. The security checkpoint. Notice there are two main entrances. Each of them splits into a ton of conveyor belts and x-ray machines. Pick the left entrance. It’s quicker. Then keep left. As we get closer, odds are 2-1 we’ll see someone get testy.
Here’s what you do:
Grab a grey tub. Put your shoes in it, and the Ziploc bag. Yes, you have to take off your shoes. Just do it. Get another tub for your jacket. That’s correct. No jacket-wearing fucks get past security. Anything on you that’s metal can go in the tub, too. Woah, woah. Hold on to your boarding pass. No, keep it with you when you walk through the metal detector. Phone? In the bin. Holy crap, are you going to be that melting-down testy-traveler person? Do you have a metal belt buckle? In the bin. Yeah, I’m sure they’d enjoy it if you went through naked. But make sure you scream, “I’ve got a bomb in my ass!” It’s more entertaining that way.
10:15a EST. Did you like getting the wand treatment? It’s your fault for refusing to take your ring off. Stop it. Why are you getting pissy? You need to drink more. Try the Crown Royal. Tasty. But chug it. We’ve got to go. Wait #3 is the train to the concourse. We’re going to Concourse D. Fourth stop.
10:30a EST. Gate D-2. Walk faster. We’re all the way at the end.
10:35a EST. Right on time. If we had hit any more delays they would have shut the door on us. Flight time is four hours, but it’s usually 4 1/2-to-5 hours from gate to gate.
12:58p PST. Welcome to LAX.
1:20p PST. Did I mention it’s quicker not to check a bag? Baggage claim is this way.
1:35p PST. Let’s walk outside and find a shuttle so we can get our rental car.
1:55p PST. The grey Ford Focus. Get in. Off to the hotel. Traffic won’t get too bad yet.
2:20p PST. A hotel right on the beach. Check-in shouldn’t be too painful.
2:31p PST. Here’s your room key.
2:34p PST. Clock it. It’s 5:34p Eastern Time. 10 hours 34 minutes. Over 10 hours from your house to the hotel. Ha. I win.
OK, you owe me the $315 for the round-trip plane ticket, $38 for the rental car and $155 for the hotel. Why you wanted to make this bet and do a dry-run for next month’s event is beyond me. But at least this way you also don’t owe me the $69 for my rego.
Well, we’ve got 10 hours before we have to fly back. Were are you taking me out to eat? Any four-star restaurant will do.
# posted by L&F @ 11:57 PM 
