You know you are in deep shit when your grandfather calls you asking you when you're flight is. It is six in the morning, and you casually respond "the twenty seventh..." there is a pause and then your grandfather says "It's the twenty eighth". You think, "poor old man probably forgot to set his watch properly". A few seconds later I checked the clock on my night table...it was the twenty eighth. So began my journey down south, oh yea I almost forgot, a friend of mine was dead and I just ended a relationship, and was planning on getting out of another one.
While the beginning of the journey seemed... well just screwed and doomed to fail, through some odd miracle I actually made money off the missing of my flight, and was able to celebrate the birthday of assless chap boy (pictured below). On the way down I stopped in Denver(I can only think of Moriarty, and Marx), where I had an ex-alcoholic bartender who worked for American Airlines at the Admirals club treat me to I think 12 shots of high quality Colorado Berry whiskey. This lady was OBSESSED with the serenity prayer, said the thing had gotten her through her life, and that God was looking out for her. I have to admit I admire her resolve. Any ex-alcoholic fighting the airlines for her old job as a bar tender is clearly...just a different kind of being. As for the whiskey...this was GOOD stuff, I mean I hate whiskey, but this was on a whole different level. So in a slightly tipsy daze I strolled off to my next flight which would lead me down to Miami. Yes, I also met an Australian soccer player who had a broken leg(before the whiskey). It's amazing how being an ex-cripple lets you associate with people, he was going to Spain for the running of the bulls, I'm not sure if he survived, I never wrote him back.
When you get to Miami, the world on it's own ceases to exist, especially MIA (Miami International Airport). People stop speaking English, they also stop speaking real Spanish, and speak this weird Caribbean/Central American Dialect. Yes you can understand it, but if I had a beard this Spanish would make it twitch. By the time I get to Miami I am low on sleep, and still have my mind a little jumbled from an empty stomach mixed with a couple of shots of premium Whiskey. I was just nodding, and grumbling my way through the mispronounced vowels (whether it was in English or in Spanish) of Miamy Eenternashyonal AirpOrt personnel. It was at this point where I began inboxing/chatting with an old friend I guess one of my best if not the best friend in high school. A day later the guy ended his relationship with his girlfriend (my fault I convinced him too, but he agrees it was the best thing ever).
At this point my mind stopped and just went over the events that had transpired in the past two days. Not only had I missed a flight, gotten a new one, and made money off of it. I had also met a crippled Australian soccer player who was going to Spain to run away from Bulls, met an ex-alcoholic bartender to buy me alcohol, I had also gotten one of my better friends to break up with his girlfriend. If this wasn't enough, I had to find a way to tell a girl not to keep her hopes up for us, mainly because she was a single mother, and quite honestly I wasn't interested. What a mess, way to go out in a bang.
At long last the time came to board the flight from Miami to La Paz. My journey came slowly to a close. With just a haze of "holly shit that just happenedness" in my mind I stumbled off the airline at nine at night (an odd time to arrive to La Paz) taking in the thin mountain air getting high off of oxygen and sleep deprivation; I found myself thinking... what a way to travel.
****I would like to point out that La Paz it at thirteen thousand feet, hence the lack of oxygen.
No comments:
Post a Comment