Me and Jack at 30,000 Feet
I’m on a flight back to Vegas from Chicago. I was in Chicago for a few days visiting some friends. The trip included excessive amounts of beer, hotdogs and hot bartenders. The problem about flying home to Vegas that only locals understand is that people on these flights are fucking annoying. They are just about to start their ’Vegas vacation’ that they've been planning for months. They are fired up, loud, excited, talkative and tend to drink a lot more than your typical flight to any other city. Me, I am so hungover and tired I'm just trying to get some damn sleep without shitting out last night's Pabst Old Style, so this particular flight home is extra annoying.
Best way to endure this situation? Drink, of course.
“Two Jack and Cokes please!”
I power right thru those drinks and demand two more, giving the stewardess a small compliment on her hair. I can't stand black hair with blonde streaks, it looks like a fucking skunk. But if you’ve ever flown Southwest Airlines you’d know that demanding four drinks before we even takeoff is a tall order, so I had to lie to her, and it seems she bought it. Lying to women is just something I'm good at I guess.
Here is the situation. Four days with very little sleep, still half drunk from the night before and the low pressure of a airplane cabin all add up to one thing. Blackout. I remember nothing after ordering that second round of drinks. About two hours into the four hour flight I kind of ‘come to’ and realize that I am no longer in my seat. I am sitting in the very back galley area in a tiny two person jumpseat strapped in right next to that stewardess with the skunk hair.
BD: Whoa, wait. What am I doing in this seat.
Girl: The captain put on the seatbelt sign we are expecting turbulence.
BD: No no, I mean, what am I doing in THIS seat and not mine.
I’m pointing to the sole empty seat about 10 rows up.
Girl: You’ve been back here the whole time!
She unbuckles her belt and walks over to the drawer where the drinks are kept…
Girl: See this is what you did, we are all out of Jack Daniels, you drank them all.
BD: WHAT! No way, I just ordered my second round and now I’m back here.
Girl: Honey I gave you those drinks before we took off, we’re probably over Colorado by now!
She starts laughing…
Girl: So let me guess, you don’t remember cleaning my station or trying to get me to drink with you or trying to call the pilots on the intercom?
OK, now I’m fucked. I’m surprised I haven’t been tasered yet. Normally at this point you should back off and take it easy right? Nope. Not drunk BD. To hell with the consequences of my actions, lets see how far I can take this. I look over and she has prepared one of those drink trays and is about to go down the isle…
BD: So, can I serve the drinks?
Girl: I don't think that is a good idea...
BD: I cleaned your station; I think I should be able to do the fun part of the job now.
Girl: I don’t know the other gal that well and she might say something.
I stare at her with a sad face until she agrees to let me. I take the tray, dying of dehydration I immediately drink all the Sprites that she prepared, and to make a long story short, I served drinks on a Southwest flight from Chicago to Las Vegas, drunk.
When I finished I went back to my seat for the remaining hour or so we had left on the flight. This was the worse part. Paranoia kicked in bigtime. Are they just being nice to the drunk guy during the flight and arresting me on arrival? Did I really drink all the Jack Daniels? Did I actually talk to the pilots on the intercom and if so, is that illegal? Shit, I’m getting arrested.
So you know those people that are running through the airport trying to get to their flight? Well I’m pretty sure I was the only one running through the airport trying to get away from my flight. Yep, I literally ran. I was speed walking on the catwalk off the plane. I was jogging through the gate area to the tram. From the tram to the parking lot I was in a full sprint. As fast as I could run with a backpack on. I was sure I was getting arrested and the electrical signals firing through my Jack Daniels soaked brain said the only way to get way was to RUN.
Girlfriend at the time (VegasTits) was there to pick me up and had probably enjoyed a peaceful four days with me being out of town and I wasted no time breaking that tranquility. Who knows what she was thinking, pulling up to the passenger pickup, seeing BD in a full sprint down the moving walkway with the "I just committed a crime in-flight on an airplane post 9/11" look on my face.
I run up to her car, throw my backpack in the open window and consider pulling a Dukes of Hazard maneuver to jump in without even opening the door…
VegasTits: I don’t want to know.
BD: No, you don’t.
I got away.