Creed Thoughts
By Creed on February 16, 2012 at 12:58
It's been a long time since I took a flight anywhere. Legally, that is. Usually I throw on my "aircraft mechanic" coveralls (which is just my Michael Meyer's Halloween costume), tell everybody I'm fixing the air-conditioning on an Airbus 340, head for the tarmac and hop into somebody's luggage before it's loaded into the belly of the beast. But I've been dealing with a torn ACL after joining this break-dance circle at a bar mitzvah I crashed last month, and there was no way I'd be able to stay in somebody's suitcase for hours crouched up like a giant in a Japanese apartment. So I booked a flight the old-fashioned way: I hid in the airport bathroom and waited for some chump to put his carry-on down, stole his tickets and wallet and bada bing bada boom - Ol' Creedy's got himself a business flight to San Jose.
The experience started out pretty great. At security - out of nowhere - this TSA broad says to me, "I'll be passing my hand over your backside and then come up the insides of your legs toward the private parts. Is that alright?" I said, "Hot damn, is it my birthday?!" Now I've been rendered irresistible many times before, but never publicly by an older security lady who I wasn't even sure was a woman at first. I guess maybe that was my reward for having to wait in line for 20 minutes. Though after that, things started to go downhill real fast. I was in first class, but I didn't even get a pillow. How am I supposed to lay back and have psychedelic dreams without a pillow?? I knew I'd be wide awake the whole time, so I figured I might as well stuff my pie hole, primo style. Until the flight attendant tells me the only food available is crackers and pretzels. And there wasn't even any ketchup to dip them in! I was so peeved I smoked a cigarette, which got everybody's panties in a bunch because apparently it's "illegal" these days.
Before this, the last airplane cabin I was in was Elvis's Convair 880. That thing had real Graceland elegance, man. I'm talking blue shag carpet, gold faucets in the bathroom and all the peanut butter and catfish you could ever want in a lifetime. I wasn't quite expecting that level of grooviness on this flight, but I also wasn't expecting a penitentiary with wings. Not to mention the guy next to me was a real nutcase. As soon as my knee heels, I'm going back to my old ways of hiding in the cargo section. At least down there I can make my own pillow out of shirts and jeans.
The experience started out pretty great. At security - out of nowhere - this TSA broad says to me, "I'll be passing my hand over your backside and then come up the insides of your legs toward the private parts. Is that alright?" I said, "Hot damn, is it my birthday?!" Now I've been rendered irresistible many times before, but never publicly by an older security lady who I wasn't even sure was a woman at first. I guess maybe that was my reward for having to wait in line for 20 minutes. Though after that, things started to go downhill real fast. I was in first class, but I didn't even get a pillow. How am I supposed to lay back and have psychedelic dreams without a pillow?? I knew I'd be wide awake the whole time, so I figured I might as well stuff my pie hole, primo style. Until the flight attendant tells me the only food available is crackers and pretzels. And there wasn't even any ketchup to dip them in! I was so peeved I smoked a cigarette, which got everybody's panties in a bunch because apparently it's "illegal" these days.
Before this, the last airplane cabin I was in was Elvis's Convair 880. That thing had real Graceland elegance, man. I'm talking blue shag carpet, gold faucets in the bathroom and all the peanut butter and catfish you could ever want in a lifetime. I wasn't quite expecting that level of grooviness on this flight, but I also wasn't expecting a penitentiary with wings. Not to mention the guy next to me was a real nutcase. As soon as my knee heels, I'm going back to my old ways of hiding in the cargo section. At least down there I can make my own pillow out of shirts and jeans.
