The 7th Ring of Hell: Part 1

All I can say is, I won't be doing that again.

I woke up early on the 24th and put the finishing touches on my packing, able to get all the Christmas presents I was hauling to Phoenix and my clothes and stuff in one suitcase. I only had to carry a purse and a couple of framed prints onto the plane. I'd made a reservation at the Park-n-Ride and got there in plenty of time, despite the desperate dash to Denny's on the way to the airport to um...well...let's just say I had a very pissed off tummy and thank god for Denny's and their clean and available bathroom. (This always happens when I fly and I just know one of these days I'm going to crap my pants going through security which would serve them right for making it such a fucking hassle!!)

I got up to the gate without a problem and figured it would be a good idea to hit the bathroom since approximately 40 thousand people decided to fly Southwest out of San Diego before 10:00 on Christmas Eve. There literally wasn't any more room to stand with all the people hogging the chairs and sitting all over the floor. And wouldn't you know it, the line for the 5 stalls in the ladies room was 50 bitches deep. I took my place and was only there for a minute when a man pushed a little old lady in a wheelchair right onto my heels and said "this is far as I can take you" and fucking walked away!

Of course I couldn't not do anything so I leaned over and told the sweet grandma that I'd help her get into the narrow and crowded restroom. She was so nice and continued to thank me profusely. My gesture seemed to spread as we got closer to grabbing our own stalls and people were making sure I could get her and her chair in there and get a handicapped stall, although I did politely decline her invitation to join her in there. I might have been having a moment of altruism but I ain't watching some strange blue-hair pee.

I made sure she knew I was right next door and would wait to help her wash her hands and get back out. We did just fine and I resisted the urge to light my jacket on fire after it fell onto the bathroom floor because, ew, public lavatory floor. While we were drying our hands another stranger told the lady that I was a Christmas angel and I thanked her but gave an assurance that I was only making up for all the rotten things I regularly do all week. I pushed the wheelchair past the line that had grown even longer while I was performing this feat and was again thanked for my efforts by the woman and completely ignored by the dude that dumped her at my feet. What a dick.

Anyway, I slalomed through the throngs for awhile then was able to snag a real chair, only to hear an announcement that my flight was at least an hour delayed. Fuck. And this is where I swore to never do this particular travel plan again. God damn Southwest. I called my mom and delivered the warning. Hoping we'd find each other without a problem.

After an uneventful flight I landed in Phoenix, quickly gathered my suitcase and went to the North curb where my mother and I had planned on meeting. I found my mom's car and opened the door. She didn't even say hi but quickly shouted, "where's your father??". Fuck. He had gone into the cavernous baggage claim area in the hopes of finding me. Jesus Christ. Now I have to go find him because bless his 80 year-old heart, he'll fucking sit in there until midnight unless I find him first and I knew he wouldn't have a clue where to go.

I hadn't eaten anything all day and I'd been up since 5:00 a.m. I could feel my sugar levels start to crash and new I was going to hit the deck if I didn't collect the old man and throw some food down my face. I roamed the baggage claim and went back to where my flight was listed on the giant overhead scrolling in bright red letters on the huge screen that my father insisted DIDN'T FUCKING EXIST. He wasn't there. I looked high and low, left and right, at this cute guys righteous ass. Finally, as I was heading out back to the car I glanced over to the exact opposite place I had been in the entire airport and there he was.

I called out "Dad". He didn't hear me. He started to walk away. I started running. I yelled again, "DAD!!". He was still walking. I yelled out again. Damn man won't admit he's deaf as a fucking stone. He kept walking. Now people are staring at me. I ran a bit more, hauling my fat ass as fast as it would go and then screamed his actual name. This he heard and finally stopped. Then I fainted.

OK, not really. But I was all kinds of out of breath from my 50 foot trek across the carpet. We tried to say a quick hello but I needed to get his wrinkly butt back into the car before my mother blew a fuse. We climbed back into her 4 acre SUV and started to drive slowly away, since my mother has somehow mastered the ability to press the gas peddle but only go about 3 miles per hour, you know, so slow that it doesn't even register on the speedometer. It's actually physically painful to ride in a car with her.

And then she yelled at my dad for going into the airport and he yelled that there was no such damn thing as a sign above the baggage carousel that shows the airlines and flight numbers and then my mother got confused about which exit to take and stopped in the middle of a median and almost got us smashed by another SUV then she slowly got onto the freeway while screaming at my dad that she needed help because she's all turned around you know and my dad told her that if he stopped on a freeway onramp she'd take his head off with a rusty spoon and they yelled some more while I shoved m-n-m's in my mouth because I was so hungry I could have eaten a kitten but we couldn't go out to lunch because my mom was now irritated threat level orange and I could just get some cottage cheese back at my brother's house even though I've been lactose intolerant for about 10 years now god forbid she remembers anything about me and then she almost missed another offramp and nearly crashed us into one of those giant yellow barrels full of rancid water and dad yelled look out and she yelled well I don't know where I'm going and MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS!


to be cont.