Rest is for the Dead: Atlantic City Edition

May 31, 2012
5:25- After a hard day of un-crazy-ing the crazies, I get into my car. I am heading back East for an extended weekend of family and friends; two nights in Philadelphia and Atlantic City, two days at home with my folks. As it has been six months since my last trip, I am feeling well overdue for such a vacation. So, with a smile on my face I start driving down to Indianapolis.

6:10- It has occurred to me that I might have fucked up my packing. Investigating my suitcase on the side of the road, I discover that I have packed two suits, but no dress shirt; a bathing suit, but no sandals; tee shirts, but no shorts or jeans. I have also forgotten my iPhone charger, and I have exactly zero condoms (Hey, it always pays to be prepared). This does not bode well.

6:41- I fly through security like I'm some kind of young white male or something, and I decide that I'm hungry enough for a burger. I grab a seat at Champps and order. Flight leaving at 7:10? No problem!

6:44- This might be a problem.

6:55- I have essentially swallowed my burger whole, but my waiter (who is now aware of just how strapped for time I am) is being intentionally slow bringing me my change. After the gate calls for "all passengers on the flight to Baltimore" a second time, I realize I cannot wait any longer, and I abandon my $20 on a $9 burger. I got to eat exactly two fries. If, by some unfathomable coincidence, you are reading this and you know the waiter I'm talking about, kick him in the goddamn balls.

7:23- No sooner are our wheels off the ground than the baby behind me begins screaming as if she'd just been forced to pay $20 on a $9 burger. But as eardrum-burstingly loud as she is, I can't decide if the more annoying sound is the baby herself, or her father talking to her in a baby voice. "Daaaaaaddy's patting!", he says in a coochy-coochy-coo falsetto, burping her as best he can, "Mooooommy's patting! But we neeeeeed moooooore power for BLAAAAAASTOOFFFFFFF!"


7:39- The baby has been knocked unconscious by her father's voice, some unknown medication, or possibly by my sheer force of will. Assuming it's the third, I begin writing out an appropriate cover letter to the Green Lantern Corps. Do you think you start such an application with "Dear Sirs" or "To Whom it May Concern?"

7:58- I find myself in an unenviable position. The speed at which I ate my burger, combined with the pressure changes at 30,000 feet, and the soda I just pounded have caused a chain reaction in my stomach similar to Mount Vesuvius. There is a belch bubbling up in me from the depths of my very soul... and I am sitting next to one of the most attractive women I've ever actually seen on a Southwest flight. I'm talking like, this burp could actually destabilize the fuselage of the airplane, and I have to hold it for another... half hour? Forty minutes? This is not good.

8:13- Nope, I am no longer able to hold back. This beast is making itself known to the world.

8:14- I let out a belch of such force that people in the back of the plane think we've been hit by a surface to air missile. This, in turn, wakes the baby- but this time, Daddy doesn't have any quiet words of comfort to reconcile what I just committed upon innocent bystanders.

9:30- I have, in fact, landed safely and made it home. Mom brings home dinner, but I take a moment to visit where they buried my cat about a month ago. She was very old, and fortunately didn't go through much pain, but I still feel guilty for not being there for her. So I take a knee and say my proper goodbyes.

9:40- The Rents and I spend some quality time ranting about politics and why Ron Paul is an idiot.

12:00- After determining that Ron Paul is, in fact, still an idiot, I retire. The real show begins tomorrow.