Monday, May 19, 2014

A short Utah adventure

Sometimes I call Utah the Saudi Arabia of America. That's not nice.

Utah is a beautiful state full of mountains and the best planned road system in the history of western civilization. You can never get lost in Salt Lake City thanks to its grid. All the streets are named with oppressive numbers. I'm too stupid to explain it but it makes total sense once you're there. It's nothing like Texas where a street travels in a million directions, stops inexplicably, and then starts again somewhere else. San Antonio was Google Maps Hell.

Getting to Utah was a Hell unlike Joseph Smith could have ever imagined. If he'd been through a five hour layover in Dallas I'm positive he would have renounced God. He wouldn't stop believing in God; he'd do worse. He'd believe in God and say that he was worse than the devil for allowing such an atrocity to occur to anyone.

The Dallas airport plays muzak constantly. It's loud, it's obnoxious, and it's accentuated by the fact that it gets interrupted every two minutes to announce gate changes and give tips on how not to be fondled by the TSA.

We passed by a Brooks Brothers store at DFW that advertised three dress shorts for $225. Three things come to mind: who the hell is shopping at Brooks Brothers while they're at the airport? Isn't "dress shorts" an oxymoron? Does anyone look at $225 as a reasonable thing to spend money on anything after they've sacrificed a baby to be able to fly? It occurred to me that I am not from the class of people they are advertising to.

One thing was great. We looked at our boarding passes and it said Priority AAcess. The double 'A' is no mistake. Priority seating from American Airlines. We didn't even have to pay extra for that. So after all the first classers and American Airlines Gold, Ruby, Silver, and Sapphire customers got called, we got to board before all the plebians assigned group numbers. This seemed good. It seemed like a blessing. We felt like people who could sip bourbon pinkies out without a hint of irony.

We were wrong.

After five hours waiting at DFW as our minds were being erased by a constant looping of a soprano sax solo, we boarded with Priority AAccess. We felt like rock stars, we felt like we could switch parties and become Republicans.

Then, it happened.

You see, a seat was locked in the resting position. If I was behind this seat, I'd complain unendingly to my girlfriend about it but I would never ever alert the authorities nor would I call attention to it save for my cursing the universe. The passenger on this plane was not like me. She raised a complaint to the flight attendant who raised the complaint to the captain. The captain, red faced and portly, came out agitated and said, "It's no big deal but now that I know about it, I can't take off. I have to call maintenance." He rolled his eyes to himself and went back to the cockpit.

It took an hour and twenty minutes for maintenance to come by, take one look at the seat, and then say, "I can't fix this." They needed volunteers to give up their seats and take the next flight. Looking back, we should have done so but we didn't. Next, the maintenance guy came back and put a sign on the seat that read, "Do Not Use." That's it.

An hour and twenty minutes for that.

Further proving that there is no god and if there is a god, he's a prick, the lady who complained was seated next to me for the rest of the flight. She smelled bad and I was forced to suffer in complete silence as we took off for God's country, the Saudi Arabia of America, Utah.

It was a good time and I have nothing else to complain about. Congratulations go to my cousin on her wedding. It feels like yesterday we were watching cartoons, now she's all grown up and I'm still watching cartoons.

Good news! On June 4th, I will be on KOOP radio's Writing on the Air. The show starts at 6pm on 91.7fm in Austin but will be streaming and available after the fact on their website. Mark your calendars! Here's their site. 

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