The Sweet Release of Death

dimebag Darrell,

Return To The Warm & Fuzzy

05/11/2010 07:03 PM Filed in:Life on the Outside

My how time fly’s when on vacation. As the last of my vacation days slowly drained away, the peaceful and carefree feeling was slowly replaced with impending doom and the proverbial case of return-to-work loathing. Work was waiting with baited breath for my return. My lunch breaks at Bubba’s burgers between surf and sun sessions had ceased. The sweet menagerie of beautiful Hawaiian songbirds, their tune but a fading memory with each passing day. The two scoops of tropical paradise in a waffle cone that is Lappert’s ice cream- a sticky sweet reminder of those warm nights beneath the stars… Work. The thought of returning had made my insides boil. But before I could set foot back into Corporate Land, I had to leave paradise and make the dreaded, jammed-packed, two-flight trip home. Not a pleasant thought when you are 6’-5” and 245. It can be tight to say the least.

The flight from Hawaii to LA was ok, as I had plunked down the extra couple bones to bump up to first class for the legroom. Missing in action were the Delta Deadheads from my previous flight, so there was some actual decent service from the LA based crew on the way back. But the service came at a price. As the first leg of my return journey was peaceful and relaxing, my second leg was to be the exact polar opposite. As we touched down in LA at the springtime fresh time of 4:30 AM, I was soon to be engulfed in a swarm of cell-phone douchebuggery.

You would think that at the hour of 4:30 AM anywhere, would be a rather down, quiet time. Nope. Not LAX. I sat down in a rather quiet section of the terminal and awaited my connecting flight-3-1/2 hours to kill- by reading. Nope. I have a fat Brittney Spears knock-off roll up and start yammering into her pink, bedazzled Blackberry about absolutely nothing. Fuck! Really? So I shoot her some laser beams that kill and move to another section across the way. No sooner had I sat down, a be speckled older gent in cargo shorts and a polo shirt starts barking about a code red. Great. It’s the return of Captain Bluetooth! Yep, Capt’n Bluetooth was the embodiment of a Radio Shack techno wet dream. Then, just as I’m entertaining the thought of succumbing to nuclear annihilation, George Costanza’s doppelganger plops down two seats away and you guessed it, unleashes his own brand of Celljabbery. Good Lord, when will this self-absorbed assholeness of the world end?

#1- who the fuck to you have to call at 4:30 in the morning? #2- you are a fucking asshole for calling anybody at 4:30 in the morning! #3- I don’t care if you are calling ahead to the East coast or beyond, you are still an asshole cause you are annoying the piss out of everyone around you in 4:30 land. So as I moved yet again from the techo-twats, it was iPod to the rescue once more. As my remaining time ticked by- Dimebag Darrell riffing away my frustration with modern man- the thoughts of a rogue solar flare raining down ultra-violet rays of brain cancer onto my surrounding self-indulged cellbots, sent echoes of sinister laughter ringing through my head. “Take that!” I thought. As boarding time crept closer, the passenger waiting area increased in size, giving me a glimpse of the packed flight-to-be. Wicked.

As I boarded the plane and settled into my seat, I noticed a famous musician sitting to my right and back one seat. Up ahead I noticed an actor from a 90’s cop show. “It is LA after all,” I thought. I started factoring in the screaming babies, famous people and the remaining average Joes and concluded that it was a recipe for disaster. Yep, I nodded to myself as I turned to the missus and quipped, “we are sooooo going down.” A little silence and then she snapped, “What did you say?” I turned and whispered, “ This plane. Us. The situation is bleak. It’s the perfect recipe for disaster.” A general shock and concern washed over her face followed by a sly grin. “ You’re horrible!” she chirped. “Think about it,” I said. “We have 2 celebrities, a bunch of screaming babies and a handful of self centered schmucks on cell phones. Factor in the rest of us average Joe’s and you have the makings of a horrifying plane crash.” She was not amused. “You need to get home. You’re getting cranky and delusional.” She concluded. “Yeah,” I said in agreement. “But hey, if we’re going down, it means I don’t have to go to work!” Well, I can fantasize can’t I?

Tags: Bubba's, Hawaii, LA, Delta, Bluetooth, Brittney Spears, George Costanza, dimebag Darrell,, Lappert's