Wasting Away Again
Notes of a distraught airline passenger

I'm suppose to leave at 5:33.
Not 5:30. Not 5:35.
Fine.

Get to the airport. Never-mind the four hours I had to leave early to do it. And the flight has been delayed. It will now depart at 6:16.
Not 6:15. Not 6:20.
Fine.

Hell, its 3:45. I don't have to drive anywhere, so I go have a beer.

Isn't it funny how "they" make you come so early to the airport now? Who are "they" anyways? Miller, Smirnoff, Jose Cuervo, and Jack Daniels, that's who.

Anywho - So I have a beer and read my magazine in the obnoxious Fox Sports Bar, filled with recycled smoke air. It's 4:05 now. Done with that seis dolares cerveza that just made me more thirsty.

Beer #2, the Jumbo, for one buck more and twice as much fluid. - Wooo-Wee! It is 5:30 and I am thinking about how much I have been thinking I had spent on deciding when I should leave Flagstaff so that I will not miss my flight. Kind of like time spent on waiting for jolly Ole St. Nick to come down the false gas chimney.

In case I am some kind of unexplainable idiot, I finish my beer, pay my bill and scurry out of the bar with a tagging cloud of cigarette smoke. Conveniently, the bar is right next to my gate. The flashing running light sign says to my blurry, fogged eyes, "Boarding Time 6:46."
Not 6:45. Not 6:50.
NOT FINE!

Bored and lazy passengers wait like klondike sled dogs scattered around the boarding area. None are standing at the desk. The grey-haired, overweight, assistant in a red sweater stands alone at the desk. He is a pudgy Mr. Rogers with a few too many Jumbo beers from next door.

Concerned about my family waiting in Sacramento for me, I ask a simple question in my most polite tone with a casual manner since I just drank a pony keg in two glasses, "Why is the flight delayed?"
"Because it is not here." the angry man snaps. He must of smelled the tar-drenched clothes I presented to him.
I laugh, attempting to break the sudden aggressiveness.

"I can see that, but do you expect any other delays, because I have..."
"The plane hasn't left yet" he interrupts.
"Okay," I pause to re-approach with some sort of civility, remembering that I am in the eye of the heat-warped city of Phoenix, "When I got here it was delayed til 6:15, now it is going to be 6:45..."

The silverback swivels his round head to the red lighted sign, seeming confused by my statement.

"... Did you know that it was delayed to 6:45?" I ask.
I think to myself, "You should of said 6:46, you dummy, speak their language!"

"We know when they tell us!" he barks as his noggin swings back to me from the sign.
"Well, I have people meeting me there. For their convenience I would like to be able to call them to let them know when to pick me up."
The tense creature glares at me. I think I see a twitch in his blank stare."

Blink.

"When will you know when it will be here?" I quickly spit my question.
"Check back in 15 to 20 minutes." he loosens.
"Thanks! That what I needed to know."

I notice my blood pressure rising, my breathe quickening, my fists clenching as I back away from the #@$%ing desk. I feel victorious, although I know nothing new.

I call and leave a message for my mom declaring that I know why Mr. Rodgers feels so comfortable treating me and others with his demeaning manner: they know that we don't have any sort of weapon to use on them. Foul beast.

I think I'll go have a beer now.