Quitting Time Booster Shot

Welcome back to the Booster, where we understand both stupid and pain, especially when they come together as one…

Spending a couple extra days in Detroit gave me plenty of time to ponder some QTBS moments. Of course, they’re a half week old, but hey. Thus, I’ve interspersed them here, with a quick * to note the ones written while dealing with this crap. The rest were put together once I got home and was sedated. You might notice a palpable difference…

*From the “Path of least resistance” department: We got off the plane 40 minutes late and yet it was only 7:30, so I figured I had a shot at getting a plane home. Instead, they sent me to a Disneyland line of pain that took me more than an hour to get through, because there were dozens of us totally screwed by North-worst Disoriented.

I get to the front of the line and here’s the conversation:

Customer Rep: “I’ve got you on a 10 a.m. home. You’ll have to spend the night.”
Me: “Is there ANYTHING tonight? Please, I’m trying to get home to see my kid.”
Her: “Nope, sorry. The only thing left is closing the door in five minutes.”
Me: “Where? I’ll run. I don’t even care about my luggage.”
Her: “I’m not sure I can get you on the plane this late.”
Me: “Could you please try?”
Her: “Well, let me see… Uh… Hmm… Uh… I did that wrong… Click… Click… Click… Hmm… Maybe… No… Sorry… Oh, wait… No… I did that wrong… Uh… Hmm… Nope. Sorry. Here’s are some vouchers I printed off for you…”

OK, so let’s forget about the fact we had an hour wait in line for this. It’s the 20 minutes I spent at the counter being jerked around because it was far easier for people to stick us in the airport for a night than to try to get us home that pissed me off.

– Here’s the weirdest conversation I think I’ve had in a long time: The Missus mentioned something about “The Ring” birth control. For some reason, probably the alcohol, my mind went tothis scene from Clerks II. I imagined women at an OB/GYN whipping out their “precious” while saying, “One ring to rule them all… One ring to find them… One ring to bring them all… And in the darkness bind them…” Then, of course, there’s the one lady in the corner who is a Randall-style purist who starts in with, “Those things suck, OK? There’s only one thing to put in your vajayjay, alright? And it’s not a stupid ring.” The Missus looked me after we both stopped laughing uncontrollably and said, “The people I work with wonder what it’s like being married to a doctor and a professor. I don’t think they’d believe me if I told them.”

*Hundreds of women all dressed in black suits with mid-thigh skirts and variations on their shirts, all wearing nametags noting they were “$100,000 sellers” or higher were wandering around the airport hotel this morning. I figured PR folks or Tupperware people. Turns out it was a hair removal conference. Who knew there was that kind of money in convincing people that hair shouldn’t be certain places? Of course, there’s just as much money in convincing men they need more hair certain places, so I guess it all evens out.

-From the “Go home, fat boy! You eat all our food!” file: If the Cleveland Clinic had its way, not only would obesity be declared a disease, but they wouldn’t hire the fat folks either. I’m quite certain this guy is collusion with the airlines people, who won’t be happy until we all have the size and bone structure of 4-year-old Ethiopians so they can cram in an extra row of seats. Seriously, I understand the health issues, but can anyone out there with half a brain NOT see a billion lawsuits coming out of this?

*Conversation between me and a lady in the waiting area at the Detroit airport:
Her: Sir, how much was the Diet Coke?
Me: $2.25
Her: I can wait until I get home.
Me: It was $2 in Boston
Her: It was $4 in New York
Me: We’d be better off if we took up smoking.

-Upon getting home to spruce the place up for the Midget’s birthday, I found a giant nest of bees had set up shop under the shed in the far corner of our property. The Missus is horribly allergic to bee stings and one neighbor said they were likely ground wasps, so they would be aggressive. According to the folks who were helping me at Lowes, there were only two ways to really get rid of them: pour gasoline down the hole and then if they don’t drown in the petrol, light it on fire and burn them out. After I explained that it was under the shed and I wasn’t about to starta Wicker Man style ceremony just to get rid of the bees, they told me about another way. Apparently, since these things are aggressive and don’t like stuff near their nest, you can put a bug zapper out there in front of the entrance to the nest. The wasps will then freak out and keep attacking to defend the nest until they all die. Thus, I was out last night with 200 feet of electrical cord running across my yard with a bug zapper, dodging pissed off bugs and trying not to electrocute myself. Ah, home ownership…
UPDATE: The zapper was fun to watch, but it was ultimately a losing effort. The bugs became smarter and started digging a new entrance. I called The Bee Guy and he’s coming out this afternoon. For $125, I hope this does the trick. Otherwise, I’m burning the shed to the ground. I just wish Nicholas Cage were in it…

*OK, from the “read the fucking ticket” file: The plane is filling up and so rather than wade through the massive throng of humanity, I simply waited until everyone else had pretty much gotten on. I had my ticket, it had a seat number on it and it seemed like it should be logical I could sit in my seat. I wander into the plane, only to find some guy and his girlfriend sitting next to each other, one of whom was in my seat. The guy looked up and said, “We worked it out with the lady over there, so you’ve got her seat in aisle 15.” Both were window seats, although the one I was giving up was closer to the front of the plane and in a row of two rather than three. It seemed like a little thing, but when you’d spent the last two days getting fucked around, little things tend to become big things. I told the guy, “Look, it’s my seat. I paid for it. I want it.” Meanwhile the stewardess comes over and tells me I need to sit down. I show her my ticket and explain the situation, meanwhile the guy jumps in with “But we worked it out with that lady over there.” I don’t know what the hell power the airlines had endowed upon the woman in seat 15F, but I somehow doubted that it included seat reassignment. “Please, sir,” the stewardess told me. “Just go to the other seat or we can’t take off.” I was ready to snap and kill three when the guy said, “I don’t know why you need this seat.” How I managed not to kill him was beyond me. Perhaps it was because I didn’t have a drink before getting on the plane. I took the seat about half a plane away, only to be in front of a guy who smelled like piss. I kid you not. He smelled like the Midget’s old diaper pail.

– Went to Target to pick up some of the supplies for the Midget’s party, including an air compressor to blow up her pool. Last year, I moved my feet up and down more than Michael Flatley with restless leg syndrome trying to pump up that damned thing. In any case, the place was overrun with people because The Pathfinders were in town. If you’ve missed this, it’s a giant Jehovah’s Witness convention that takes over the city. I get to the counter and I’ve got that angry, no-sleep look going on. I’ve got no shave, shades and my “Las Vegas County Jail” shirt on. The woman sees the air compressor and without missing a beat asks, “Oh, an air pump. For air mattresses. Are you with the church group?”

*From the “Toby would be proud” department: After a night of no sleep because I was paranoid I’d miss the flight and be stuck in Detroit until I was 50, I stumbled into the plane, confronted the asshole in my seat, took a shittier seat and tried to sleep. I couldn’t, so I popped on the headphones and eventually drifted off. All of a sudden, I felt a poking on my shoulder. It was the steward or whatever the hell you call male flight folks, pantomiming I should take off my headphones because we were going to land. I looked at the guy and said, “Really? You couldn’t have let me sleep?” “Sorry, sir, it’s for the good of the plane.” Gimme a break. He watched me as I put away my headphones, but after he left I played a word game on my iPhone until we landed. Amazingly, my game of “Scramble” didn’t cause the plane to crash. The last time I was on a plane, I fell asleep with my headphones on and I forgot to turn off my cell phone. No one bothered me and we landed just fine. Just dancin’ with the devil, I’m telling you…

-In case you missed it, Squeaky Fromme was released from prison today. Either the Secret Service is getting better at deterring people like Fromme and Sara Jane Moore or those types of people have decided it’s probably better to bitch about their politics online. Not sure if that means we as Americans have evolved or if we’ve just gotten lazy.

– And finally, from the “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little” department: A guy in Muncie Indiana was arrested after breaking into his ex-girlfriend’s house while she was sleeping and sexually assaulting her after injecting her with a cow tranquilizer. Who the hell thinks like this?

Thanks for letting me share your air. Be back next week.


4 thoughts on “Quitting Time Booster Shot

  1. The Body Mass Index is a fraudulent way to discriminate, btw. Its own inventor never wanted it used to determine whether any individual human was overweight.
    More here:

    BMI is a fairly crude way of assessing fatness first proposed by a Belgian mathematician, Adolphe Quetelet, in 1832. It is defined as a person’s weight in kilograms divided by their height in metres, squared (kg/m2). As a recent piece in Slate magazine notes, BMI only gained popularity after the well-known American researcher, Ancel Keys, proposed it as the best way of quickly assessing fatness in an article in 1972.
    The other major development was the establishment of cut-off points for weight and health, based on BMI, by the US National Institutes for Health (NIH) in 1985. Now BMI had the force of official backing. As a means of giving health authorities a rough idea of how our bodies are changing, BMI is crude but has the merit of simplicity. However, when applied to individuals, it has the potential to be downright distorting. Firstly, it makes no distinction between fat and muscle mass. Secondly, it is blind to where fat is stored on the body, which some researchers and doctors believe may be crucial to whether it is a health problem or not. Thirdly, it gives a pseudo-scientific precision to the notion that carrying a bit of extra weight is going to kill you.
    BMI is actually a poor indicator of future health prospects. There is little difference in mortality rates between people who are of ‘normal’ weight (BMIs of 20-25), ‘overweight’ (BMIs greater than 25 but under 30) and ‘obese’ (greater than 30 but less than 40). Only those who are ‘morbidly obese’ (BMI over 40) and those who are underweight (BMI below 18) have markedly worse health outcomes than those in the middle.

    Now, when you consider that Michael Jordan and Arnold Schwarzenegger were both pegged as “obese” by their BMI numbers at the height of their competitive careers, you get an idea of just how stupid this outdated statistical “tool” can be.
    And wtf? “pre-obese”?

  2. I know what you mean about the seat change thing. It’s happening all the time now. I went through this on my last 3 flights. I moved twice on one flight!
    Although I must admit, the only time that I found someone already sitting in my seat with a stony stare, refusing to move, I understood why once I took a seat in front of her — she was sitting with her mentally-challenged adult daughter. The couples who wanted to sit together and the father who wanted to sit next to his kid all asked nicely. Fortunately no-one acted like the a-hole you encountered.
    But geez — if people want to sit together why don’t they get their tickets in good time? Why do they wait until seats have been assigned and then just assume that everyone else is willing to play musical chairs?

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