I’m in a moderately empty terminal in O’Hare waiting for my 9:40pm flight back to Madison. Fun onna bun. The flight from California kinda sucked; I was the aisle seat next to a gigantic man. I really felt sorry for him, as he was doing his damned best to not spill over into my seat and it looked like he was more uncomfortable than I was for most of the flight. What really cooked my crockers was the dumb bitch seated behind me who talked real loud to the lady next to her the whole approach and landing. I couldn’t get away without violating federal airline safety regulations, which you all know I revere. Anyways, here’s all you need to know about her: she looked like a plain-jane white woman from Chicago, she explained that she was originally from Chicago but now living in Santa Cruz, and she talked in a valley girl accent. Once on the ground, she proceeded to do the following:
- Call her father and speak in Polish very loudly about picking her up. Oh yeah, she made sure everyone heard her Polish.
- Brag to the lady next to her that no one can ever tell what language she’s speaking, but in fact it’s POLISH because there are so many POLISH people in Chicago, and that’s one of the reasons the city is great.
- Proudly announce how much it ‘totally sucked’ when she worked in retail in high school and POLISH women would come into the store and talk about her in POLISH but of course she could UNDERSTAND them because she speaks POLISH.
- Explain that her family lives in Schaumburg. Imagine this is being said with the relish that probably accompanies Paris Hilton telling some poor fuck where her 3rd favorite mansion is located.
Every time she rattled off another of my bullet-pointed examples, my eyes grew more narrow and the scowl on my face deepened. I ended up rereading the same paragraph in my book 5 times because her screeching about Schaumburg and Polish distracted me every time. Even the fat guy next to me started shaking his head. Then the pilot announced that our gate was still occupado so we had to wait 10 minutes. “Fuck,” I said. “Fuck,” the fat man said. “POLISH!” the retard screamed.
All was well, though. I went directly to the airport Chili’s and ordered a 7 & 7. They counteroffered with a Sprite & Canadian Club, which was really just absurd. We settled on a Crown & Coke, and I couldn’t help but think of madd scientist and cal schlepping along Market St like Vandover and young Geary quaffing Crown & Cokes and laughing at all of the examples of Lemon Torts littering the streets of San Francisco.