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One of the weird things about being a writer is that you never know when “inspiration” will strike you.
I’ve been known to scramble out of the shower and run dripping wet and naked into my office to get a pen so I could write an idea down before I forgot it (sorry for the visual, ladies).
I’ve woken in the middle of the night and scribbled down notes on the inside cover of paperbacks, on my hands, on the cat . . . once I wrote a note on Cindy’s ass in the middle of the night, because it was the closest thing to me at the time. None of your business why it was so close.
For some reason, I get a lot of ideas at the airport. Probably because I’m sitting there drinking and watching the freak parade. Of course, I never remember to bring a notepad, so whenever I get to my destination and sober up, I usually have about 30 bar cocktail napkins with notes scribbled all over them.
About half the time, I can actually remember what it was that I wanted to write about. And about half the time, it's something worth writing.
This happened to me last week. I was trying to fly home from Washington DC, but my flight kept getting delayed. By the time it was canceled, at 10 p.m., I had been drinking in the airport bar for almost five hours.
When I finally got home the next day, I dumped out my briefcase and seventeen cocktail napkins came tumbling out. I could read about 14 of them. And of the 14 that I could read, I could make sense of about 11. The other ones had weird phrases on them that I don’t remember writing, like “anal sex with a cat,” and stuff like that. Don’t ask.
It’s kind of interesting to follow the path from note-taking to column writing. If you ever wonder where the loony ideas for this blog come from, here’s a disturbing look inside the mind of a disturbed writer.
Here, word for word, is what was on those cocktail napkins.
Napkin #1: macho prick, dyke, Orioles
Napkin #2: you didn’t ask me Mets!
Napkin #3: loud talker no way out panic panic panic
Napkin #4: wine, homo, rub my crotch, paul newman hand job
Napkin #5: blast classical music might not work
Napkin #6: not gay still fake phone call
Napkin #7: failure communicate
Napkin #8: gave opening paper shit
Napkin #9: darwin evolution ipod no good
That’s what I had to deal with when I got home. Now, at the time, in the bar, all of those thoughts made perfect sense to me. I had the column practically written in my head. At the time I thought it would be pretty funny. It’s probably not, but it’s an interesting look inside the mind of a strange writer.
Here’s the column that came from those odd notes.
Beaten by a professional
When it comes to avoiding talking to people at airports, nobody is better than me.
Since I spend so much time in airport bars, I’ve learned many, many tactics for fending off the obnoxious salespeople and lonely corporate types who don’t bring any reading material to the bar, and as such have nothing to do but talk to ME.
The iPod is a great tool for avoiding conversations . . . but guess what? It’s not good enough anymore. Like some kind of messed up Darwinian evolution process, the Airport Talkers are getting more and determined to fight through my best defenses.
It used to be that if I had my iPod on, it was end game. Nobody would dare interrupt. But in the last six months, I’ve had no less than five people actually start talking to me anyway. They’re relentless.
So you’ve got to have a backup plan. But, the other day, I ran into someone who could not be stopped. I thought I was the best . . . but he was better. The unstoppable force blew away the unmovable object.
I was sitting there, drinking a bad airport martini, iPod headphones firmly in place, pretending to listen to music while really eavesdropping on the couple next to me, whom I suspected of having an affair, when he sat down.
He had the stink of an Airport Talker about him. I can smell them from forty feet away. Luckily, there was someone on the other side of him, and the Airport Talker immediately struck up a conversation with the other guy. I was safe. For now.
But, after 15 minutes, the other guy left. Sure enough, the Airport Talker turned to me. He was just about to steamroll past my iPod defense when, thank God, his phone rang.
He answered it, and for the next ten minutes treated everyone around him to a loud, profane, obnoxious conversation. Here are some snippets—and remember, he is saying these things loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear:
“I don’t know what her fucking problem is. I swear to God, she’s got a pipe up her ass about this. I think she needs to get laid. But shit, she’s probably a dyke, you know?”
“How are your Orioles doing? They beat the fucking Yankees, I was glad to see that.”
“You know what? The fucking guy doesn’t know how communicate, that’s his problem.”
“Hey, you didn’t ask me how my Mets are doing!”
And on, and on, and on. And the worst part was, I knew that as soon as he was done with his call, he would start talking to me in that same loud voice, and I would be forced to engage in the conversation, and be smeared by association.
So while he talked, I prepared myself. I was going to the mattresses. Pulling out all stops.
First, I put some Mozart on the iPod, loud enough so that I knew the sound would leak out and he would hear it when he hung up the phone.
Second, I pulled out my crossword puzzle. This is one of my better props. For some reason, people are intimidated by someone doing a crossword puzzle, and hesitant to disturb them.
Next, I ordered a glass of white wine. Now, everything was in place.
I call this my “Gay Strategy,” and it’s a perfect defense for overly macho salesmen types. If they think you might be gay, they usually avoid you.
So when he got off the phone, he would be faced with a man sipping white wine, listening to Mozart, and doing a crossword puzzle. I'm thinking about getting a fake earing, or maybe a fake rainbow tattoo that I can slap on in a hurry if I need to.
And if that wasn’t enough, I was prepared to go even further. I was willing to do the “fake phone call.” That’s where I punch in a set of random numbers, and say things like:
“Oh, let me tell you, is there a finer specimen than Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke? Him and I wouldn’t have any failure to communicate, that’s for sure!”
And, “I tell you what . . . I wouldn’t be rubbing his belly after he ate all those eggs! I’d be rubbing something else!”
(For the record, I am not gay, but I would be with Paul Newman as he was in Cool Hand Luke. Just because he’s perfect.)
So I was ready for this bozo. Everything was in place. The cell phone was within reach. I had left no cracks in my defense. Or so I thought.
I forgot about the paper. I had finished my newspaper, and had set it to one side. It was the only opening he needed.
When he finished his phone call, he tapped me on the shoulder. I cried inside. I took one earplug out of one ear and raised what would be my eyebrows at the man, if I had eyebrows.
“Are you done with that paper? Mind if I read it?”
“Go ahead,” I said. “I’m done with it.”
And before I could even get my iPod plug back in, he had grabbed the paper and launched into a conversation with me about how security procedures are different from airport to airport.
And I was stuck. He didn’t pick up on my gay vibe, obviously. And I couldn’t very well start making a call in the middle of his talking to me, so I couldn’t pull out the Cool Hand Luke card.
The only thing I could hope for was that somebody would call me . . . and that didn’t happen. So I spent 25 minutes in hell.
I was beat. Beaten by a neglected paper. I know better than that. When you’re done with the paper, you ask the bartender to throw it away. You never leave it on the bar, where people can use it for an opening gambit.
That was a rookie mistake. Bush league. It’s right up there with the time when I lost my wallet right before a trip, so I borrowed my son Zach’s Cubs wallet, which is bright blue with a big Cubs logo on it.
You can imagine what that means. That’s right . . . every time I pulled it out to show my ID or give the bartender a credit card, some jagoff jumped in:
“Cubs fan, huh? What do you think about Soriano?” Or,
“You guys got Piniella, huh? What do you think of him?”
Never, ever give the scum a glimpse into your personal life or your hobbies. And never, ever leave a newspaper laying around where someone can see it.
Lessons learned the hard way.
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Feels like Total Recall. Er, Philip K Dick?
Actually, with Steve's example it's a bit scary --- standing at the urinal...
Comments (46)
Steve, I suggest you have made one of those cards that hearing impaired people carry - and laminate it as I suspect it will get frequent use. The card says in a nice way: i can't hear you, can't talk to you so leave me the hell alone. the accompanying hand gestures could get really good.
Posted by suzanne salvo | April 18, 2007 7:04 PM
Posted on April 18, 2007 19:04
Oh, Suzanne . . . you're wickedly evil and devious and wonderful. That is a great idea. Of course, it would mean not listening to my iPod . . .but I can deal with that.
Are you coming to New Orleans for IABC? If so, will we be eating together?
The new issue of Travel and Leisure has four wonderful articles about Italy . . .when are you going to invite me over?
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | April 18, 2007 8:25 PM
Posted on April 18, 2007 20:25
Another idea is to pretend your cell phone rings (he can't tell if it's vibrating or not) and have an imaginary conversation.
Posted by Ron Shewchuk | April 18, 2007 10:03 PM
Posted on April 18, 2007 22:03
Why fake a cell phone call to have an imaginary conversation? Just having an imaginary conversation might be enough to stave him off.
Posted by Robert J Holland, ABC | April 19, 2007 6:28 AM
Posted on April 19, 2007 06:28
Steve, you're wasting your talent with this Ragan stuff. Pack your bags for Hollywood. ;-))
Posted by Donna Papacosta | April 19, 2007 7:24 AM
Posted on April 19, 2007 07:24
Here one I heard Joan Rivers talk about years ago that made me laugh my head off. She lives in New York and walks her own dogs for the last constitutional before bed, and so you can imagine the nutters she might come in contact with.
As she is walking the dog, she talks to herself as though there are other people inside her head, usually several people at once that she has imaginary conversations with. Unsurprisingly, she never has any problems with other people bothering her.
The only issue I can see from trying this in an airport bar is that you might have difficulty getting the bartender to keep serving you. Maybe you could warn the bartender in advance to ensure continued service. Regardless, in a pinch it's another tactic to put in your kit, no?
Kristen
Posted by Kristen | April 19, 2007 7:31 AM
Posted on April 19, 2007 07:31
I would be with Paul Newman as he appeared in Nobody's Fool.
Posted by David Murray | April 19, 2007 7:40 AM
Posted on April 19, 2007 07:40
These are terrific suggestions . . . and depending on where I'm at, I may be able to add them to the toolkit.
For example, if I'm in my home park, O'Hare Airport, many of the bartenders know me (sad as that may be). They would be hip to the scam of talking to myself.
But in other bars, I would probably be cut off . . . and I'd rather talk to a boor and have a martini than talk to myself without one.
For the record: I'm not anti-ALL PEOPLE. I've met some really cool people in airports, including a guy who was a professional glass blower, and who had trained in Venice. And who had vicodin for the flight. And who was willing to share!
It's just that nine out of ten people you meet in airport bars are boorish sales types who all sound the same!
David, I would be with Paul Newman as he appeares on his salad dressing jars.
Donna . . . how does one get to Hollywood?
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | April 19, 2007 8:18 AM
Posted on April 19, 2007 08:18
Well, Steve, after your previous post, this one has restored my opinion of you. A little. I'd much rather hear about your adventures in airports than your embarrassing lack of handyman skills. But I'd be wary of following Kristen's advice. Too much talking to yourself in an airport could get you "randomly selected" for the extra-thorough security screening.
Greg
Posted by Greg Marsh | April 19, 2007 8:23 AM
Posted on April 19, 2007 08:23
Steve, I think you get to Hollywood through O'Hare airport.
Will
Posted by Will Daniel | April 19, 2007 12:31 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 12:31
Greg - little do you know how much Steve enjoys the "extra-thorough security screening." HA!
I had my iPod on and jamming on a flight to PA and the guy next to me TOTALLY would not stop talking to me. Now I am a chatty type usually, if you start chatting me up, chances are I'm willing to play along. But I had my buds in and my book out. LEAVE ME ALONE. AND we were stuck on the runway for an hour. Chatting the whole time.
The good news? He bought me a beer on the flight for "keeping him company" - now THAT's an okay interruption.
Posted by Rebecca (token IT Goddess) | April 19, 2007 1:15 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 13:15
Rebecca:
"Buds in, Book out." BIBO. I like it. I like it a lot. It's funny that you said that about the private security screening.
On that particular trip, nothing went right. My flight out was delayed, my flight in was delayed and delayed and then canceled, forcing Cindy to scramble to get me a hotel room, and go to war with United in order to get me on a flight early enough the next day so that I wouldn't miss Zach's soccer game (they ended up buying me a ticket on American because Cindy went ape shit on them) . . . it was a horrible mess.
BUT . . . because I did switch from United to American, I had to get the extra security pat down. It was 8 in the morning, I had just spent two hours in line first at United, then American, then in security, I was hungover, I had no luggage because I didn't bother to claim it the night before when the plane was canceled (actually, I still haven't claimed it) . . . it was about as miserable as I've ever been.
But during the pat-down, the guy runs his hands over my shoulders and says, "Damn, you been working out?"
And I HAVE been working out! I lost 25 pounds! And I'm boxing! And he noticed! The nice security man noticed!!!!
I floated all the way home, with no drugs or alcohol involved.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | April 19, 2007 1:39 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 13:39
Uh, er, excuse me. I don't think you'd be "with" Paul Newman. I don't think HE's gay...
Posted by Laura too | April 19, 2007 2:19 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 14:19
Steve,
Now it all makes sense to me. You've been working out. That's why my girlfriend is in love with you.
Robert
Posted by Robert J Holland, ABC | April 19, 2007 3:10 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 15:10
Robert:
My new He Man physique may have had something to do with Colleen and I falling for each other . . . but it was more a bonding of souls, really.
The chiseled body was just an extra.
Steve C.
And Laura . . . you never know.
Posted by Steve C. | April 19, 2007 3:18 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 15:18
The fact that you're losing weight means you've been hanging out with the wrong people. I would be happy to reintroduce you to nice fattening food and beverages.
Eliot
Posted by eliot | April 19, 2007 3:31 PM
Posted on April 19, 2007 15:31
I would be with Steve McQueen in The Great Escape. I would ride on the back of his motorcycle when he jumps that fence.
Posted by Ron Shewchuk | April 20, 2007 1:45 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 01:45
I would be with Ron Shewchuk.
Posted by David Murray | April 20, 2007 6:17 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 06:17
OK, somebody has to put this back on track.
I would be with Grace Kelly in "Rear Window." I would willingly break my leg if it meant she visited me every day.
Posted by Robert J Holland, ABC | April 20, 2007 6:30 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 06:30
What a square you are, Robert Holland.
Posted by David Murray | April 20, 2007 7:24 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 07:24
OK, I'm a square. But I would rather be a square with Grace Kelly than, uh, not a square with Paul Newman. Or Ron Shewchuck for that matter. (No offense, Ron.)
Posted by Robert J Holland, ABC | April 20, 2007 8:20 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 08:20
Steve - BIBO - it's brilliant, we should make buttons immediately.
Paul doesn't really do it for me, though in Cool Hand Luke...my my mercy.
I'm a Robert Redford girl - holy schmoly. My husband and I were just watching "The Natural" last weekend and even he said "Man, Robert Redford is one good-lookin' dude."
I know, honey, I know.
I'll take Robert as he appeared in The Natural, The Sting, Butch & Sundance, THE WAY WE WERE oooooooooh. Hell, I'd even take him as he appeared in the friggin' Electric Horseman.
Posted by Rebecca (token IT Goddess) | April 20, 2007 8:38 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 08:38
David:
I'm going to "be with" Ron Shewchuck all next week in Vancouver. Eat your heart out.
Rebecca: Oh, Redford is okay. Nothing wrong with Redford. If you go for that pretty boy California sissy girl looks.
But he's no Cool Hand Luke. Nobody is.
You know, this is exactly the reason I have this blog, so we can talk about male crushes on other men.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | April 20, 2007 9:07 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 09:07
I, too, am heading to Vancouver this weekend for the highly-anticipated Steve C extravaganza. Can't freakin' wait. However, I rarely fly and really hate the whole experience, and now I'm terrified I'll be ill-equipped to deal with potential hazards.
Luckily, I am, in fact, a gay man. I don't think I throw off an obvious gay vibe, but perhaps I'll camp it up for my flight tomorrow morning. I guess the iPod is a given, and I'll just keep it cranked to the new release from Mika (or better yet, Celine Dion...reinforcing the gay vibe).
Assuming I get to VAN unscathed, I can't wait for the seminar!
Cheers, and happy flying.
Don
Posted by Don Lariviere | April 20, 2007 9:16 AM
Posted on April 20, 2007 09:16
Cool hand Luke! Yeah there’s a man for you, but I can't help think that he could hold water to the manliness of Jeremiah Johnson!
This blog has gotten kinda gay!
AN
Posted by AN | April 20, 2007 12:03 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 12:03
AN:
This blog has always been gay.
Don . . . I hope you make it. I hope I make it. I hope we both make it. These long flights to the west coast are murder on my innards.
If we both do make it, let's plan on rendevousing in the hotel bar after day one, for drinks. Deal? The seminar ends at 4, so what say we tentatively schedule the session for 4:02.
Are you staying in the hotel where the seminar is? It looks beautiful . . . right on the water!
See you in Vancouver. I hope.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | April 20, 2007 12:10 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 12:10
Steve -
Drinks? Deal! 4:02 seems a bit late, though. Perhaps we should tote a flask with us so Sip #1 can actually be EN ROUTE to the bar?
I'm not staying at the Westin...long story. Suffice to say I'm a jackass when it comes to details. However, I'm not staying far from there, so stumbling home safely won't be an issue.
See you Monday!
Don
Posted by Don Lariviere | April 20, 2007 1:40 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 13:40
Don, having been a hag my whole life - I definitely think Celine Dion is a good choice...for a rookie. You're going to have to lay the gay on THICK if you want to thwart these evil-doers. I recommend Cher, Madonna or the soundtrack to "Wicked" if you really want to put the vibe out there.
Unfortunately the gay vibe doesn't work for women the same way. Men think it's hot and women don't care.
Shame, I was really looking forward to butching it up for the trip. Of course, with twelve 8th graders in tow tomorrow flying out to DC, I don't think ANYONE will be wanting to chat me up. That and I can't drink since I'm "chaperoning." Bastards.
Posted by Rebecca (token IT Goddess) | April 20, 2007 2:57 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 14:57
OK Rebecca----I'm there with you on both Butch C&TSK and the friggin Electric Horseman. It was the mustache, Bob. Not everyone looks good in one, but he was pretty freakin TDF.
Sorry Keifer, sob. I love you, I really do. You still have the best voice ever.
Posted by Laurel | April 20, 2007 2:58 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 14:58
Oh and STEVE - who are you calling a sissy paper-in-the-door-boy??? You leave my Robert alone. I bet that man knows how to use a screwdriver, to say the very least.
Posted by Rebecca (token IT Goddess) | April 20, 2007 2:58 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 14:58
I'm really not a big fan of blogs in general ... but Corporate Hallucinations? You just can't find entertainment like this anywhere else!
Greg
Posted by Greg Marsh | April 20, 2007 3:51 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 15:51
I photographed Paul Newman a couple of year back for that car-thingy he does. There were lots of other car/racer guys there like AJ Something and Mario Whatsit. I have trouble identifying my own car in a parking lot, so it was wasted on me EXCEPT - All I can say is up close and personal those eyes are even more amazingly blue than they appear on screen. HUBBA HUBBA.
Steve - See you in New Orleans - fish eyes with Pizzo again? We are back in Italy starting in July, had to delay until after conference - Barolo wines are grown in my neighborhood and are actually affordable!!
Suzanne
Posted by suzanne salvo | April 20, 2007 4:43 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 16:43
Steve - check out mobile.faker.com - it's a website (duh - what gave that away?) that allows you, among other things, to arrange for fake phone calls. Here's what their web site promises "Fake it on the go with Mobile faker, featuring all the tips and tools you need to slay your social prey with only your mobile phone as a weapon." Since I don't even own a cell phone, I have no idea how it works, but it might be worth checking out
I usually handle airport talkers (at least the ones I don't want to talk to) with the line "I'm sorry, but my mom told me not to talk to strangers, and I've already disappointed her enough in my life" and then I walk away. So what if they think I'm a bit loopy?
and by the way - my vote goes to Paul over Robert
Posted by Kelly | April 20, 2007 4:48 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 16:48
Well, I nearly had a vodka spit-take on my computer screen. Funniest. Blog conversation. Ever.
So, Steve. Your session on Monday ends at four. I've been instructed to come by the hotel at about six to "escort" you to the IABC dinner at White Spot (a Vancouver restaurant icon).
David Murray wants to "be with" me. And I'm your "escort" on Monday night. Already my anus is sore as hell and I haven't left the house.
Posted by Ron Shewchuk | April 20, 2007 9:53 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 21:53
One other thing.
Holland, I want to be with you.
We have to have a drink. Why don't you bring me to Richmond to do a workshop or something? I'm a big Bluegrass fan, you know. In fact, I'm a huge Larry Sparks fan. Doe you know the song, "Blue Virginia Blues"?
Have you ever been to Richmond in November
With the cold Virginia rain a comin' down?
Posted by Ron Shewchuk | April 20, 2007 10:04 PM
Posted on April 20, 2007 22:04
Of course, I mean, just a drink. And maybe some barbecue. But that's it.
Posted by Ron Shewchuk | April 21, 2007 1:26 PM
Posted on April 21, 2007 13:26
Anytime, Ron.
Sorry, I don't know "Blue Virginia Blues." But then, I tend to tune in to the classic rock radio stations. There are no bluegrass stations in Richmond that I know of.
See, that's the big misconception about Richmond, that we're 'way down South or out in the sticks somewhere. Steve, will you please educate your audience as to what Richmond is really like, since you were just here last week?
Great restaurants, lots of artists and writers, friendly people, seven Fortune 500 HQs, and birthplace of those hilarious GEICO caveman ads. That's the Richmond of today.
Posted by Robert J Holland, ABC | April 23, 2007 7:16 AM
Posted on April 23, 2007 07:16
In the words of Paula Cole, I'm left to wonder "Where have all the cowboys gone?" Of course, now that song is dated since Heath Ledger took his turn as a modern day John Wayne.
Oy vey.
Posted by Eileen | April 23, 2007 11:03 AM
Posted on April 23, 2007 11:03
Allow me to add one other type of asshat to the list of annoying travelers. When I was riding the train on my way back from Steve C’s recent conference in DC I had the distinct pleasure sitting across from one of the most annoying human beings on earth next to Carrot Top and Gilbert Godfried.
The train started to roll out of Union station making its way up the north east corridor. Mr.Asshhat and I were locked in a gaze of “we’re sitting roughly 2 feet apart and we should say something, but you don’t really look that interesting”.
After a quick nod, Mr. Asshat and I came to the unspoken understanding that despite the fact we could smell each others’ arm pit deodorant all of our communications were going to be taken from the book of Ann Sullivan and be relegated to gestures and grunts.
The train starts to roll out and he pulls out an ear bud device that he promptly jacks into a phone, and here is where the true nightmare begins.
He takes out the ear bud and begins to place it in his ear. A crunching sound starts to emanate from his nasal cavity that not only resonated across the table to me, but the seismic vibrations must have been felt in the asses of the people across the aisle because they also took notice of Mr. Asshat’s noisy insertion.
One more attempt and again a crunching sound. Since I was across from Mr. Asshat I did not have a clear profile shot of what the crunching sound was. Was there a child behind him eating an entire box of cereal trying desperately to get their hands on the Justin Timberlake robot ninja action figure at the bottom of the box? Was the spirit of Gregory Hines reenacting the Ethiopian Shim Sham Sand dance from History of the World? Or did this douchebag forget to clean out his ear hair since 1977 and the follicles had taken root in his occipital lobe? DING DING DING! The Ron Popeel hedge clippers he pulled out from his pocket quickly put to rest and hope of meeting the ghost of Gregory Hines.
Snip! Snip! Snip! He begins to machete his way through the dense foliage that most likely provided shade to George Washington during the Revolutionary war. Clunk! The sign falls commemorating George Washington’s stay. As the timbers collided with the seat next to him, I mentioned Amtrack’s strict policy on spreading ear wigs throughout the cabin.
Blah blah blah click clack click, he responded in a language I obviously did not understand based on my ethnically insensitive recounting of his words. I considered myself lucky because my comments would have warranted the insertion of a make-shift shiv to my kidneys next time I got up to hit the snack cart.
Once his ear was properly excavated he placed in the ear bud (sans crunching) and began to make a phone call.
After a few clicks and clacks his call ended and I picked my copy of The Authority by Warren Ellis and settled into some comic goodness.
At right about Baltimore he pressed a button on his phone and he began to lightly hum. Fantastic, it’s not just a phone, but an MP3 player as well. Light humming I can tolerate. Then the chorus came. Of course I couldn’t be sitting next to someone who was from a hip European nation, no I was sitting next to a German.
How do I know?
He began to sing the chorus of a song ripped directly from the genius catalog of one Mr. David Hasselhoff. This specific travesty of music was called “Get in my Car”. Rob how did you recognize the song if you have such erudite music taste? My brother-in-law in an attempt to make my hair fall out prematurely e-mailed the MP3 of this auditory raping every day for a week. When I told him I would not only disown him, but also send him naked pictures of his sister, he began sending me links to the video on YouTube (At least it’s a smaller file size in my inbox).
Unfortunately Mr. Asshat had the entire Hoff catalog on his MP3 player and even more unfortunately he was unabashed in sharing his musical talent and more unfortunately than that he was still on the train when I departed in Philadelphia.
Lesson learned: never trust a German with an MP3 player. And if you are next to one pray he is mute.
Posted by Rob Patey | April 23, 2007 1:40 PM
Posted on April 23, 2007 13:40
Rob, you're the funniest guy since Steve Crescenzo! Bravo!
Posted by Robert J Holland, ABC | April 23, 2007 2:21 PM
Posted on April 23, 2007 14:21
Rob - I second Robert's Bravo, and raise him an "O my gosh you are hilarious!!" What a great way to start the day - laughing like a fool at my desk.
Rob, please keep us apprised of any other "close encounters" you migh have okay?
Kristen
Posted by Kristen | April 25, 2007 7:11 AM
Posted on April 25, 2007 07:11
Very funny!
I recently took a virtual workshop of Steve's and he mentioned this blog, so I'm checking it out and it definitely has made me LAUGH.
My worst traveler experience: I was on a trip to Paris. A large German woman who did not speak English sat next to me. Of course, she had the aisle seat and I was trapped in the window seat. She ate copious amounts of food and requested extra butter pats, which she unwrapped and ate -- straight. Licking her fingers afterward.
If that wasn't enough to skeeve me out, she began moving her largeness around to settle down for a nap (no working out here, Steve) and then took off her shoes and socks. She scratched her feet for a bit, scratch scratch scratch, ate a piece of chocolate (no hand washing here, either) and fell asleep.
Tired myself, I fell asleep, only to wake to a tickling sensation on my calf. I was wearing capri pants that unfortunately left my lower legs exposed to the predatory TOENAILS of my Frauen seatmate. In her peaceful slumber she had sprawled out, and her long yellow toenails kept scratching my leg! I tried to squeeze myself into the tiniest space possible, melding myself to the window -- think the cat in the pepe le pew cartoons -- to no avail. Escaping from the long yellow toenails was not in the cards for me. Not on this flight.
It was a long flight. And the worst of it was, I was only 18 at the time so no drinks for me. Until I reached Paris where I partook amply.
Anne
Posted by Anne | April 26, 2007 1:37 PM
Posted on April 26, 2007 13:37
Very funny!
I recently took a virtual workshop of Steve's and he mentioned this blog, so I'm checking it out and it definitely has made me LAUGH.
My worst traveler experience: I was on a trip to Paris. A large German woman who did not speak English sat next to me. Of course, she had the aisle seat and I was trapped in the window seat. She ate copious amounts of food and requested extra butter pats, which she unwrapped and ate -- straight. Licking her fingers afterward.
If that wasn't enough to skeeve me out, she began moving her largeness around to settle down for a nap (no working out here, Steve) and then took off her shoes and socks. She scratched her feet for a bit, scratch scratch scratch, ate a piece of chocolate (no hand washing here, either) and fell asleep.
Tired myself, I fell asleep, only to wake to a tickling sensation on my calf. I was wearing capri pants that unfortunately left my lower legs exposed to the predatory TOENAILS of my Frauen seatmate. In her peaceful slumber she had sprawled out, and her long yellow toenails kept scratching my leg! I tried to squeeze myself into the tiniest space possible, melding myself to the window -- think the cat in the pepe le pew cartoons -- to no avail. Escaping from the long yellow toenails was not in the cards for me. Not on this flight.
It was a long flight. And the worst of it was, I was only 18 at the time so no drinks for me. Until I reached Paris where I partook amply.
Anne
Posted by Anne | April 26, 2007 1:37 PM
Posted on April 26, 2007 13:37
Oh, NO!!!! Anne, that beats anything I can come up with. That is the worst.
That's almost enough to make Paris not worth it . . . almost.
Steve C.
Posted by Steve C. | April 26, 2007 2:44 PM
Posted on April 26, 2007 14:44
Anne,
Sounds like your German and my German should go recruit Col. Klink and start The Army of Annoyance.
After getting their asses kicked in not one but two wars, you would think they would try a little harder to get along with folks.
Posted by Rob Patey | April 27, 2007 7:04 AM
Posted on April 27, 2007 07:04
Suzanne, Steve, et al, won't be able to catch up with you in New Orleans as much as I'd like to. New Orleans, food, see Charles Pizzo in his home turf, telling us where his favorite restaurants used to be (sorry, Charles), but hey, my wife and I are adding Italy to our "pipe dream" travel plans. We love wine, hanging out with friends, etc.
Suzanne, didn't know you did car photography. If you ever have to come to Phoenix to shoot car photos, I'll be happy to carry your camera bag. NASCAR's a kick in the pants out here. Too bad Dick Trickle doesn't drive any more, the TV commentators always loved to tell the listeners how old Dick was doing, even though he wasn't a great racer, just so they could say Dick Trickle on live television.
And Steve, you gotta talk those Ragan people into coming to Phoenix. We've gone to Chicago, time for the mountain to come to Mohammed, or something like that.
Posted by Kevin Snow | April 27, 2007 5:03 PM
Posted on April 27, 2007 17:03