Wake up at 5:30 am, drive to Milwaukee in a torrential downpour, sat next to the quintessential obese person whose love handles basically spilled into my shitty aisle seat and talked my ear off while I was clearly focused on dominating the sudoku puzzle before me, five hour layover in St. Louis…all…ALL of these things I was willing to overlook on the onset of my odyssey. Why?
Because I had a first class ticket for the remainder of my trip to San Fran.
(The ticket was a gift by the way, there's no way I'd personally that kind of money on something so frivolous.)
That’s right, a ticket to the good life, a ticket to pointless pampering, a ticket for ample foot and elbow room, and most importantly, a ticket for free booze. For once in my life, it was going to be ME that was going to give smug looks to all the incoming peons riding coach, instead of the other way around. It was going to be sweet.
But American Airlines had different plans for me. Apparently they thought it would be hilarious to cancel my flight and reroute me through Dallas and as an extra jab, make me wait an extra couple of hours in St. Louis’s crappy smelly airport.
I mean, I get it, that is funny, but I was starting to get anxious and goofier. I’m a great person to travel with because the more shit that goes down, the weirder and funnier I become. Kind of like when Clark W. Griswold does anything. Or when I start drinking.
Anyways, my plane finally arrived and I was ready to booze. I was hoping to enjoy some sophisticated conversation with my fellow upstanding first class passengers while mulling over champagne and caviar but everyone around me looked really lame so I proceeded to slam as many Bud’s down as I could before touching down in Dallas.
A few Shiner Bock’s later at Dallas International and I was back in the skies again. I caught a little nap initially which was a poor idea because it made me groggy and I think I dropped ass a few times, which may be perfectly acceptable in coach, but is generally frowned upon in first class judging by the looks people were giving me when I was yawning/signaling the flight attendant for a Jack and Coke as I woke up.
Three cocktails later and I was definitely getting in the mood to talk to someone, anyone at that point, you know how it is when you’ve had a few drinks in you. Unfortunately the chick next to me was watching The Guardian, or as I am now calling it, Shitty Top Gun. All I could think from the occasional glance at her notebook screen was that if the Coast Guard wanted this film to be used as recruitment propaganda, then they shouldn’t have used fucking Kelso as their poster boy.
I thought this was pretty clever so I told her what I just said above in so many words but it must not have came out right because she gave me a dirty look and went back to her suckfest movie. I was forced to remain in sitting in silence until we landed in California, which I did not particularly enjoy.
But alls well that end well. I made it to my destination even though it was 12:30 Pacific, 2:30 Central, or in other words, the longest traveling day ever. But at least my luggage wasn’t left behind in St. Louis. Oh wait…
American Airlines, you have zinged me again!
The rest of my trip was far more exciting and will contain numerous references to Full House when the narrative continues. This much I promise you.
8/31/07
Sorry to drag this one out, it was not deliberate, once again, more of a timing crunch for me but, alas, here is a quick wrap up of the rest of San Francisco.
Since I missed out on a party night on Thursday and my luggage whereabouts were unknown, I was a little bitter and pessimistic going into the trip on Friday which is why I didn’t start off with the right perspective.
For instance, I wanted and expected to see a lot of hippies walking around but all I saw was a lot of bums and homeless people. Ditto for Chinatown. I was expecting to see a fight break out between Lo Pan and Kurt Russell any second but all I saw were Chinese people there. At least the homosexuals didn’t disappoint. That stereotype seems to ring true.
Was that last paragraph politically incorrect? I am not trying to be an asshole here, just trying to get down my travel notes.
Anyways, the only thing of note on Friday was Cody’s attempt to start a San Francisco Fight Club chapter and by that, I mean some drunk ass frat boy type took off his shirt for no particular reason and jumped my friend. It was not much of a fight, though. I would compare it to more of a spat between DJ Tanner and Kathy Santoni at lunch hour.
Saturday was sight seeing day for us. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, that stupid road that’s really curvy all the way down, Full House Mountain; we did everything you’d expect from some jackass tourist.
One thing I found odd about San Fran is that everywhere you go is up hill. Everywhere. Even if you turned around to retrace your steps, the city would somehow still make you traverse on an incline. My calves are still hurting me.
Nightlife in San Fran is kind of weak. Everyone clears out and takes off at bar time faster than you can say, "How Rude!". I presume everyone goes home to bask in their own farts but that's not for me (sorry, this is an obscure South Park reference, but I had to work it in here somehow).
Sunday was capped with our second Brewer game, where the Brewers performed a stunning display of athleticism by losing their third straight game to the last place Giants. It made our heckling of the fans much more difficult. Since we couldn’t defend the Brewers, we had to yell politically charged statements into the crowd.
I think we represented Wisconsin proudly with, “Global Warming is only a myth!” and “Ronald Reagan was our greatest president!”
I’m only kidding. The fans might have gotten hostile and started throwing their plastic wine glasses and empty sushi platters at us if we would have yelled that kind of stuff. We were good representatives of Wisconsin with our heckling, which was both thoughtful and thought provoking, which I feel was unexpected and appreciated by the Giant fans of AT&T Park.
We spent the rest of the afternoon down at Haight and Ashbury, the neighborhood famous for the summer of love back in the 1960’s. We settled into a quaint little hippie coffee shop, where we discussed such timeless topics such as heredity versus environment, the origin of species, and whether we wipe our asses sitting down or standing up. That last one quickly escalated into the age old “wad or fold” debate, which meant it was time to go.
Thank you for the interesting weekend, San Francisco. However, I left my heart back in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
That's the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, however, I found the bridge going into Oakland far more impressive. All they had to do was paint that cocksucker bright yellow or orange and the citizens of San Fran would have had another icon on their hands.
Oh yeah, forgot to mention, Kimmy Gibbler came with us to Game 3. She wasn't as annoying as I thought she'd be.
