[***Hoping you true muthasuckas know...this be the longest shit I ever wrote!!! Off in the officespace writin' notes...to the lonest shit I ever wrote!!! It's so long...I BROKE IT INTO TWO PARTS!! OOOOOOOOOOO...he said two parts!! Ooooooooooo! I'm dumb.***]

You ever take a trip and damn near everything that could go wrong, does go wrong?

If this is you say HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

*HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*

Say HO! HO!

*HO! HO!*

Now somebody SCREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

*screaming wildly and loudly and stuff*

That last scream was me on Friday…then Saturday…then Tuesday. Seriously.

This past federal holiday (Columbus Day) I ventured to Boston. I tend to venture to Boston a lot nowadays. Do the math. Either way, in order to fully explain the hell that was my trip, I must do a timeline of the play by play which included rain, strippers, cargo, radars, traffic, and loss of sanity.

Just to get this started properly, here was my actual itinerary:

Friday

Baltimore Balt/Wash Intl (BWI) to Philadelphia International (PHL)
Departure (BWI): October 7, 8:00 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (PHL): October 7, 8:50 PM EDT (evening)

Philadelphia International (PHL) to Boston Logan International (BOS)
Departure (PHL): October 7, 9:30 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (BOS): October 7, 10:45 PM EDT (evening)

Monday

Boston Logan International (BOS) to Philadelphia International (PHL)
Departure (BOS): October 10, 8:30 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (PHL): October 10, 9:51 PM EDT (evening)

Philadelphia International (PHL) to Baltimore Balt/Wash Intl (BWI)
Departure (PHL): October 10, 10:45 PM EDT (evening)
Arrival (BWI): October 10, 11:43 PM EDT (evening)

And here is what actually happened. Have a seat, this is going to take a while.

Friday

530pm: I trod out of my job happily welcoming the three day weekend and my trip to Boston. It’s raining.

534pm: In my car intending to travel to the Baltimore-Washington International Airport. About 30 miles away. Granted, its rush hour, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour and 15 minutes tops.

6pm: I’ve gone about 3 miles and have yet to actually leave the city limits of DC. If I can at least get onto the BW (Baltimore-Washington) Parkway by 610, I can at least be to BWI by 7pm. I’m cool as a fan, gat in hand, I don’t want to blast her man….but I can…I’m listening to Biggie.

615pm: I’ve gone 2 more miles…maybe. It’s raining, which in DC means there are accidents galore since folks here can’t drive for shit under normal circumstances. At least I’m on the BW Parkway, though I’ve yet to get outside of the Beltway. 25 miles to go.

620pm: This is where the sitting in traffic begins to drive me crazy. Note to anybody driving in car with the Most Muhfuckin’…I don’t do good in traffic…at all. Luckily Willie Hutch was wailing his ass off in my CD player. Do you have “The Mack” soundtrack? No…you should really get it.

621pm: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. I’m sitting still. SITTING STILL as in not moving as in unmoving forward as in no forward progress as in progress halted.

623pm: Moving.

624pm: Stopped again. Fuck…I’d like a Klondike bar.

Repeats itself for the next 45 minutes but progress is made.

715pm: Clearly, I’m going to miss my flight since I’m at least 20 minutes from the airport. I call US Airways, they transfer me to some guy in India named “Mike”. Sure. I ask if it’s possible to get another flight since I’m clearly going to miss my flight.

720pm: “Mike” is a fuckin’ idiot. He tells me nothing I need to know except to go to the airport. Thanks fucker. Add to the fact that I’m driving in the rain, in traffic, and trying to dial up numbers on a T-Mobile Sidekick, and that I’m pissed…I’m sure I almost killed somebody on the road. My bad. And um…bring jobs back to America!!!

AMERICA…FUCK YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

740pm: I get to the airport and have resigned myself to the fact that I’ve missed my flight since I still have to park, and catch a shuttle to the airport. So I just go inside and talk to a US Airways personajiggy.

(By the way, it took me over 2 hours to go 30 miles. Not 300…30. I love DC. I make Kool-Aid for my family!!)

Panama: Ma’am, I’m supposed to be on the 8pm flight, but I’ve just gotten here so I assume I can’t get in since you all close flights 30 minutes in advance.

Flight Lady: You got your bag?

Panama: No…I figured if I went to the off-site parking, waited for a shuttle, and then came here…I’s still miss my flight, but it would be well after 8pm. So I figured I’d just accept that I missed my flight and see what time I can be rescheduled for in the morning.

FL: You should have brought your bag the flight is delayed by 15 minutes because of the rain. You might have made it is all I’m saying.

Panama: Ma’am, I understand that, but if you can just tell me when I can come in tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.

FL: (smug look) I’m just saying you really should have brought your bag. Hmmm, it’s our policy not to rebook you, you have to come in on standby. You have to be here for the first available flight on standby in the morning…at (devilish, evil asshole smile)…615…a…m.

Panama: You can’t just rebook me?? And did you say 615…in the morning? I live in DC. It takes at least 35 minutes to get here!!

FL: Sorry, that’s our policy. See you in the morning. (laughing to herself)

Panama: Thanks. (says to self) Asshole.

815pm: Panama is driving BACK to DC in the rain that caused the traffic in the first place. So guess what?? El traffico going the OTHER direction too. Somebody. Kill. Me.

945pm: Beddy bye bitches.

Saturday AKA The Longest Day of The Year

345am: Alarm goes off.

415am: Out the door headed to Baltimore. There should be no traffic at this time of the morning.

425am: Are you fucking kidding me?? A traffic jam at 425am??? Apparently there was an accident on the BW parkway. Fuck I’m tired.

435am: Get past the accident. “I’ve got to stay hii-iiii-iiii-iiii-iiii-iiigh, til I diiii-iiii-iiii-iii-iii-iii-iiie”. Three 6 Mafia’s new Cd is really good. Especially my joint…eh, fuck it.

440am: About 30 minutes from the airport but at least I’m moving. “If you want me to cheat you ugly bitch you got to play.” Most poignant chauvinistic rap line ever uttered at 440am on the BW parkway courtesy of Three 6 Mafia. That’s deep! Either that or I’m just tired…hmm…was that a midget holding a squirrel running across the highway??? Nope…

…it was Shaquille O’Neal holding a squirrel. Should have asked for an autograph.

5am: “Ever since I can remember I’ve been poppin’ my collar, poppin’, poppin’ my collar, every since I can remember I been workin’ these hoes and they better put my money in my hand.” In the pantheon of hiphop quotables…that is definitely my number 347.

510am: I’ve parked my car, caught the shuttle, and made it to the ticket counter. I’m standing in line behind about 9 Hispanic, probably El Salvadoran (not the tallest bunch of fellows ever), gentleman who speak NO English and who are still packing their bags. Nothing is more funny than watching a language barrier in full throttle. NOBODY knows what the fuck to do. And it’s 5am…you just can call the translator out of his sleep to come help with a bunch of short Latinos. That was fucked up…I’m sorry.

It gets worse.

512am: The Flight Agent pulls me out of line AHEAD of all the Hispanic males. She’s a young white lady. Apparently she plays favorites. A colleague of hers, clearly as fucked up as she is…and black, comes up to her and says “didn’t want to work with them Mexicans huh?!!” To which she responds…”he speaks English”, pointing at me. If I wasn’t tired, pissed at missing my flight, and running late, I might have been offended for them…for real though, they didn’t speak no English.

This conversation ensues…remember that flight lady from last night?

Flight Agent: How can I help you?

Panama: I missed my flight last night and need to catch a flight today.

FA: Did you speak to anybody? Because I don’t have you in my system as being rebooked.

Panama: I spoke to a lady last night who told me I had to come in today and I had to wait on standby.

FA: That’s not right. She could have easily booked you on a flight.

At this point, an older black Flight Agent Woman comes up and offers me some of her Dentyne (she offers it to everybody so I wasn’t offended). I said no thanks. Proving she’s from the South, she becomes offended and refuses to just let me say no going on to describe how good the gum is and how I really should just try it. I relent. It’s good gum.

Panama: So you’re saying she lied to me? That Ho…lesome woman looked me right in my face and said she couldn’t rebook me.

It’s 515am.

FA: Sorry about that, the 615am is full, I can confirm you on the 740am flight and put you on standby in Philly since most flights are full.

It’s 516am.

Fuck.

Panama: Thanks, I appreciate that.

FA: You’re welcome, sorry about the confusion.

It’s 517am.

530am: I’m at my gate a full 2 hours early. Apparently I’m not the earliest dude here either. There are two people fully laid out sleeping waiting on the same flight. Luckily I brought the longest most dense book ever, “Black Brothers, Inc.” about the notorious but largely unknow Philadelphia Black Mafia. Ironic…I’m going to Philly.

EARLY!!!

530am-715am: Read, scratch myself, doze off, eat a nasty ass sandwich from Roy Rogers, sleep, bathroom break, boarding call. Finally, progress.

740am-820am: Flight to Philly. Apparently in its attempts at cost-cutting, you don’t even get a snack on US Airways. You can order some good ass tap water though. Cheap bastards.

In Philly.

820am: So I’ve been placed on standby for an 1130am flight. No flights are leaving from Philly to Boston in between this. It’s raining outside and nobody’s in the airport but me, Freeway, and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Okay, I’m lying. It’s just me. Basically, I have ANOTHER 2 hour wait. Luckily, this one is going to be a lot more interesting.

830am: Damn Philly is a long ass airport. Got me walking 10K just to get to my new gate.

835am: Finally at my gate. Across the way is a flight headed somewhere a lot of black people are going. I’m not sure where, but I wish I knew.

850am: There are about 10 people sitting in my proximity. Me, 5 black guys who are Black Muslims, denoted by the bushy beard that Freeway rocks, 2 more black fake hiphop blinged out looking guys, and 2 white people with a baby. This is about to change.

9am: Four black Latino women who are either, strippers, porn stars, or pornstar strippers come sit RIGHT NEXT TO ME. One of them was even ice grillin’ me up. It is at this point I decide to write about my travels. It’s going to get better.

904am: I text my boy Frank Nitty, “there are 4 strippers or pornstars sitting next to me in the Philly airport. EARLY!”

906am: He replies: “you got pictures? I want pictures”.

910am: Seeming to have telegraphed my conversation with my boy Frank Nitty, the two fake hiphop dudes ask the stripping pornstars if they can take pictures with them. Of course, the exhibitionists oblige.

912am: Did she just put her leg on the other girls shoulder? Are they grabbing the one in the middle’s ass? In the AIRPORT?? Oh my…those white folks look scared. Me and the other black dudes? Enjoying the free show.

915am: More pictures. SWEET! This time, the one in the middle crouches down and pretends to perform oral sex on one of the other girls, while the third makes overtly sexual gestures about what she’d do to herself if money was being involved here. Text message from Frank Nitty: “dude…how can you not be getting pictures of this??!?! Use the camera phone…me and my brother want to see pictures.”

920am: One last picture…the ass shot followed by some cupping and literal HAND-ON-BOOTY action (Brown Sugar, 200). This is the best airport layover ever!

930am: Taking pictures almost made them miss their flight. They were all going to the same place…I’m jealous.

931am: I’m all alone. No more strippers. Life can be so sad sometimes.

931am-1045am: Sitting and watching my gate fill up with people. Apparently (after talking with another Flight Agent), this flight is oversold by 4 people. Me making the 1130am flight is not looking good. Fuck.

11am-1120am: They board the plane and I haven’t made it on for standby. But wait…there is one person missing from the flight, and if she doesn’t make it, I get the seat. Apparently she’s in the airport because her flight just landed, but she’s got 10 minutes to make it there or I get the seat.

Tick tock tick tock.

1129am: The silhouette of a young white girl can be seen sprinting down the cavernous hallway that is the US Airways gateway at Philadelphia Internation Airport. It’s her. I’m shut out.

1130am: I’m all alone again. And without a flight.

Fuck. At this point, I’ve been up for about 8 hours and have still not made it to Boston. I’m going crazy. I’m told that there is another flight at 130pm.

FUCKIN’ 130PM.

Oy vey.

1145am: Nothing else to do but just go enjoy Philly’s Marketplace. It’s a mall in the airport. I thought Atlanta had some stores, this place has everything. Shit’s hot!!! “fuck that take drugs, rape sluts, make fun of gay clubs, men who wear make up, get aware, wake up, get a sense of humor, quit trynna sensor music, this is for your kids amusement…” I’m listening to Eminem right now. Ice Cube thought he was the scariest guy in America…shiiiiiiiit, Eminem had white people REALLY scared. Plus, Ice Cube makes shit like Barbershop now…makes me want to go hug Doberman Pinschers.

During this time I was sitting next to an older woman and what I hope was her son, cuz if not, she’s REALLY robbing the cradle. Well, the young man was attempting to explain to her the finer points of computers. Wireless internet was totally not her thing. Whilst trying to understand how techonology has advanced over the past few years she totally got pissed at the concept of gigabytes, stating that in her day, gigs were jobs, not blocks of space. She was totally offended….I mean OJ going after Nicole Brown Simpson offended.

Good times.

1pm: The scheduled boarding time (I did get booked on this flight, thanky lawdy).

105pm: Call over the loudspeaker: The flight for Boston has been delayed until 230 due to inclement weather. Do you wanna die? Wannna fall out the sky? Wanna make your family cry? Then shut up bitch!

Okay, I made up that last part…but I’m delirious at this point.

I’d like to take this time to thank the good people at Apple for creating the iPod which managed to keep me totally musical for the entire duration of my trip through Hell. By the way, I must have listened to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” 30 times. Man that song is great.

By the way, everybody pretty much lost their damn mind at this point. I swear I saw a little Indian man run out onto the tarmac and challenge a Boeing 747 with a broom…or was that the movie “The Terminal”? I think I’ve lost all sense of self here.

130am: We hear this over the loudspeaker: Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin boarding the flight and try to get you off the ground against the wishes of God and the air traffic controllers. Apparently, our captains think they can make this flight happen a little earlier. So what they don’t have visibility, they’ve got their faith.

Hmmm…God versus The Airline Industry. Wonder who’s gonna win?

2pm: We’re on the plane sitting there.

215pm: Still sitting here…God seems to be winning here.

230pm: Yep…we ain’t moving jack. Captain comes on and tells us that originally we were scheduled to leave at 415pm but they negotiated with the air traffic controllers to get us out earlier. Now I don’t mean to sound like a worry wart…but um…I can wait if the weather seems, I don’t know,hurricanish and shit.

245pm: We’ve been cleared to take off. I hope that clearance came from God too. I mean it is pouring outside. Hell visibility is so bad I can’t even see the guy sitting next to me…or my hands…HOLY SHIT!!! Oh…my eyes were just closed. Silly me.

3pm: Yes…we’re ready to take off!! Wait…why are we slowing down…on the runway.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 7845-E…I mean, Captain: Sorry folks, we have to return to the gate, there is a weight distribution problem with our cargo. We can’t leave until we get that right. And for those of you who got beef because of it…remember Aaliyah?? Yeah, thought so. We’ll leave when we can. Shut up bitch.

330pm: We finally hit the blue skys headed to Boston’s Logan International Airport.

415pm: Land in Boston…fuckin’ finally.

Bu-bu-bu-but wait…it gets worse…as the return trip to Baltimore also takes me through mazes of ghosts, goblins, lions, tigers, and bears, oh my.

It’s truly amazing how much shit can really go wrong in one weekend.

Tune in tomorrow for Part II of Panama’s Travels…

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 12th, 2005 at 9:39 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.