>Thanks to a change in airlines from American to Air China, I had to bypass the security checkpoint and get my tickets from the Air China booth. No one told me this. The airline official looked at my electronic tickets and shrugged and said “I don’t know”. No condolences. Not even a fucking well-wish or an educated guess (though here we might delete ‘educated’). Hell, I would have been okay with a simple “good luck”.
Twas 8:15 pm PST, and no one stood behind the Air China booth. So I waited an hour, a white guy among Chinese, a minority among a majority, a prelude for the census to come. Finally they showed up to work and after another hour, I grabbed my tickets and headed back through security.
Since I had not acquired any automatic weapons or bombs during transit, I breezed through security. As I staggered towards Gate 27, my stomach overtook me and led me to the first restaurant in sight: a Burger King.
I know airport shops suffer from severe inflation. I also know the cost of living in Los Angeles is higher than say, Springfield TN, but no amount of knowledge prepared me for seeing a value meal at $10.
10 bucks for a burger, fries, and a coke. Why not include a side of crack?
Behind the counter stands a guy who looks like Carlos Mencia’s rejected twin brother. The one who lost the parental coin toss. I step up to the counter and he looks to his side and utters rather loudly, “Man my culo’s really itching.”
He starts scratching his ass.
And I don’t mean a light scratch. This isn’t one cheek or the other or both. No, his fingers plunge in deep and plumbs around lower depths, a harsh wince on his face all the while.
He looks to me, a yearning for swift healing. I refrain from helping. Others may have offered a helping hand.
I am not that altruistic. Sorry.
