Tag Archives: ambien

Passenger Gomez

Rather than forcing another blog entry today I thought I would post an unpublished entry from another travel mishap in July.
This entry below was written as ambien began to take effect on a flight to London. It’s kind of incoherent. I wrote it on my Iphone and pasted it here to fulfill my daily blog in Feb. deal.

JULY, 2009: I accidentally peed on the floor of American Airlines flight 530.  In
the bathroom if that makes this less humiliating.  I cleaned up the
the downfall with paper towels.  Washed my hands to OCD heights and
gave my self a Courtesan wash in case my pee hit me before rejoining
the flight.  So I’m still a sorry excuse for a traveller.
2 HOURS EARLIER
I chug lots of water before flights.  I heard you are supposed to
hydrate.  Other times I go entire days parched.  But on flights I’m a
camel.  GF and I are meeting in London in about 12 hours but we’re
flying separate because we can’t be normal.

GF is a dear sweet girl.  A beautiful soul.  A good girlfriend.  To
not show up in London on her rare PTO (she gots a job) To leave her
stranded would end any light in my life.  But I came so very
horrifically close.

I arrived at SFO sleep starved but dressed better than usual.  I wore
a button down shirt. Leather shoes. Laundered jeans.  And a BLACK
BLAZER. And I bought matching luggage for this trip. Because people
notice.  I don’t want trouble from customs at Heathrow.  I Have
A Persecution complex based on experience.
I used three trays going through security in SF.  I amazed myself at
my efficiency.  Getting the laptop camcorder liquid baggie shoes off.
And my two belts and several layers of jackets and shirts.  Because I
do wear lots of clothes on a flight. I am my own luggage.
I remember thinking that the ‘casual slow travelers’ behind me might
be learning a thing or 2.

I got to the airport two hours early.  But I lingered at ticketing.
Sipping my water and reapacking my carry on just right so they
couldn’t tell I overpacked.

There was only 30 minutes left by the time I sat on the dirty bench by
TSA slipping my boots on feeling like a winner.  That’s when I
couldn’t find my passport.  It started as a minor hassle but twenty
minutes later I was still at that bench tearing at myself.  My pockets
and the fake ones in my blazers. And the 50 compartments and nooks in
my stupid new bag.
I was yelling nooooo! Over and over again.  In ten minutes the plane
would leave.  I would lose my Scotland gig.  Bankrupt my producer.
Return to my SF apt in the Super shuttle.  My comic friends would make
jokes about
me.  But the only thing I couldn’t survive is telling GF. That I the
older one, the famouser one, lost my passport and she was on her own a
million miles away from me.  Or she could cancel her trip and we could
hang out at home? There would have been tears.
We would break up over it.  That’s to be expected.
2 THINGS. Know your luggage. Don’t try out a an espianoge valise with
secret panels that rip your hangnails back when your fisting around in
there groping for a thin blue book

TSA is not going to help you.  There is no team spirit with these
guys. My shirt was open below my cleavage. Accident but the cabdriver
was nice and the first class ticket agent took care of me.  I tried to
give them my attempt at femme face.  The look that says “you so strong
I can’t do anything.” This will lead to sex.  With 10 minutes left I
button my shirt and was writhing and moaning.  Thinking somebody will
attend to this crazy woman.   Homeland security had been notified
we are on alert. Screaming and acting the fool
at security is allowed.
This one big guy who I thought wa into me checked the floor and the
bins.  I said but my flight to LAX is leaving.  And I need to be on it
with my passport because I’M GoIng to LONDON!
London. Reminded me what a fool I was to watch the conclusion of DAISEY
Of LOVE.  Out of 19 dudes she picked one named LONDon.  I watched them
major tongue kiss.  I want to kiss like that.  I know saliva gets
everywhere but gimme tongue GF.

Aren’t you going to stop the plane my bags on there and
I’m blah blah…London!! They said all they could do was look on the floor but
They did check the surveillance tape as i was going through security.  And it didn’t show me dropping the passport.  He
said it had to be on me and then he asked ‘did you check your pockets’
right then I felt one liter of pure mountain water thrashing against
my bladder.    My life would be over in 10 minutes.

My legs were weak .The only thing strong in me was pee.  I considered peeing there by the X Ray where I
was repeatedly opening and closing my carry-on. The pee would feel good. Like when
it seems like a good idea in a dream but you tell yourself NO that
would make GF mad.  I would be at TSA and give them a new variable.  I
would pee. I would faint . And somehow I wake up in London.
Tsa would have a spot of tea and we wave goodbye and GF would make our
deep and slippery….
10 minutes till my flight leaves and the TSA dudes tell me that they have not sent word to the gate. See I thought people at the airport talk to each other. I thought the air traffic controller was monitering the situations.
But I was finally tipped off “We’re just Tsa talk to the gate.  I
ran to the gate in shame and fear. There were two agents one was eye
rolly but the beautiful smart one said ‘you have ten minutes to keep
looking I tore at my bags like a wolf a crazy bag lady wolf……
And that’s as far as the blogging got before I passed out in my seat.  Thought it was a gripping tale that day but no it wasn’t . Still it’s a blog entry and I need one. Oh and I did find the passport within the last minute before the closed the door. It had slipped inside the pages of my newspaper. And fell out as I ransacked and shook every thing in my bag one last time. I scrambled onto the plane with a deranged grin on my sweaty face and whacked my head hard on the overhead compartment as I put the damn bag away and later I was in the bathroom making a mess.
I did have a romantic week in London with my girlfriend and never told her I almost screwed it up. Cheerio.
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