The Monkey King's Used Primate Emporium and Book Reviews

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Bernard Stone and Ralph Steadman, �Quasimodo Mouse�

Started July 3 � Finished July 3; 2005; 32 pages. Posted 22 August 2005

So.

The first person that sends me a carton of Winston cigarettes is getting facepunched.

While at the check-in line at the airport, the woman informed me they had oversold the flight. If I would be willing to give up my seat, she explained, they would give me a free round trip ticket.

I seriously considered it. I don�t have any money left after packing and shipping everything, so I don�t have a way to get off the island if I need to. But I wasn�t thinking clearly. I had three hours of sleep before driving to the airport and things were too difficult to process properly. I realized that the new roommates had my flight itinerary and would be picking me up at the airport. I passed on the Get Out of Hawaii Free pass.

Now, three hours later, as I was standing in front of a closed gate watching my plane pull away, I asked if that offer was still good.

Ok, I�m not that calm and reserved and pithy. I did ask, but it took about five minutes because when they first denied me on the plane, I went into the role of urban mother screaming in anguish after her boy gets a cap in his ass.

I called the new roommates, leaving a message on their cell phone saying that I missed my flight, I have no idea what happens next. �In any case,� I tell them, �don�t be at the airport in five hours because I won�t be there.�

I also call my Lumpy buddy (buddy with a Y), for she took my car to drop off at the port in Oakland. I also get her message service. Look people, I�m glad that you remember to turn cell phones off, but you also need to remember to turn them back on. Particularly when I�m at the airport.

Reaching the counter at the front, I approach slowly, shamefully. The woman who helped earlier recognizes me. She looks shocked to see me again, as well she should. I just had the Freak Accident lyrics playing in my head in that last entry about �never going back.� Now it looks like I�ll never leave.

�We don�t have another flight until tomorrow,� she says after I explain what happened.

Good god. It�s a repeat of what happened in Oakland. I don�t think I can do another 24-hour stint in an airport. Another airline employee approaches. She says to put me on the 5:45 flight.

�But it�s oversold,� the other attendant says.

�Ah, it�s only by three people. There�s no way they�re all going to show up. It�ll be fine.� They print me out another ticket free of charge, surprisingly enough. She hands it over.

�Gate 31,� She repeats the number slowly, as I�m obviously an idiot. �THIRTY-ONE.�

OK. Seven hours in an airport is not nearly as bad as 24. I can do this. I smoke. I get another bloody mary. I read four books. I struggle not to fall asleep, since I know I�ll sleep right through my flight call if I do. I wait. Then, with an hour to go before flight time, I go through the security gauntlet once again. I reach my gate and am about to sit down when I catch a glance at the flight information board.

My flight has been delayed.

Ooh, I can�t fucking believe it. My first flight was so precise with their departure time that they closed and locked the door in my face at exactly 10:45. Now that I�m trying to get out of this fucking airport as quickly as possible, they refuse to let me leave.

I call the new roommates again. I again get their answering machine. I wonder if they got the previous messages, or if they�re standing around the Honolulu airport waiting for somebody with purple hair to walk by, as that�s the only description they have for me.

Another two hours pass. The flight comes late from Chicago, and they basically push everybody off and rush us onboard as quickly as possible. I dash over to the phone and call the new roommates one last time to give them an estimation of when I�ll arrive. I get their machine.

Five hours later, I�m in Honolulu. I call to tell them as such. No answer.

I have to go to luggage services to see if my bags were stolen from the previous flight, or if they happened to notice that the same three items were circling the baggage carousel for the last seven hours. It turns out they have them. I collect my enormous bags and the misshapen bicycle box and realize that I really need one of those luggage carts.

I also need to know where my new roommates are. The airport has totally emptied out by this time. I can�t smoke, as I gave away all my lighters at the airport. I wander up and down the terminal.

So. I have no ride from the airport. I have three huge bags, including a bicycle so I can�t take a bus, and I probably can�t even fit them into a taxi. Besides, I�ll I have is an address � I have no idea where my new home is. Taking a taxi could end up using all of what little money I have left.

I start looking at the ads for shuttle busses. Their prices aren�t great, but I�ve been in this airport for an hour now. I don�t have much choice. If I take a shuttle, I�ll just have to hope that the new roommates actually live where they told me, and that they haven�t fled with my rent.

Oh god. Was living in California all that bad?

Before I could answer that, I got picked up by a lesbian.

And really, is there a better way to end this entry?


Rating: Worth used.

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