Evan Dorkin �Bill and Ted�s Most Excellent Adventures, Vol. 1 and 2�
OK, sorry about the delay; the paper gave me more assignments than usual and my schedule has been fucked up lately, so it�s been hard to find free time to type at the computer � or at least finding free time when I could make out which key stood for which letter.
Not that I�m better off now, but I�ve worked on my memorization skills as far as keystrokes.
Oh yeah, let me go into italics mode:
[This is the third part of my recent trip back to California, which began here.]
First off, before you have a conniption about my book choice, I just want to say that Evan Dorkin writes and draws �Milk and Cheese� and �Dork!� both of which I love. To up the ante, he allowed his art to grace an All You Can Eat shirt (which I sadly never got for myself). In other words, he�s a cool guy. I had no idea that he wrote and drew for this short-lived series. Even if I did, I probably wouldn�t have bothered to pick it up. I did so because I found these two volumes at a used record/comic/book shop in Hawaii, and they were each being sold for a little over a dollar. I figured what the hell. Final verdict: It was worth the two dollars and change, but not by much.
Anyway.
Shaken awake, I thought I was being busted for something. As soon as my eyes cleared and adjusted, I could see that the whole plane was deboarding. Catching another passenger with glazed eyes and an annoyed look, I asked what was going on.
�Just what they said over the loudspeaker,� the guy said.
�Yeah, well let�s assume that I was either drunk or asleep when they made the announcement,� I replied. �So how�s about you fill me in before I start shrieking about how you have snakes in your baggage?�
He wanted to laugh, but at the same time, he knew it wasn�t allowed to laugh while in the process of boarding or deboarding any plane, lest it be taken as sinister. Instead, he told me to talk with one of the flight attendants.
By this point, I�d say I had been awake for the 40 hours straight, and the last eight of those hours were spent drinking. I looked a wreck, and I�m sure I didn�t smell great either. Paranoid? Perhaps, and yet the flight attendant, obviously already nervous with dealing with a hostile crowd, saw me approaching and attempted do look busy by staring at an empty trash receptacle. When he noticed out of his peripheral vision that the line of passengers wasn�t deboarding, specifically because I was standing in front of him and refused to move, he looked up at me.
�All right,� I said. �What�s going on?�
�We�re having a technical problem with some of our machinery,� he said, trying to look professional. �There�s a piece missing.�
�A piece missing from what?� I asked.
�The wing.�
�I was seated near the wing. It�s still there.�
�Yes, but there�s a piece missing,� he said, straining the inflection on the fifth word. It was then that I noticed that he wasn�t being sheepish because of having to deal with irate customers � this man was scared. Since I had shown up so early I saw the plane land and the passengers from the mainland deboard. All they were supposed to do was refuel and take off again. I knew this wasn�t a standard overreaction to a vague color-coded terrorist threat.
Ah, the joys of discount airfare. I got off the plane.
Another attendant was standing at the edge of the pedestrian walkway, instructing us to return in an hour for updates. I walked over to the airport cocktail lounge.
Hawaii liquor laws are weird, as they have a anti-stacking rule, which essentially means that you can�t have more than one drink in front of you at anytime. The only exception to the rule, apparently because the Hawaii Liquor Commission are big Tom Waits fans, is that you can have a beer and a shot, which is what I ordered. I finished my drinks with an eye on the clock, making sure there was enough time to spare so I could have a cigarette.
The Honolulu airport, consisting primarily of open-air hallways, allowing you to inhale the trade winds and jet diesel, has a strange view on smoking areas. (For now, anyway, as a smoking ban begins in November.) You�ll walk along the edge surrounded by signs telling you that you can�t light up, and then, with no discernable logic, ashtrays appear and small placards are affixed to the railways announcing that you are in a smoking area. Of course, since you can�t bring lighters past the security gates, that means everybody is huddled around one another, all chain smoking to make sure there is a source of fire present. I joined the huddle.
Finishing my cigarette I went back to my gate, whereupon the attendant told us to return after another hour. That of course, meant another beer and a shot, and another huddle with the Quest for Fire people. Then it was back to the plane, only to be told it would be another 20 minutes. Enough for a beer and a shot, along with another quick smoke.
I�ve now been awake for 43 hours.
I�m also drunk.
I return to my gate and the attendants instruct us to board the plane and return to our original seats. They don�t seem relieved that we�re finally on our way, which seems odd, but I�m too tired and intoxicated to care. I slump back down in my chair, ready to pass out as people board.
When the last of the passengers are seated, the pilot begins an announcement over the speaker, louder and much clearer than I�m used to. I can�t help but pay attention.
�Ladies and gentlemen,� the voice says through the tinny speaker above our heads, �We regret to inform you that we�ve been unable to fix the problem discovered with this particular aircraft. We now ask you to collect all personal belongings stored either in the overhead compartment bins or underneath your seats and deboard the plane. Our management team awaits you in the lobby and we will do our very best to put you on the next available flight to your destination. Once again, please double check that you have all your personal belongings and vacate the plane. We apologize for the inconvenience.�
I grab my back stuffed with books I planned to either read or sell back to the bookstore once I returned to California and it�s now so heavy teemed with my fatigue that I slouch so severely that it seems like I�m four feet tall. I reach the lobby.
�Where�s you�re final destination?� says the flight attendant.
�San Francisco,� I say.
�Can you come back in an hour?� he asks.
�Sure, why the fuck not?� I say.
I head back to the cocktail lounge. Opening my wallet, I finally understand how expensive cocktail lounges are. And I�ve been here for four hours.
�Well,� I think to myself, �If I�m stuck here, I might as well get paid for it.�
And I did.
