And We’re Off
Australia here we come
I’ve been quiet on the blog this month. A lot has been going on off scene. Last week was the anniversary of my best friend’s death. It’s been 21 years and while I usually take it just fine, this year was particularly fucking messy. I’ve been struggling to find the time to sit and reflect without distraction. A month filled with more work than I prefer and a mad dash to get ready for this Australia trip has left me drained and unfocused. I’ve been struggling with the launch of The Bitter Bitch Store between subpar manufacturing and resorting to pressing my own fucking gear, not to mention my sheer inability to shoot, market, and maintain ads for the products.
But none of that really matters right this second as I sit next to some asshole listening to a podcast on full volume at the Honolulu airport. That’s right, I am Ozzy bound finally! It’s just so different this time. I went about this trip entirely differently because I learned sooooo so much on the first round. I took a lot of flights and did entirely too much last time so this time I’m going at a much slower pace, in order to relax and actually “vacation”. I’m doing less activities in order to better absorb the feel of Australia, to get off the beaten path, meet some new interesting people. You know, the kind of social experiment I would usually fucking hate. I also attempted to streamline my flights so as to cause the least amount of stress after my first harrowing experience on Shitstar. Well, no good deed goes unpunished does it?
This trip, for all my efforts and planning, has started off pretty fucking rocky. In order to alleviate the stress of a full body cavity search, I made the decision to scrap any and everything I own save a few pair of stretch pants in an effort to do this trip with just a carry-on, i.e. MINIMAL FUCKING LUGGAGE. Last time I drug around a 50 lbs bag you could’ve smuggled a body in and used less than half the shit I brought. My grand plan was to bring my smallest suitcase on Hawaiian Airlines as a carry-on (because checked bags are extra) and all my electronics (drone, camera, vast collection of vibrators) in a small backpack for safe keeping, then check that bag on Jetstar (included in fare) once I got to Honolulu. That way I wouldn’t have to purge my water and jerky to stay under the 7kg weight limit.
Well, this morning at 4am I awoke suddenly out of the blue. I checked my phone and was surprised to see a text message indicating that my connecting Jetstar flight had been cancelled due to “engineering requirements”. Well, it is Shitstar after all so in my mind I imagine a bunch of shirtless convicts pushing the fucking plane down runway hoping to jump start it. Generally a hiccup of this magnitude would fuck me up royally, but as a true testament to my meds, I did not freak out. Initially anyway. I jumped online and started looking around. The links to rebook weren’t working so I decided simply to go back to sleep, knowing I was at least getting on my flight to Hawaii that night. Worst case scenario, I hang out on Oahu a few days, maybe do some snorkeling and then come home. But then a small miracle: I was rebooked on a Qantas flight same day. It took almost 12 hours for Jetstar to rebook me but that’s fine. An additional seven hours layover but fuck it, that’s fine. No Amex lounge in this fucking shit airport to speak of but fuck it. Everything is going to be fineeeeee.
Arriving at the Las Vegas airport, I walked right through security in a matter of seconds. I boarded Hawaiian with all my shit, no problem. The flight was only half full although the seating arrangement indicated otherwise. I had a row all to myself to snack and nap. I arrived in Honolulu no worse for the wear when I was faced with my next conundrum: to leave or not to leave the secure area. I was already in the airport, breezed through security back at home and now feeling quite relaxed with the small amount of psilocybin mushrooms capsules I’d smuggled in my bag, was hesitant to put myself in danger of going to federal prison once again. Generally I would exit, drop my bag outside at ticketing and come back through, but today, well, why fucking risk it.
I took the shuttle to Terminal 2, a hell of a lot farther than I thought it would be, and upon arriving, definitively knew there was no way I was shuttling back to check shit. Now faced with too much baggage per Shitstar’s rigid regulations, I've decided to play chicken with the immediate plane staff. When the stewards get here I have the option to #1 let them know I meant to check my bag downstairs but was unable to for XYZ reasons, hoping they allow me to gate check OR #2 just roll onto this bitch like I belong here and see what happens. I find that 9 out of 10 times if you do the right thing first, it’s met with unnecessary blowback. I’ll have alerted the bitches to my oversized and overweight bag and the likely outcome will be me being berated by some self important prick who could barely hold a steady paycheck til he bagged this illustrious federal job, forcing me back out to check this bag and potentially miss my flight or, worse, get caught with a Class A felony.
Nahhhh, I’ll pass.
I’ve realized lots and lots of people are misinformed, unaware, or downright ignorant to the strict rules and regulations of air travel and still manage to get where they’re going just fine. So why not me? Why should I continue to suffer the burden of being a normal, well informed, somewhat considerate rule follower in a world of deliberately stupid assholes? Well not today, Satan. Today I’m just some dumb bitch getting on a connecting flight with my little pink bag. And if I get busted, oh, well, I didn’t know any better. Gee whiz officer.
So stay tuned to see if I end up in jail or not!