Bleed The Lizard

When I go to the airport, I’m always looking for my next thing to write about. There are people from all over the country, even the world, going to one place to try and get out and travel. It’s a recipe for disaster.  Airports are the perfect place to find a great story and this past flight did not disappoint.

I’m new to the RDU airport so I decided not to drive and took an Uber. George, my driver, was at least 75 years old and had a real hard time finding me despite my best efforts of chasing him down and waving at him to get his attention. Eventually, I had to just call him and stay on the phone with him until he got to me. He didn’t want me to hang up. For three minutes, I sat in silence on the phone with a 75 year-old man as he figured out his way back to me.

I get in the car and find out good old Georgie boy doesn’t use a navigation system. Hey, I’m alright with that, but then don’t ask me how to get to the airport because how the fuck would I know. He says, “I think I can figure it out.” 25 minutes later, he does.

I get to the airport and all is cop esthetic, as I make my way to the bar. By the way as I write this, I’ve been sitting on the runway for 2 hours, feeling my buzz drain out of me like superman standing next to kryptonite. It’s a real nightmare because I starved myself for a dinner that I’m supposed to be currently sitting at.

I make my way over to the Whisky River near gate D. There’s a sign that says please wait to be seated and I wasn’t even allowed to walk up to the bar without having an escort, so I waited my turn. The woman behind me asked me to save her a seat. No thanks sweetheart. I’m here to look at my phone and watch this soccer game, not in the business of making friends today.

I finally get to sit down at the bar and obviously the seat next to me opens up, so I end up having to sit next to this woman anyway. Let’s call her Sheryl. Sheryl was the real rough type. The pack of Marlboro Red in her jean shorts and 20-year-old converse type. Ordering a Budweiser and being the loudest person at the bar type. She really felt the need to talk to me the whole time I was sitting at the bar despite my best efforts to ignore her.

She started by asking me what I do and where I’m going and why I’m at the airport. I really wasn’t trying to be rude; I just didn’t feel like explaining my life story today. Usually I’d make up a story and create a false persona but today I just wanted to watch the game and relax. Finally she took the hint and began interviewing the guy on her other side.

I ignored them for as much as I could but eventually, I realized, “I’m definitely going to have to tell people this story.” She talks to him about her kids and he talks about his. He is your stereotypical general practitioner with zero personality, monotone voice with no inflection at all. She was your classic blue-collar worker family out of Chicago. They boasted about their children, him saying how he is supporting his son completely through med school and how he is probably going to go to Harvard. I don’t know how someone is “probably” going to Harvard. If you get accepted to Harvard, you go to Harvard. She was saying how her kids basically support themselves, have kids out of wedlock and all pay her rent. Normal white-collar blue-collar debate.

After a couple Bud Diesels, she heads to little girl’s room to bleed the lizard. When she sits back down he looks at her and starts a question in the worst way you ever want a question phrased to you. “So, I hope I don’t offend you by asking this question, but I need a woman’s opinion,” he prefaces. He says this and explains it multiple times and multiple different ways before he gets to the question. She is curious and needs to know now. He says, “so, me and my wife have not had sex in a long time, and I don’t know what to do. Why do you think we don’t have sex anymore?” Beside the fact that this question is wildly inappropriate, does this man really not have another woman that he is slightly closer with than the airport, Bud Heavy crushing woman. She turns into a therapist almost immediately and asks him when the last time was they had sex.

I really didn’t see his answer coming and I hope that this doesn’t happen to me, but his response was, “since my son was born, 25 years ago.” This man has not had sex in 25 years. His wife probably doesn’t have sex with him because he’s sitting at airports talking about sex with other women, but who am I to judge. She gives him some advice which was basically to just divorce her. Not sure I disagreed with her. Right after the conversation was over, she turns to me and says loudly, “can you believe what that motherfucker just asked me?” I look over and the guy obviously heard her say that because her voice cuts through a crowd like Sam Elliot’s. He catches my eye and it was the most uncomfortable eighth of a second in my life.

I look down at my phone and then up at her, “I really don’t know what you guys were talking about,” as if I don’t listen to everyone’s conversation around me at all times of my life. At that point, I threw a $20 on the bar to cover my bill, grabbed my bag and headed to my plane. Which I ended up sitting on the runway for an extra 2 hours and showed up to the rehearsal dinner with humongous amounts of food and beer right after dessert and missing all the food. If your wondering if my future wife, who was at the party saved me a plate of food like she said she was going to, she didn’t. So, I split an entire pizza pie with my friend at 4 in the morning. What a getaway weekend.

Published by Your Cousin Vinny

I'm just a guy, who really is trying to figure out what the move is.

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