I like to travel. I like the airport hassle & even the oft mad dash to the gate when the security wait takes forever. Really. I just enjoy the travel gigs.
Last Thursday I had to fly out to Houston for a short business meeting. Just a 2 dayer, but I'd never been to Houston so I was looking forward to it.
I knew the Lakers were playing the Rockets in Game 6. Knew it was in Houston. What I didn't know is that I was staying in the same hotel as the Lakers, i.e., the Four Seasons. So when I came out of the business center door, turned right, & came waist to eyeball with Pau Gasol, I realized there was a reason I never could play basketball.
These guys are huge. Massive. They don't even look human. It is as if they were computer generated & somehow entered the physical realm.
Then there was Luke Walton & DJ Mbenga. These guys are so tall they have their own weather systems up there.
OK. So I was impressed to see the Lakers. I would have liked to have seen the Laker Girls but I don't think they get to go on road games. What a shame.
So here's the real adventure about airports. I've noticed that there is a lot of silicone in these places. Lots of it. And these women, for some reason, think the world revolves around them. The more silicone & the richer the hubby, the more the attitude.
While waiting at the gate, Little Miss Rich Silicone Barbie was on my left. She was on the cell phone most of the time but from the conversation I heard, there was more money in the bank than brains in the cranium. Let's just leave it at that.
But on my right was Crazy Man. Honest, the guy is certifiable. He had his laptop out & was working on something. Whatever it was, he wasn't too happy about it. He was muttering a good bit but he did take a minute or two to interrupt my very real worries about his sanity with a somewhat lucid conversation. Crazy Man does have a name: Mark. I don't know anything except "Mark" & that "Mark" was from Connecticut & now lives in Buckhead with his 2 dogs & a cat.
Mark begins with a wild eyed tale about his agitated demeanor. He told me he was angry at "those guys" in Houston because he had been working on "this project" for two years, it was his puppy, & they were taking the all the credit for it. He then said some other stuff but I couldn't make heads nor tails of it. I just sat there & wondered where the nearest cop was located because he got louder & louder, & more mad by the second.
Then he snickers & says he needs to relax. Like that is a revelation from On High. So he opens up a chess program on his computer & starts playing chess. Honest to God, chess. Who does that anymore? Chess? I could see Facebook or email. I could even see browsing the Yahoo News. Maybe even Twitter or, heck, even porn in his agitated state But chess? Chess?
Well, evidently, Mark was not of Russian descent & certainly not a chess master because the computer beat him. That was when I knew the guy needed some serious help because he didn't just start cussing. Oh, no. He started cussing the computer, the airport, the politicians, the world & even the little green men that must talk to him a good bit.
Let me tell you: the computer may have beaten him in chess, but it sure as Hades couldn't beat him in kick boxing.
He slammed the laptop on the ground & commenced to stomping it until bits & pieces & fragments were all over the place.
Then a nice team of helpful professionals with tasers, pepper spray & muscles, gently helped Mark to the prostrate position on the floor so he could worship. Then they all sang happy songs as they escorted him to a better place more suited for his disposition.
I wonder if Mark ever got his complimentary beverage & snack peanuts?