Airport Antics

19 Dec

I arrived at LAX on Tuesday afternoon. Last time I had slept: Saturday night, 5 hours. Once upon a time in this blog, i mentioned reprioritizing almost everything in my life. Sleep moved down umpteen notches on the list, and Time with Friends ended with the the bronze medal, only beneath silver Passing School and gold Staying Alive. So Sunday night was dedicated towards passing school, and monday night towards time with friends and feeling alive. I don’t regret sacraficing sleep for any of it, including the all nighter before the final…because now if I’m ever held as a hostage at a bank and the only way the masked gunmen will let me out alive is if i can talk to them about America contributing to the backlash of religous fundamentalism in Iran, I will live with flying colors. And the night after that was my last night in LA for the semester AND the last night with some good freinds who are going abroad in the spring. Therefore, sleep was tabeled. We went to this soul food jazz bar. At one point, “mama”, this vibrant, older black woman, shared her soul through song. Not even lyrical song, just a blend of noises. This lady, she was like a vortex absorbing all of the attention and energy and light in the room. She had such presence. She was so empowered, despite being considered marginalized 3 times over on paper. I tried real-deal soul food for the first time there. Yeah…interesting. But the wine was great, good ol merlot. Anyway, longer story shot, no sleep.And cerca 9 am, it kind of hit me that i has 3 hours to shower and pack and fly away home for the next month. Did it, got on the super shuttle, expected to have the normal airport experiance and just nap my way home to my big bed where i could pass the hell out.
My day of travel was another, unexpected adventure.
1) I yelled at the airport staff. I still feel horrible because I know being in service jobs, someone smiling at you can go a long way, and someone yelling at you can go even longer. I honestly had zero impulse control. The lines to the e-ticket and bag x-rays and bag checks were all 5 miles long and intersecting and confusing and i got in the wrong line about 3 times, so by the time i got to the front in the right line I had no tolerance in being told to ‘be patient, take one step back, and wait my turn.’ I yelled. Then followed her directions. THen apologized. Then just went on with my life, to the next line and beyond. But i still feel bad.
2) Lady in the Bathroom. Holy. Shit.This lady is one reason why I will miss LA. She stood out to me because she was trying to be incognito and blend in. Crouching in front of a wall-mirror in the bathroom, I first saw her readjusting her head scarf and 8 in diameter sunglasses to best cover up the big white bandages padding the side of her face and lopsided bloated/deflated lips. She caught me glancing at her, and just straight out goes , ” You’re looking at me because I’m a freak. I understand.” Well, shit. For the next 15 minutes I talked to this banded lady about life. The bandages can be explained by poor plastic surgury. She was unlike any other 50 year old lady i’ve ever chatted with.At the end of the conversation she profusley thanks me for talking with her and giving her advice on her daughter. If freud were to read this, he’d probably call that a pro-social defense mechanism, making up for yelling at the airport lady by being extra-supportive to the bathroom lady. I think he’d be right.
3) He sits down next to me on the airplane and says,”I’m not politically correct.” I just look at him, suprised. He added, “I’ll grow on you by the end of the flight.” And he did. Then his brother comes and sits down too, and for the next 2 hours, the three of us joke around and try and prank the flight attendants and talk philosophy. It sounds like they were 7 and 8 years old, but truth be told they were 26 and 27. The other day I had a disagreement about the amount that apperance goes into the outcome of getting free stuff. I now stand corrected: before my very eyes, extra pillows and wheat thins for the boys galore, courtesy of the young, blonde flight attendant. By the end of the flight, i convinced the older brother to make a move on the eye-fucking flight attendant.He did. I love it. That victory made up for the earlier failure of breaking into the liquor drawer but coming back empty handed. That flight makes me happy, realizing how many people there are out that that I haven’t even met yet who I have that underlying comfortability with at first handshake.

I fell asleep in my clothes, with the lights on, and not even under my coversbefore midnight. And today I woke up at 5 pm. I still feel tired and disoriented and it’s been dark outside for waaay to long. I’ve been listening to a lot of ‘Black Power’ music lately. It really doesn’t make sense why I love Dead Prez and Talib/Mos Def…or most black power music…I’m not black or another racial minority who needs a role model or someone to point out how and why life isn’t fair. I’m not struggling to find good housing, or eat, or losing friends in cut-throat color wars. I can come up with proximate explanations, like i have some black family, I’m jewish which is minority ish, life is on a sliding scale so the same injustices effect me just on a lesser level, etc. I dunno, i don’t really get it, but at the end of the day i love the lyrics and the beats so these neo-black panther artists can feel good knowing a little white jewish girl jams out to them, daily.

I want to go back to la 😦


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