Rants American Tour: The Final Act
Whether you all know it or not, we have just passed a milestone. I’ve been hinting at it for a while, and the time has come. The Great Rants American Tour of 2011 is now complete.
Anyway, after about twenty-something individual trips I have to say it’s about damn time. You know you travel a lot when the airport staff in Kansas City – to include the long term parking shuttle bus drivers – greets you by name (“Hey, Rants! Whhaaaasssuuuup?”). I ‘accidentally’ forgot to tell them this was my final return trip so they wouldn’t go and get all sentimental, throw a party and embarrass me and shit. I thought the personalized curbside parking zone in Terminal A and the plaque on the urinal in Terminal C was enough.
The highlight of the final trip was turning in my rental car in Baltimore. If you go back a few days, you’ll see my choice comments on the unnatural color this poor Dodge was coated in. The poor girl handling my check-in went and asked the wrong question:
- Enterprise Girl: “Were you happy with the car?”
- Me: “The car was fabulous with one major exception.”
- Enterprise Girl: “Oh no! What was wrong?”
- Me: [pointing] “That. Nasty. Color. This… this… shade doesn’t exist in nature and it is offensive to human visual cortexes. Every morning when I was forced to look at it, it was nothing but painful eye-rape. I admire the bravery of the poor soul who was tasked to steal that crayon from Satan’s 64-color Crayola Set of the Unholy, but the decision to actually use it here on Earth is a mortal sin at the very least.”
- Enterprise Girl: [just stares]
Ending with a bang as Army activities sometimes have a tendency to do (irony there quite intentional), I found myself dazed and confused after three consecutive weeks of travel. This is the kind of thing that will truly test a person, because as a dude who basically does an office job for the Army, I’ve had my office in my lap now for well on a month. I should apologize to everyone in Reagan National, Chicago-O’Hare, and Denver for wandering around ranting (of course) into my BlackBerry with ear-thingys jammed into my head while I was conference-calling. On that note, the phone battery is the one known casualty of the Tour, having been officially pronounced “fucked” last night while waiting for my bag to be shit out of the carousel.
By the time I made it to last night and my Chicago layover, I was fatigued enough to nearly wander onto a flight to Quebec. The only thing that prevented disaster from happening was the fact that they needed to see a passport. This is something that normally doesn’t happen when I fly to Kansas City, and the gate agent was graceful and didn’t laugh too loudly. No offense to my Canadian readers, but I really have no desire or reason to see Quebec. At least not right now. Sorry. That has everything to do with mis-named bacon and my total lack of ability to speak French or anything close to it. And Justin Bieber. He’s your fault.
As you know, there will be no real 2012 Tour with the exception of me rocking Kabul for at least 365 consecutive nights of awesome. That one kicks off in March, so stay tuned for all the fun.