I'll be boarding a Seattle-bound commercial airplane in an hour and at the request of a co-worker I'm gonna live blog my pre-flight ritual of getting very to incredibly drunk at San Francisco International Airport. Unless I'm using quotes to indicate actual words spoken aloud it'll be my internal monologue talking. Also, the setting is a high-top table at Lark Creek Grill in Terminal 2.
"Oh thanks, but I don't need a menu. I'll have three mimosas and a side order of French fries, please."
"Thank you! This all looks delicious!"
I wonder what that guy's listening to. He's wearing a baggy polo shirt and a wedding ring so I'm gonna guess a podcast about college baseball.
Wow that guy's got the most sculpted goatee I've ever seen.
White Podcast Guy is speaking on his phone well above a whisper through a headphone speaker at a restaurant full of people. Even if I had crystal-clear video footage of the lady next to him plunging a fork into his eyeball I wouldn't testify against her if things went to court.
I would so hit that.
Why aren't you eating your fries, lady? What do you know that I don't?
Should I ask her if I can have them?
"Oh I'm fine, thanks. Actually, can I have another mimosa?"
Seriously sir, do you really need two identical rolling carry-ons? Be honest, how many wigs are you traveling with?
"Oh, no water for me, thanks. Just the mimosa."
Really lady, you're getting the soup of the day at a restaurant slash bar at the airport?
"I'm fully hydrated, I promise, but thanks anyway. I do appreciate your concern, Karen."
I forgot my neck pillow.
"Can I have my check, please? Ha. No. Four mimosas in thirty-five minutes is enough."
"Oh sorry, try this card. That one's probably just scratched."
"Oh I'm just taking a moment to myself. No, I'm definitely not sleeping."
"What? Of course I can stand up on my own."
"Sorry! I'll totally pay for that!"
"Alright alright I'm leaving. Geez."