How did my trip turn out to be?

I had the most terrible day. I didn’t know what to expect in the beginning of it after only 3 hours of sleep that I had every night for the past 3 nights. I could not sleep at all due to the time difference. I kept waking up before my alarm would go off worrying that I may have missed a meeting I needed to be too. Well, I went to bed at 1 am on April 18. Then woke up around 4 am. I had to be up early because I had an early flight to catch to Paris and then from Paris to Salt Lake City.

2e1ax_nomad_entry_onthebus.jpgEverything was going smoothly until some damn asshole called the airport and said that there may be a bomb at the airport. To you, whoever you are I have a few words:

Dear Asshole, trying to scare shit out of me and many others at the airport,

Back off! Just because you called on the morning of my flight, doesn’t mean I wanted to share my personal travel experience with other stinky assholes on the bus.

Getting to the airport with an asshole driver and me saying the Lord’s prayer a few times while in the car helped me to get there safely. I was glad that this smoke precipitated driver was driving “too fast” only because I could not stand to be in the car with him any longer. If he thought that he knew what he was doing, he would not otherwise leave my co-worker still keeping his eyes shut even though we have already arrived at the destination. Slamming the foot on a gas pedal every time the driver wanted to pass the car through a tiny opening, made my co-worker nervously slam his foot on an imaginary brake pedal every time he wanted the driver to slow down. I was wondering how much faster could our taxi driver drive at 4 am in the morning? I didn’t have a death wish and do not have one yet, so the asshole taxi driver should have sensed my desire to slow down. This is real life, not a side quest in Grand Theft Auto. And before I forget, I wondered if the driver had not received a memo, that the world outside of his car window is not a garbage receptacle.

I have used the bathroom prior to getting on the bus. Thanks to some asshole for leaving his revolting excrement in the toilet for the world to see, I was already pre-set in the mood of being frustrated with the entire trip experience. It was a real treat to walk in on. I certainly hope whoever did it was feeling better because I am not eating very well for almost a week. Some people, filthy, disgusting beasts, need to be educated here on how toilets work. First, you use them. Then, you flush them by pressing down on the HUGE SHINY HANDLE PROTRUDING OUT OF THE SIDE. I know it sounds difficult, but with a little practice I’m confident that anyone will be able to master it in no time.

Guess what, you asshole? Neither the toilet or the taxi driver didn’t scare the shit out of us. We continued moving forward with our destined plan to reach our destination, called home. There was one obstacle I had to overcome when I met an asshole who didn’t know how to use the self-check-in service. No one wants to stand around for ten minutes while that uneducated asshole was aimlessly trying to find a confirmation number for his flight. This was supposed to be a QUICK, CONVENIENT LANE for people who want to check-in for their flight and get out. If that asshole didn’t know what the hell he was doing, he had to collect his items and take them over to Wanda in the Checkin counter. I was pretty sure that she would have been happy to accept his unfinished print and check in your kitty litter too. I forgot to mention that asshole had been blowing his nose for three hours straight and his nostrils were pinker than a Playboy bunny’s bedroom. He should have been home getting intimate with a bowl of chicken soup, not subjecting us all to whatever mutant strain of bacteria he had got coursing through veins. There was not enough Lysol to rid the air of whatever his last sneeze spewed out. And since I didn’t wear a Level II Biohazard suit that day, I am probably going to get sick now too. Thanks a lot, contaminated idiot asshole at the self-check-in lane.

Getting on the bus was a challenge on its own. People have not been taught any fundamentals of the line mechanics when they were in kindergarten. They may have not even known that this is how it works: first come, first served. I’ve been standing by the gate for what feels like an eternity, and I’ll be damned if I was going to let a schmuck like any of them mosey in front of me like they own the place. It ain’t happenin’. I put in my time, and cities aren’t cool.

Oh, dear lord, I can’t believe that people actually wear clothes covered in holes and stains. Do they spend every night playing rugby in a cactus patch or did they just get frisky with the cheese grater? Don’t even get me started on the horrific odor permeating the fabric, either. Did they happen to encounter a decomposing body at any time in the last twenty-four hours? Sure smelled like it. Judging by the smell coming off their bodies, they haven’t showered since Mario and Luigi were still in the womb. I wonder if these assholes on the bus have ever wanted to know why people maintain that permanent ten-foot radius around them. It is because they reek, and no one wants to be trapped in their overpowering cloud of stench. My eyes haven’t teared up this much since I watched Marley and Me (spoiler alert: the damn dog died, okay?).

It took some time to explain to some asshole mean drunk that liquor is not his friend. I could not believe that people would show up at the airport like that. Every time Russian drinks, they turn into an aggressive dickhead and everyone’s tired of dealing with the booze-infused rages. Next time, he should do the world a favor: put down that penny well drink and back away slowly. And DO NOT COME NEAR me, so my ideal clean washed clothes don’t get diffused with your intoxicated fumes.

I thought that I would be on the plane and off on my way home until you asshole called with your threats. No one should suffer any more than I have already at this Russian airport. You probably lack the attention span to read this, but somewhere in that Vodka-infused brain of yours, I know there is a hero. While you may be “totally epic” in Stormwind City, here in the real world you are just a lazy, disillusioned asshole with a hygiene problem. If you want to do something productive, go strip off your head of that tacky embroidery and give us a break. We are good people, just trying our best to live or survive here in Russia. Opening your filthy mouth and yelling that there is a bomb somewhere hidden at said airport at this time when I am trying to run as fast as I can from this country, perhaps sounds fun to you, but for some, it is not cool at all. It was enough to experience the odors emanating from filthy people on the bus in a closed environment for 2 hours, but your joke about the bomb left me barely breathing in that mind-numbingly, gut-wrenchingly, plant-wiltingly bad area for a total of 3 hours without anyone telling us what was going on. I am still not sure what is wrong with their noses, did they become completely desensitized to their own putrid stretch, or do they just get some sick pleasure out of making people throw up in their mouths? Instead of joking about your bomb, you sick asshole should do the world a favor: let those people know how to get reacquainted with some soap and water because they smell like they haven’t bathed since the Ming dynasty ruled China.

You know, douchebag, because of you, I have missed my next flight to Salt Lake City. I had been restless the whole trip, stuck in France for 7 hours and ate only once in 12 hours. You seriously have to do something about your life. Get a better job. Play saxophone near the transit system. Pawn off some of your ugly jewelry. Anything! Get a life! Because if I have to experience something like this one more time, I’ll go insane. One good thing that came out of your stupid joke, you helped me to understand the difference between a French asshole flight attendant and an American one. The phony plastic bitch should have stopped rolling her eyes at me and talking to me on a broken, hardly understood language to fasten my seatbelt, because it was fastened and my tray was in the folded position. All I wanted was just to take a leak, so I don’t have to piss all over your dirty seats on the plane.

Because of you, asshole, I had to deal with French at their airport. They “stole” my honestly purchased ticket from Delta Airlines and assigned it to AirFrance which left me with the limited flexibility on all my long lasting flights back home. Napoleon Bonaparte had better chances of winning the French Revolution than me getting that phony plastic bitch at the counter to change my tickets so I could get home. No way I am doing this again! No, I didn’t want their grody lukewarm towel or their pack of seven stale peanuts, all I wanted is for me to arrive home.

In some sick way, I want to thank you, asshole practical joker. Because of you I had the wonderful time with my two friends in New York City. But, I have to give you a word of advice. Grow up, you attention-seeking clown. Your little stunts aren’t even funny; they’re just plain lame. Not only are you pranks devoid of humor, they have crossed the threshold into being a pure annoyance. Nothing says “fun” like spending extra 7 hours in the airport and eating 3-day old sandwich for 10 Euro. If you do it again, I will track you down and poke your blind shit like the colored eye!

Screw you,