Yesterday I left Milwaukee at 6:25am bound for Portland Oregon to attend a friend’s wedding. Julie (the friend) was born in Oregon, moved to Milwaukee to attend UW-Milwaukee to complete her doctorate in ornithology (or maybe it was biology) before leaving her new-found Milwaukee friends to start her professional career like we all do…working for pennies in a menial, degrading, and ultimately pointless job in a dirty, depressing environment. Except her first job was working towards saving native birds from extinction. In Hawaii. Yeah. My first job after school? Working in Burger King saving fat people from being thin.
Anyway, while Julie was in Hawaii saving animals from extinction and suffering through countless days of soul numbing tropical breezes and insufferable sun-soaked beach-side weekends, Eric, her boyfriend back in Milwaukee was practicing dancing. In particular he was perfecting his Blue-footed Boobie mating dance technique. I have since learned this is somewhat akin to a secret handshake for Ornithologists and for Eric to become part of the club he had two options. Get a degree in Ornithology (in which they teach you the dance as part of your degree), or marry one, in which you’re on your own and need to watch a lot of Animal Planet and youtube videos of Blue-footed Boobies hitting up the chicks…so to speak.
Suffice it to say, Eric’s Blue-footed Boobie dance must have passed mustard as he and Julie were engaged last year. Now, since Julie met Eric in Milwaukee and was working in Hawaii when he proposed, and since Eric was born and worked in Wisconsin, it’s only natural that the wedding be held in Corvallis, Oregon (or so I’m told). Thus yesterday at 6:25 I began my first pilgrimage to a location west of the Rocky Mountains.
This was the first flight I had taken in a few years and the first ever on Frontier Airlines (Headquartered in Denver). As I stumbled bleary-eyed out of the cab arriving at the airport I happened to look down at the shirt I was wearing and suddenly wondered if I’d be calling Julie explaining to her I couldn’t make the wedding because I was being shipped to some secret base on suspicion of being a terrorist. My thought process went something like this…
- Huh…look at that, I’m wearing my ’snakes on a plane’ T-shirt, and I’m getting on a plane. That’s kinda funny
- Hmmm it doesn’t actually *say* ‘Snakes on a Plane’ anywhere on the shirt. It just says MFSOAP which stands for Muther F’ing Snakes on a Plane’ and it has a bunch of symbols above those letters
- You know, those symbols aren’t the clearest most concise symbols in the world either…Just a crudely drawn symbol of a plane, then a ‘+’ sign, then a crudely drawn symbol of a bunch of snakes which kinda looks like a bonfire, then an ‘=’ sign, and then a crudely drawn symbol of a plane with the snakes on top of it…which looks an awful lot like a burning plane.
- Oh dear…for someone who isn’t in touch with internet pop culture or a movie buff this shirt looks a lot like it says: ‘Fire” + ‘Plane’ = ‘Plane on Fire’, with some ominous looking letters under it.
- Well at least TSA employees would need to be well-educated, reasonable, and critical thinking individuals to do their jobs right?
- Shit. I’m fucked.
I thought briefly about ducking into a bathroom and changing shirts, but at 5am in the morning, no way was I dragging that huge fucking suitcase into a stall and digging for a new shirt. So it was with a growing sense of dread and resignation that I got inline at the security checkpoint and mentally went over how I’d explain what my shirt meant.
‘No ma’am, those are not flames, those are snakes.’
‘No, I am not threatening to bring snakes on this plane’
‘No it’s a movie, called ’snakes on a plane’
‘You never heard of it? Well yeah, that’s because it bombed in the theatres’
‘No I did not just say I was going to bomb theatres’
*sigh*
In the end the TSA was much more interested in my shoes than my T-shirt and I got through the security pretty easily.
About an hour later I was in the air.
First Time Flyers and Cougars with their Cubs
I had just settled down into my seat (an aisle seat) and hoped that the two unoccupied seats next to me would stay that way. I had perhaps 2 hours of sleep and in my foggy state had failed to ask for a window seat during check-in. Had I asked for and got a window seat, I would be out like a light once the plane took off. However, being in an aisle seat and unable to rest my head against the window and unwilling to rest it on the shoulder of some stranger (how rude!) I was hoping the plane wouldn’t be packed and I’d be able to move over once boarding was complete.
Unfortunately, it was just seconds after I sat down that I spotted her coming down the aisle peering with fearful confusion in the general direction of my row. She was cute, about 20′ish, but she had the telltale signs of a first-time flyer…the confused look, the ashen color on her face, and furtive glances out the windows…it was unmistakable.
Please god…no. I know she’s cute, and I’ve asked you for that before, but not today ok? Please? I’m just too tired.
I tried not to make eye-contact. Experience has shown me that eye-contact with a frightened first-time flyer somehow imparts to them that you are their best friend and are more than happy to play the ‘just keep talking to me about anything so I’m not constantly thinking about dying in a flaming ball of fire and metal’ game. On most days this wouldn’t bother me and I’d be happy to chat, especially if the frightened flyer is a cute 20-something, but I was way too tired and my social energy banks were on empty.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and stupidly, I looked up. Eye contact. Sigh.
“Excuse me, I’m in the seat next to you…I hope we don’t crash”
Ok, she didn’t actually say the last part, but I could tell she was thinking it.
As she settled into her seat, and began studying the emergency procedures brochure I tried to lay back in my seat and try to get some sleep. I had actually started to relax a bit and begun to drift off when the flight crew started their pre-flight “in-case-we-crash” spiel. The crew had a routine, and it was fairly light-hearted and humorous. They were cracking a few jokes during the process which managed to catch my attention and prevent me from drifting off completely. Then I swore I heard the following sentence, “Finally, Frontier Airlines would like to thank you for choosing to fly with us, and we hope you enjoy your flight with the cougar and her cub”
What? I lazily opened one eye, expecting to see some kind of reaction to that last sentence…but there was nothing. I looked over to the girl next to me and was going to ask her if they had just thanked us for flying with a cougar, but she was still busy counting the number of rows between her and the various exits.
I was pretty damn sure I heard them say it though. At first I thought perhaps I had drifted off and missed something…like the part where they explained they were transporting a cougar and her cub from Milwaukee to the Denver Zoo or something. It was about then I noticed the flight crew consisted of an older woman in her 50’s and a young guy in his mid to late 20’s. No way… I started to laugh to myself…wow, that’s pretty edgy…I can’t believe they’d get away with that, Cougar and her cub indeed. I eventually decided I must have misheard them, but then right before we landed they said it again…’Thank you for Flying Frontier Airlines and we hope you enjoyed your trip with the Cougar and her cub’. I looked around the plane again for reactions to this, but nobody seemed to notice or consider it strange. It wasn’t until my next flight I found out what the Cougar and Cub really meant.
The flight itself was fairly uneventful. The frightened girl next to me would grab the armrest between us suddenly each time their was a bit of turbulence, and finally after about the fourth or fifth time I opened my eyes turned to her and said, “First time flying?”
“No, second time. First time was Denver to Milwaukee, last week”
“Ah, well I’ve noticed this turbulence is making you nervous. Trust me this is nothing. Planes are designed to handle turbulence way way worse than this. When the flight crew straps themselves down, and the turbulence is so bad that things bounce and fly off your seat tray and you look out the window and see the wings of the plane bending up and down like rubber, then you can start to get concerned.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ok. Thanks, I’m just very nervous”
“I know, it’s fine.”, and then I tried to go back to my state of semi-sleep.
I’m guessing it was about 20 minutes later or so when I was woke up by a pretty severe jolt. “Holy crap!, what the??”
The plane was bucking up and down, the crew were strapped in their chairs, and I looked out the window and the wings of the plane were flexing back and forth like rubber.
I was going to turn to her and point out the window and say, “Ok, now this is good turbulence”, but one look at her face told me I’d probably make better use of my time to prepare myself for getting thrown-up upon.
Thankfully the worst of the turbulence only lasted a couple of minutes and she never got sick.
Once we landed in Denver, I finally saw what the Cougar and her cub really was. Frontier Airlines paints a different animal on the tail of each of their aircraft. Ours had a Cougar and her cub on it. Sigh. I liked my original interpretation much better.
Hair Salons in Foreign Locals
After finally arriving in Portland, I got my luggage and went to the rental car office to pick up the car I had on reserve. Another friend of mine, Evyn, was to be the maid of honor and her flight got into Portland from Chicago about 30 minutes after mine, so we decided we’d share the car.
After her flight got in we headed off to Corvallis. Corvallis is a small college town (home of OSU) where Julie’s parents also live. It is about a 90 minute drive form Portland. All the bridesmaids we’re going to be staying at Julie’s parent’s house the first night, so I needed to drop Evyn off there before going to the hotel where I could finally get some actually sleep.
Once we arrived at Julie’s parent’s house Julie requested that I take some hand outs back to the hotel and slide them under the doors of all the bridesmaids and certain female guests staying at the hotel. There was to be a wine tasting party (ladies only) that night and the handouts had directions from the hotel to her Parent’s house on them.
I was really quite tired and having problems concentrating on just exactly what handouts I needed to get to which parties, so I asked Julie to please write down exactly what I needed to do. It was then Evyn turned to me and said, “Wow, your hair is getting kinda long Craig”
Julie looked up and agreed.
It was true. I had a hair appointment scheduled a week before this trip, but I had to cancel it due to an emergency at work. I figured I’d find someplace in town to get a trim and while I was at it I’d get my highlights redone as it had been about 7 weeks since the last time I had them done and I may as well look good for the wedding.
Julie started suggesting salons and places I could go. I was too tired to care or remember any of this I just wanted to get to the hotel, pass out whatever documents I was supposed to pass out and then take a nap.
After getting everything I was to hand out, I said goodbye to Julie, Eric, and Evyn and headed to the Hotel. Once I got there I started talking to the clerk and explaining to him I needed the room numbers of the following guest so that I could slip these directions under their doors. While I was doing this, a line of people was forming behind me and suddenly my cell phone went off. It was Julie.
“Hi Craig, I just spoke to my Mom, she said you could probably get an appointment tomorrow at ‘The Retreat Spa’ for coloring and a cut. it’s on 9th street the same as the hotel.”
Being conscious of the line of people behind me, I just wanted to get Julie off the phone, so I did not write down the name of the salon, but I did make a mental note of it was on 9th street.
Eventually I got a list of room numbers, placed the directions under each of the doors and got to my room. I recalled Julie saying I should probably call for a reservation today if I wanted to hope getting in tomorrow for a haircut. So I pulled out the yellow pages book in the room and started looking through the beauty section. I had completely forgotten the name of the salon told to me just 5 minutes earlier, but I did recall it was on 9th street. So I began looking through all the entries for any with an address on 9th street and found one called , ‘The Golden Key of Hair Design’. It looked like it was just down the street form the hotel. Sweet! I called and asked if they would be able to fit me in tomorrow for a cut and color. They said they had a spot open at 1:30pm. Excellent.
With all my responsibilities now done, I went to bed.
The next day, I looked around town a bit before heading over to The Golden Key. It was a small beauty salon in a strip mall. I walked in and saw a very cute , but very young receptionist who gave me a bit of an odd look as I walked up.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here for a 1:30 appointment for a color and cut”
She looked confused for a second, “Oh..last name Kreig?”
“No, first name Craig”
Something wasn’t right here. She was reacting as if something was wrong. Finally she said, “You’re stylist is still with a costumer. it will be about 10 minutes, have a seat”
It was then that I actually looked around the salon and realized why she had been acting so odd. It was filled, wall to wall, with grey-haired little old ladies. Some in curlers, some getting their white-grey hair colored to something that still looked white-grey but somehow I guess isn’t actually white-grey, some sitting in those chairs with the big blow dryers built in, and some getting their hair cut.
Now somewhere in the depths of my brain, the lazy fat dwarf that manages the security center must have woke up and noticed all the red flags going off, because it was right about then I got a good shot of adrenaline delivered to my system.
Being fully awake now, I also noticed that every single one of the hairstylists was also a little old lady, though perhaps only in their 70’s or 80’s. I also noticed I didn’t see any tin-foil or hair color darker than old-lady grey-white, or anything that would lead me to believe they had any idea how to actually color my hair.
I looked for the receptionist hoping, I guess, for a look of pity or understanding, but she was no where to be found. The old fat dwarf in my brain must have found the emergency procedures book because my fight or flight response suddenly kicked in big-time. As I began to mentally prepare what I would say as I ran hellbent out the door, one of the little old lady hairdressers came over to me and said, “Kreig?”
I took a deep breath and meekly replied, “yes?”
“So, you’re here for…um, a color and cut? Hmmm. What color do you like?”
“Black with light highlights”
“Black highlights? oh dear…”
“No, Black hair, light highligths”
“I think, maybe there’s been some kind of mistake…I don’t know how to do highlights.”
I felt like a 100 pound weight had just been lifted from me. “Oh? That’s OK. All I really need is a trim”
“Oh, well I can do that for you”
In the end it turned out OK. I mean how badly can you really mess up a trim. Now truth be told, if I try and spike it, it looks a bit chunky, but overall it’ll be fine.
It’s supposed to me 95 degrees for the wedding tomorrow, though they tell me it’s a ‘dry’ heat. Whatever. I’m wearing a full tux. Trust me, by the end of the day, for me at least, it’s going to be a wet heat.
That’s all for now.