I love traveling. And most times, I love airports more than the actual weekend benders.
Before my recent flight to Vegas, I had my usual tall Sam Adams and shot of Jack Daniels at CLE. I observe conversation between a man and a woman about travel plans: first was a gentleman traveling to New Orleans for Jazzfest – something that still remains on my Must Do travel list; the woman to his left partied too hard the night before in Erie — she reveled in her “first shot in 20 years” – and then went on about drinking Lemon Drops; the third man an Army guy – stuck on a layover for six hours – dressed in his fatigue-gear, waiting to fly to his kids in Florida; the gentleman to my right began his own conversation about traveling — mostly abroad.
Upon my mention of being in Germany twice, he spoke a little German to me.
The entire flight to Vegas, I chatted with a couple in my row. We exchanged numbers, but unfortunately, never met up once we arrived in the City of Sin.
I also made the mistake of taking the Red Eye home from Vegas. 11:30 pm flight time (to arrive in CLE around 6:30 am). Never again. Although I should know that Vegas airport is nothing like others at that hour, and there was certain fun to be found.
I picked the first bar right in the concourse before security. Thankfully, the loud inbreds left the bar as I sat down. This made room for two hilarious guys to join me at the bar — who I nicknamed Sean Patrick’s Day & Ed-d-d-d-d. SPD was an international from Ireland (oh yeah, with the accent), relocated to Detroit who was in town with Ed-d-d-d-d for a Bachelor Party (where they met for the first time). They were a fun bunch to pass the time. Until Giovanni joined us. This guy was hilarious — hilariously drunk. From the moment he took place at the bar, he provided commentary for the bull riding championship showing on TV. Giovanni was in politics – and from D.C. He does not like this southern sport apparently. We were all pushed beyond the point of hilarity when a shredder commercial interrupted the nonsense already in progress… Gio went OFF about people needing the shredder.
Then screamed, “a fucking topato.”
Who knew a shredder commercial of tomatoes and potatoes could cause a viewer such disdain.
Upon the realization that my flight was in about 45 minutes, I started for security. No problems there. Until I located another bar within earshot of boarding call. There were random conversations filling the small space, and I eavesdropped on a couple on their way to Jamaica – snazzy Hawaiian shirts to boot. For certain, they were heading to some swingers paradise or something because the husband put his arm around me and handed me…
That’s right. A tube of clitoral stimulating cream. The “Viagra for women” as he so eloquently described it. He owns the company… talked a bit about his product and others to be found on his website. I was in a somewhat hazy fade from vacation, but he may have tried to talk me into changing my vacation plans to Jamaica.
He had no idea that he just handed his product in the hands of one very appreciative blog writer.
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