Texas Airport Massacre

Mostly Nonfiction - the intro is slightly ridiculous; lately I have been crying every day... maybe that's why I hate myself!

I didn't cry when I ended my engagement. No tears were shed at my aunt’s funeral, when I totaled my PLPD insured 2008 VW Beetle (that's another story) or even when my computer crashed just before the completion of my 43 page Senior thesis. I am not a crier; I abhor cry babies. Crying is unacceptable unless a bone punctures your skin and is clearly visible (or perhaps in the case of national humiliation… we will see when March 31st rolls around). I, however, broke down and threw a tantrum that registered as an 11 on the Richter Scale with the hypocenter occurring at the Verizon pay phone in the Fort Worth/Dallas airport. My seismic waves disturbed the travelers all the way in baggage claim into rewarding my childish behavior that theoretically should have been a strike in the bad karma box.

After having my identity and possessions raped and pillaged during vacation, I arrived at the Dallas/Forth Worth airport at around noon, penniless, phoneless and IDless. Since I didn’t have identification, I enjoyed an unpleasant full cavity search to ensure I wasn’t a terrorist storing a homemade pipe bomb up my cooter. Since it took over an 2 hours to clear security, I gleefully skipped to gate E 6 with anticipation of home. My glee evaporated into irritation when the overhead voice announced my flight was delayed three hours. I looked to the fellow seated beside me and asked to use his cell phone.

Apparently I put way too much stock in the inherent goodness of people and the efficiency of karma. The week before I rolled up to the second window of McDonald’s anticipating a grilled chicken sandwich and an iced mocha. Instead, the mathematically challenged, Beltone poster-child produced a crispy chicken, steamy cappuccino and an extra dollar in change. In fear of racking up some bad karma points, I smiled and handed the dollar back to the girl and tossed the crap food in the trash. I figured this was the universe’s way of telling me to nix the fast food. Well, rather than reward me with my very own six-packed Spanish pool boy, the universe threw me a thieving illegal alien asshole and an airport chock full of discourteous liars.

"Umm... I don't have any daytime minutes," he responded to his shoes.

MKAY. I turned to the guy on the other side of me, who was wearing a cowboy hat. "Do you have two daytime minutes I might steal from you? Please? You can send me an invoice."

"I don't have a cell phone." I definitely saw him whispering sweet nothings into a SideKick 15 minutes earlier.

"Seriously?" I snapped.

He stood up and moved to the opposite side of the gate.

Frustrated and esperate to be alone, I threw myself into the nearest empty corner. After fuming on the floor of my corner of the airport for nearly 5 hours with an empty stomach and nothing to read (yes, 5 hours!!!), my irritation deteriorated into fury when the attendant announced that my flight was canceled. At this point I was not in the mood to effectively communicate with anyone at the airport, so I stomped my way over to the pay phone and attempted to collect call my mother to inform her of my latest misfortune and to ensure that she was aware of the ridiculous delays and cancellations (seriously, what's a little rain??!!! At this point I wouldn't have minded a quick, painless death anyway!). I picked up the receiver. No dial tone. I headed to the next pay phone. I picked the receiver. No dial tone. I headed to the last pay phone. I picked up the receiver. No fucking dial tone.

"Seriously?!!!" I screamed, repeatedly slamming the receiver into the face of the pay phone, much to the horror of my fellow travelers.

Security shuffled over, but kept out of my arm’s and leg’s shot. Luckily I hadn’t been tanning while on my little getaway, so they did not did not attempt to restrain me. Rather, they shook their heads and chuckled. Had I not been a young blonde white girl, you know they would have tackled me.

"What is so FUNNYYY?!!!" I wailed.

"Honey, what seems to be the matter?" one drawled in his Texan accent.

"Seems? Nothing SEEMS. Plenty IS!! Your pay phone doesn't work," I accused.

"Well honey, most folks have cellular phones these days. Don't you have yourself one of those??" He fingered his own Nextel holstered to his hip.

"NO! And neither does he!!!" I pointed to the cowboy who refused to let me use his SideKick, which he was now chatting on.

The flood gates opened and I heaved over in full blown sobs. The kind that leave you gasping for air, red-faced and sweaty.

"Honey, I'm gonna need to see your ID."

I ignored him, stomped over to the nearest chair, threw my head between my legs and let a wail that made the folks in baggage claim jump. After a minute or so I raised my head and forced a pained smile.

"I don't have a cell phone. I don't have an ID. I don't have ANYTHHHHHIIIIING. My handbag was stolen and I have no way to get home now that I don't even have a flight."

"Sweetie? You can use my phone," Jerry, a witness offered.

"You need some money?" a woman asked.

"Here's $20!" A woman threw a twenty dollar bill at me.

"I'll buy you dinner!" an elderly gentleman exclaimed.

"I will too!"

"Darlin', that is just terrible, you can use my phone too," SideKick asshole held out his phone.

"All right honey. Looks like you can take care of yourself from here. Good luck." Security disappeared.

Dave, the SideKick asshole, apologized by buying me McDonalds. I ordered a Grilled Chicken and an iced mocha. And they got it right this time.

After completing its investigation, Mastercard informed me the thief was an illegal alien who used my card to buy booze and fill up his 89’ caravan. He ended up getting away scot-free and I walked away with $20, a new Facebook friend, dinner, a novel, two magazines and hopefully some more good karma points since I quenched someone’s thirst and facilitated his transportation. I guess karma points aren’t as easy to cash in as instant lotto tickets, since it took a good old fashioned tantrum to get karma rolling in my favor. I suppose next time I’ll just be prepared to strong-arm karma into paying up.

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Note: I’m so thankful to the people who did help me out. When I tried to get the address of one of the philanthropists, so I could repay him, he simply responded: “Just remember this situation and give someone $20 who is in need.” So… next time you’re stuck at the airport without any money or a phone, hope to God I’m seated next to you; after experiencing my very own Texas Airport Massacre, I’ll empty my pockets AND buy you dinner.