ATX to LAX: AKA: The Worst Day of My Life


There are two points I would like to make before we begin:

1. This is a true story.  It is not based on true events; it actually happened.

2. This is not a story that I am proud of.

Okay, I take that back.  I guess in a weird way I am sort of proud of it, mainly because I’m still here to tell it.  This is a story that will most likely stay with me for the rest of my life, occasionally punching me in the back of the brain, but there’s nothing I can do about that so I may as well share it with the world!

This particularly series of events is deeply ingrained in my subconscious, even though I was only conscious for about half of it.  If I don’t have your attention now, well, you probably have better things to do.  Just in case you don’t, please feel free to read about one of the longest, most ridiculous, and ultimately the worst day of my life.


I was home for t-giving (as the youths call it) and being the broke graduate student I was, I scheduled my flight back to Los Angeles from Austin for 5:15 am Sunday morning because it was the absolute cheapest flight available.  Nay did  I consider the consequences.

During my stay in Austin, friends, family, and good times were in the air.  Much rejoicing was had.

On the Saturday night before my flight, before going out ‘one last time’, I made plans to be home in time for my mom to drive me to the airport.  Why my mom?  To be honest, I don’t know.  Maybe because she was the only person I trusted to get me to the airport on time.  It was agreed upon that I wouldn’t sleep, but instead catch some z’s on the three and a half hour plane ride back to LA.  I took this as direction to go out and get as hammered as possible.

Hour -6: Boozing & Shuffleboard

It started out as a normal enough night, drinking with friends at a bar on 6th street, but things would soon descend to chaos.  We began by playing some friendly games of shuffleboard, although if one was acquainted with me and my friends, you would know that there is no such thing as a friendly game of anything.

Death threats are exchanged, mothers are sworn, and girlfriends are borderline sexually assaulted, but all in all a good time is had.  I may or may not have promised to eat my friend’s first unborn as I bathed in his mother’s blood, but that’s all blood, er water under the bridge now.

shuffleb 1

shuffleb 2 shuffleb 3 shuffleb 4 shuffleb 5 shuffleb 6 shuffleb 7

Shuffleboard brings out the worst in people

Now what happens next requires a bit of back-story.  I’ll make this quick, for posterity.  Basically I used to work at a few different bars in downtown Austin, and every time I come in to visit and head downtown it’s nothing short of a full-blown shit-show.  It had been close to a year since I was last in town, so needless to say celebrations were in order.  We left shuffleboard, all body parts in tact, and proceeded to go bar hopping.

Zero Hour: The Journey Begins

The next thing I remember is eating a cheese quesadilla on the floor of my friend’s apartment at 4 am.  Suddenly it strikes me that my plane leaves in one hour and I’m supposed to go home first.

dilla 1dilla 2dilla 4dilla 3dilla 5dilla 6dilla 7dilla 8 dilla 9 dilla 10Drunk thought process

Hours 1-3: First Flight

I had my mom’s car, so I had my buddy drive it while his girlfriend followed us.  We made it (somehow) to my house in 20 minutes.  Upon arriving, my mom, recognizing my level of inebriation, rolls her eyes and sighs.  I can’t really blame her.

She rushes me to the airport like a speeding soccer mom late for her nine year old daughters first utterly meaningless playoff game of which she will likely have no memory of.  We make it with about 10 minutes to spare.

I waddle/jog/fall to the gate and board the plane just in time.  Things are a bit spotty, but I remember getting up whilst the plane is taxiing down the runway, approaching the stewardess, and informing her that I have a stomach ache and need Ginger Ale, like, right now.

Hour 3-5: DFW

The next thing I remember the plane is landing and I am holding a full glass of ginger ale with half melted ice.  I fell asleep with it in my hand.

By this point my contacts have fully dried on my eyes, and to no small surprise I have left my contact solution at my parent’s house.  This combined with the still blurry vision I am experiencing from being utterly sauced is making it quite difficult to function.  By some miracle I make it off the plane without rolling down the runway, and it occurs to me that I have forgotten something.  Well, not just something, everything.  All of my luggage is still on the plane.

I turn around and start walking back down the jetway.  On my way I run into the flight crew, who seem to be enjoying themselves.  Unsure if they are rejoicing having landed the plane while drunk (I’m assuming everyone is like me, though I can assure you this is a gross misinterpretation of airline travelers), I give a shy grin and ask if I can retrieve my luggage.  This only makes them laugh harder.  Now I know I’m no comedian, even though I may think I am, I wasn’t even trying there.  Then I see it.  They are carrying my luggage.

Before I make my connecting flight in less than an hour I have two things to do: score copious amounts of water and get some contact solution.  First things first, locate my gate.

After some painful squinting and walking with my eyes half-closed, I arrive at my gate.  Now that that’s taken care of, the search for some eye/throat relief begins.  I go into one of those newsstands and begin aimlessly rummaging through their wears like a zombie with incontinence.

Finally, I locate the miracle eye juice.  I stumble to the cash register, fumble around for my money, and hand her some blurry-ass bills which I only hope to be the right ones.  She does some cash register things and hands me back more bills, which I also assume to be the right ones.  I take the magic eyeball liquid, walk three steps out of the store, and squeeze that shit in my eye like a fire hose.

eye juice

Revitalized to the max (or as max as I’m going to get at this point), I walk back to my gate, find an empty spot on the ground, and pass-the-fuck-out.  Some time later, of which I have no idea because I have lost all concept of time, I am awakened by the gate lady announcing the immediate boarding of my flight.

I douse my eyes with some more eye juice and proceed to the gate.

Upon boarding, I find myself seated next to a charming couple from Orange County, flying home after visiting family in South Carolina.  Don’t ask me how I remember that detail, I just do.  Little do they know what they are about to experience.  After a slightly unsettling taxi and take-off, I pass out again.

Hour 6-7: The Incident

I wake up about thirty minutes to an hour later feeling somewhat…better.  By this time I have taken my contacts out, so I no longer have to deal with that nonsense, but some fresh new hell is brewing.  I am beginning to sober up, and it’s now sometime in the late morning.  I’ve been wrestling with a bit of a stomach ache all day, but now it is really coming on.  I mean this thing is building momentum.

The drink lady is coming around so I order another ginger ale, but before she can bring it to me, shit gets REAL.

vomit 1 vomit 2 vomit 3 vomit 4 vomit 5 Vomit 6Projectile vomit is something to behold

The sad part is I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, and I could have prevented all of the following by just going to the bathroom and getting it over with like a normal, well adjusted drunk.  But no, I had to try and hold it in, like a man?  So of course I’m not prepared for the chaos that ensues, and VOMIT COMES SHOOTING OUT OF MY MOUTH.

Much like a fireman’s hose, but instead filled with vomit and possibly just as effective against a fire, though I can’t imagine them arming firemen with vomit instead of water.  Anyway…I am trying to find the puke bag, which is really hard to do when you are IN THE MIDDLE OF THROWING UP, so it’s just going everywhere: my hands, the seat in front of me, my own seat, my legs, the floor of the plane…everywhere.  The girl next to me hands me a paper bag.  It goes through the paper bag.

Toward the end of the vomit session, the flight attendant makes her way over.  She is mildly concerned about my condition, more so concerned about the girl next to me, who is DEMANDING to be moved away from me.  I guess I can’t really blame her, since I did throw up on literally everything around her.  At this time, a second flight attendant comes over to help.  We now have the whole crew here!

This flight attendant is even more unimpressed than his female counterpart.  He advises me to go the bathroom.  Fearing the wrath of the under appreciated male flight attendant, I proceed to the aft of the plane.  Feeling better, there is a bit of pep in my step as I make my way to the lavatory.  Inside the tiny bathroom I wash up then return to my seat.  He stops me on the way out and asks if I have been drinking.  I tell him that I’ve been sick all week.  He may have rolled his eyes.  I go back to my seat and pass out for another hour or so.

Hour 8-9: The Aftermath

I wake up when the plane is about to land to find disgruntled flight attendant man looming over me.  He tells me that he needs to file a “health report” because of the projectile V, and that I need to give the full details of my illness.  I guess his use of wording and the fact that I didn’t want everyone around me to think that I just gave them some deadly virus, I admit to being drunk.  This is EXACTLY what he wanted to hear.  He proceeds to give me a speech which I have no doubt he has given before, thus informing me that he is going to file a “federal report”, and that I am to be perma-banned from United Airlines.

drunk and angry

drunk and angry 2 drunk and angry 3

He is from the ‘dick’ level of Hell

Hour 10: The Beginning of the End

We FINALLY land.  I collect my luggage from the overhead bin, fully aware that everyone around me knows that I vomited all over the place, then make the walk of shame out of the plane.  If only this was the end.

I am immediately overwhelmed by the bustling Los Angeles airport.  I ask the information booth lady where my car is, and she semi-politely informs me that I have fuck-long distance to walk.  I begin the trek:

Dragging Luggage 1

LAX, easily confused with the Maze of Death

I make it to my car.  It’s now early afternoon.  It’s hot.

car wont start 1 car wont start 2 car wont start 3 car wont start 4

My battery is dead.  Of course it is.  I look around for some help.  This is long-term parking (I was gone for a week), so there is no one in sight.  Good thing I have AAA.  I’ll just call them real quick…

car wont start 5 car wont start 6 car wont start 7

Hour 10-12: AAA to the Rescue

At this point I literally can’t believe how unlucky I am.  Most likely if I wasn’t still a bit drunk I would be knee deep in a nervous breakdown.  LUCKILY, my car has some loose change and there is a pay phone nearby.  For probably the third time in my entire life, I use a pay phone.  I call AAA and they tell me someone will be there in 30-45 minutes to give me a jump.  I go throw up in the parking lot trash can.

ONE AND A HALF hours later, the tow truck arrives.  Apparently he couldn’t find me and my phone was dead so there was no way for me to give him directions.  We have a short conversation about god knows what while he jumps my battery.  It starts, and of course I had left an inside light on.

I drive up to the exit gate of the parking structure and stick my little ticket in the machine.

Never have I paid so much for parking in my entire life ($120 for 6 days).  Not giving any fucks at this point, and not even sure I can afford it, I pay it.  On my way home I am actually hungry.  I decide to roll through a Burger King (big mistake).

I order my food and start rounding the drive-through.  As I’m coming around I realize I’m feeling sick again.  Before I make it to the window I open the door and throw up neon green vomit all over the side of their restaurant.  I collect my burgers anyway.

Hour 13: Survival of the Fittest

I pull up to my house.  It’s now somewhere around five or six o’clock, thirteen hours after my journey began.  I enter my room, thrown down all my shit, puke one more time, and then pass…the…fuck…out.  I proceed to sleep for 15 hours straight.

passed out

And that folks, was the Worst Day of My Life.  Thank you for reading.  I hope you learned something.  I know I did, or didn’t, whatever.  Who’s up for drinks?


Filed under Stories

Perseverance, Luck, and Inspiration

This post is in three parts, can you guess what they are called?


I started this blog almost two years ago with this post.  It was pretty amateur I’ll admit (not like it’s any better now), but it was a lot of fun and it felt good to put something out there.  It wouldn’t be long before my blog was discovered by the WordPress admins, and after my third post I was freshly pressed.  I was blown away by the overwhelming positive response I got.  I thought I was set.  I can quit my day job!  Boy was I wrong.

My remaining 17 posts all garnered the same positive comments but none came close to matching the popularity of that initial post, so I lost interest.  I thought, “if no one is reading it, what’s the point?  I have other things to spend my time on, like getting a decent job.”  Six months after my last post I found myself an unemployed “aspiring screenwriter” living in Los Angeles.  Life sucked.  I debated going back to waiting tables again.  I debated selling my body.  I debated asking my parents for money, but not necessarily in that order.

I decided to bite the bullet and start applying for full-time, career-oriented jobs.  I played to my strengths and applied to different writing positions.  Through my research I found that there were quite a few internet marketing firms based in LA, so I applied.  Surprisingly, after only about a week of applying, I heard back from one such company.  They called me in for an interview and in I went.


I arrived a solid ten minutes late to the interview, like any good creative person should, but apparently I was right on time because the person interviewing me was late as well.  After waiting for about five minutes I was ushered into a small office and the interview began.  It will be noted that normally I do quite well in interviews.  I have above average self-confidence and fair generally well under pressure (I’m a good BSer), but today I’ll admit I was quite nervous.

I managed to compose myself, and overall I thought everything was going pretty well.  I was still kind of wondering what got me the interview considering I didn’t really have any paid writing experience, internet or otherwise.  This question was soon answered though when she got to the topic of my blog.  At first I was surprised, but then I was worried because I started to remember all the ridiculous shit I post on this thing, especially this one.  And that would be the exact one she chose to discuss.

Not only did we discuss the blog post I wrote about how working a job sucks compared to being in college, but she actually liked it.  In fact, it was the very reason why I got this interview.  I would go on to get two more interviews because of it, and eventually select one of which I am currently employed.  Ain’t that some shit?


Which takes me to this post.  I have been working for a little over a month now.  My finances are starting to get back on track, and I am generally happy.  While I had originally quit this blog because I was frustrated with the response and didn’t think it was worth my time, it eventually paid off.  I’ve also learned that being creative isn’t about the reward; it’s about expressing yourself.  It’s about being an individual.  If you do that then eventually everything else will just fall into place.

Hence I have returned to blogging.  This time around I’m not hoping for any kind of monetary reward, but just hoping to make a few people laugh, make you think, or just make your day a bit better.  Happy reading!

I have also been inspired by the return of this brave woman.

Oh and yes, this means a new post is actually coming.  This time I promise.  I will have it up by the end of the week.  Here is a snippet:

“Finally, I locate the miracle eye juice.  I stumble to the cash register, fumble around for some money, and hand her some blurry-ass bills I can only hope are the right ones.  She does some cash register things and hands me back more bills, which I also assume to be the right ones.  I take the magic eyeball liquid, walk three steps out of the store, and squeeze that shit in my eye like a fire hose turned on a raging fire.”

eye juice


Filed under Serious Stuff