Sometimes in life, you just need some time off. “But you’re unemployed,” I hear you say. Forgive me. I should have been more specific. Sometimes you just need some time off from the hellscape that is Florida. Seeking respite from the heat and situational depression, I turned to my Boston friends for shelter. After all, my last trip there was fantastic- I enjoyed some liquefied chocolate, I bought a really cool pair of socks, and lost so many games of Super Smash Bros that my ego was permanently scarred. The fun I had is why I’m happy to announce that today marks the first day of Boston Vacation II: Electric Boogaloo.
“Tell us about the inebriation,” I hear you say. All in good time, dear readers. You sure do talk a lot for a figure of my imagination.
Like any member of my family, I left for the airport over four hours before my flight. My dad was my driver, as I didn’t want to pay to leave my car in the airport parking lot. He played a bunch of Childish Gambino and Lana Del Ray during the drive, which I believe was an attempt to connect to his millennial child. That shit is 100% wholesome, I tell you hwhat.
Though there was a nasty car accident and a malfunction with the airport parking garage ticket dispenser, we made it to the airport three hours before my flight would leave. The airport is nearly empty, so checking my bag was a breeze. My dad and I then faced a dire situation- we needed to eat lunch at the Jacksonville Airport. After looking at the bleak array of options, we settled on a near-deserted Burger King. Was the food good? No. Was it food? Perhaps. Time til my flight? Two and a half hours.
After eating, my dad sat and chatted with me for approximately 47 seconds before standing up and announcing that he was leaving to go to the gym. I tried to hug him, but he made me do some sort of secret handshake instead. People definitely saw. After my father escaped, I was left to my own devices. Anxious to find a deserted corner where I could hide from humanity’s gaze, I decided to go through security. Lines there were short as well, so I made my way to the scanner almost immediately. When it was time to remove my shoes, I realized with horror that I was wearing sandals. Bare feet on the floor of the Jacksonville Airport? Less than ideal. After I went through the scanner, I was waved through security. TSA agents could clearly understand that I am too anxious to pose a threat to anyone, and did not make me go through a pat-down. Thank fucking God.
After purchasing a four dollar bottle of water at the airport snack emporium, I found my terminal. With two hours left in my flight, I realized I had time to wander the concourse. Massage chair? Too touchy. A spa? Too expensive and too touchy. A bar? With alcohol? I don’t care if it’s populated exclusively with middle-aged white men. Sign me the fuck up.
Now it’s 4:30- an hour to take off. I’ve had two rum and cokes, which is enough to turn Normal Jane into Party Jane. Is it a problem that this is a solo party in an airport? Absolutely not. I’m on fucking vacation! Tell me you wouldn’t do the same, you filthy degenerates. Besides, the only difference between Normal Jane and Party Jane is that Party Jane doesn’t expire upon accidentally making eye contact with strangers.
Now that I’m sitting near my terminal, boozed up to the perfect condition, I am happy to wait for my flight. It doesn’t matter that there’s a screaming toddler across from me. It doesn’t matter that an apparent Instagram influencer is behind me taking selfies. It doesn’t matter that there’s an attractive girl next to me who I’m terrified to talk to. This is the start of my vacation, and I’m as chill as a cucumber. A chilled cucumber- not one that’s been sitting out on the kitchen counter.