The Airport

I like the airport.

I love paying 12 bucks for a coke. I love taking my shoes off for bomb screening. I love watching every guy in the newsstand look up at the porn section wondering if they can actually buy a Hustler here without bringing attention to themselves. I love looking at everyone and wondering which one is the drug mule. But most of all, I love Mr. Funnyguy passenger.

My wife and I just got back from a short jaunt vacation for a friends wedding. Everything was basically smooth until the plane ride back.

We got on the airline’s version of a Greyhound. No assigned seating, just pack them in like a sock in the shorts—push it all the way down.

We thought it was going to be uneventful. I would put on my Ipod, scope out the hotties and wonder which people were possible terrorists.

Yes, I have the same hero fantasy as every guy. I pick out a couple of shady looking characters and imagine myself jumping over the seats to bring down my fists of fury while the flight attendants decide who is going to sleep with me. This is not to joke about 9/11, but an admission what every guy thinks.

My wife and I get on the plane and realize that there is going to be a problem. This is a connecting flight for all the spring breakers coming back from Mexico. Normally, I would be elated in this as there would surely be some girls gone wild moments. But they are on their way back and I’m sure that all the skin has already been flashed. And they have taken all the seats. There is hardly any place for my wife and I to sit.

We go all the way to the back of the plane which worries me because I have always heard that this is the first part to blow up in a plane. I am not afraid of flying. I am, however, afraid of blowing up.

My wife and I aren’t able to sit together and I get a middle sit between Mr. Skateboarder and Angry guy. I always think that this is a tad unfair for me to get the middle seat. I think we should arm wrestle for it. My shoulders are wider than the arm rests. We won’t talk about my gut here. And I know that they were not thrilled to have me there as well as I am sure they were happy to have the mandatory space between dudes sitting rule.

But we got along fine, mainly because all three of us put in our Ipods as soon as we could and no one passed gas so it was a pretty good situation.

Until Mr. Funnyguy showed up.

Ok, look. There are a few Hossman principles. This is what makes you Hoss. 1. Always give up your seat to the old lady or the pregnant lady. Show that your momma raised you right. 2. If you sleep with your buddy’s sister, he gets to punch you and you have to marry her. 3. Don’t be a dick.

That last one is paramount to the Hossman philosophy. Basically, don’t be an asshole for no other reason than you’re an asshole. C’mon man, don’t be that guy. No one likes that guy and no one thinks you are funny.

So in walks Mr. Funnyguy. He’s a spring breaker coming back to Flunkout U. He’s got the hat backwards, J-crew ruffled shirt untucked so everyone can see how cool he as because he doesn’t care, and he’s wearing sunglasses. Yup, sunglasses on a plane. I immediately don’t like him. Dude, you are not a rock star and no one wants to take your picture other than the booking sergeant down at Rapeme Jail.

He sits down when there is an announcement we have all heard. They have oversold the flight. They have two little girls who have to go to school tomorrow and would anyone please give up there seats for 200 bucks and a travel voucher. I had a daughter but if I didn’t, I would have stayed one more day. What do I care?

But Mr. Funnyguy takes over then. He yells out “We all have school tomorrow.” Aww, isn’t that cute, he thinks he is funny. Yes, let’s make fun of some 10 year girls who are traveling alone. Jackass.

He chuckles to himself. I knew guys like this in college and I didn’t like them then.

I want to pound him. I want to take his Liberace sunglasses off and break them off in his ear drums. I come up with a plan. If he ever bribes enough teachers to actually graduate, I’m going to hire him to work for me. Then I am going to completely treat him like shit, making him take every crap task. I am going to send him to Columbia to get me a cup of coffee and then put him on disciplinary action when he gets back and it’s cold. I’m going to tell him that we have “Thong Wednesday” and then make fun of him when he shows up. I can be quite good at this and my mind wanders as I fall asleep on takeoff.

We touch down and I take my Ipod out. My wife is in the row ahead of me and the last two hours was pretty boring. Everyone gets out of their seats and into the aisle.

Apparently my wife moved a little to fast for him and got in front of him in the line to get out of the plane and he decides that this is offensive to him. He says “sorry” very sarcastic like and starts laughing to the white trash tramp he convienced to pity fuck him next to him.

Now, I’m not normally a confrontational guy. Most people give me very little flack as we both know that I could pound them. I’m a pacifist at heart and most things just slide off me. However, Mr. Funnyguy is getting dodgy with my wife. Who is pregnant.

I am every bit as overprotective of my wife as I am of my daughter. They rule my world and yes, a rude comment is enough to get me going. It’s the bully mentality that bothers me. Yes, she can’t fight you. However chump, I can and I am right behind you.

I consider shoving him through the airplane window that is about a foot wide and decide against it. I decide that it is better not to be charged by Homeland Security at the moment and make it home on time to pick up my daughter. I let it slide to the relief of my wife.

We go to baggage claim and it is busy as ever. I don’t know what it is about baggage claim, but I suppose people think someone is going to steal your bag. Regardless of the fact that all you have in there is your dirty underwear and toenail clippers. Everyone is sure that is what the thieves want. We are not as cool as we all collectively think we are.

I spy Mr. Funnyguy and Ms. Tramp pushing people aside to get to the baggage claim. Then I have an idea. It is a great idea. It is passive aggressive, not my normal side, but still a genius idea.

I see my bag coming down the carousal. I time it so that I go to get my bag right when it reaches Mr. Funnyguy, using my bulk to slide right between him and whore. I push them aside and bend over to pick up my bag.

And that’s when I fart.

It was silent and couldn’t be heard over the machine and noise. But, god help me, I know that as soon as it gets out my pants leg, it is going to stink to all heaven. They might have to shut this place down.

That’s right, I cut it right then and there. I have no shame in this and I know that it is disgusting. I know that it is not civilized, but damn’it if it ain’t funny as all hell.

I quickly retrieve my bag and stand for just a few seconds, letting the aroma of my stink slowly go out. I have just skunked this guy and his kiddie porn girlfriend. It was totally worth it. It was revenge for making fun of little girls and for being a dick to my wife.

I know, it’s not as good as a punch to the face as Hossman principles might dictate but it was the best I could do in the situation. I just got all my ass spray right in the sweet spot and I know that it will take them a second before they smell it.

By that time, I’m headed for the door with my wife, laughing my ass off. I turn back just in time to see the Bleachblond crinkle her nose and punch Mr. Funnyguy. Bingo, she’s blamed him and I’m sure that there will be no future romping sessions in the future. I hope I saturated his clothing so that only tomato juice and prayer can get it out.

I am laughing so hard when I see all this that I tell my wife what just happened. To my amazement, she starts laughing to. I expected her to call me juvenile and not to do something like this but apparently, she sees the justice in this. She is very passive aggressive so I suppose she appreciated this tactic rather than me just popping the guy.

You may think that I am disgusting. You may think that I acted like a two year old. But everyone will also think that this guy had it coming. In the future, I may just pop him. But for now, I am satisfied with passive aggressive gorilla style combat.