Tis the Season

Tis the season to be thankful
for cool airport workers.

I forgot to mention,
or maybe I didn't,
a story from my travels to England.

I had all my important papers,
information, hotels, phone numbers,
names, maps, contacts, etc.
in a folder that said "Nice Peter" on it.

While checking in for my outbound flight,
I left it at the desk.

Just 15 minutes prior to boarding,
I got paged:

"Peter Shukoff, please report to the check-in desk.... Peter Shukoff"

I thought I was in trouble already.
Maybe they had realized I had no work permit
to go the UK, maybe they found some old
mushrooms in the pockets of my bags.

But no, it was the nice lady from the first desk,
returning to me my precious folder.
Without it I would have been absolutely fucked.
And I didn't even know I was missing it until
she handed it to me.

Thank you, sweet British lady.

In more recent affairs:

My outbound flight to my
hometown of Rochester, NY,
was scheduled to depart at 4:26 pm.

At 3:15 pm, I was smoking a bong
and working on a new song.

Inspiration strikes suddenly,
and I've learned to sit down when it does.

Needless to say, I did not make it through
Friday 4 pm traffic to the airport in time.

I arrived at O'hare for my 4:26 at 4:45.
oops.
sorry.

umm....
"maybe I can catch a later flight?"
I kinda want to go Buffalo instead, anyway,
to visit my friend Tom.
"I can go to Buffalo, instead, if that helps"

It was two days before Christmas,
the airport was a bit busy.

Flights were overbooked,
and connections were missed legitimately
by people who did their best to be on time.

I was at the bottom of the barrel for waiting list
priority.

I accepted my fate, ordered a six dollar draft,
and waited patiently.

All around me, people turned into wild bitches.
Save for the nice man I met from San Francisco,
who's wife was a total bitch, but he was cool,
everyone who was trying to get on a plane
was a whining, fist-slamming, fake-smiling piece
of shit.

As if the people behind the counter are deliberately
trying to keep you from your family. As if they aren't
doing everything they can.

I saw one man struggle to find the right words,
until he finally screamed out,
"this really.......... ..... .... sucks. You suck! You all SUCK!"

I'm serious.

So, I ordered another draft.

I knew there was some hope,
some destination to which I would arrive,
some reason why I missed my flight,
besides the bong.

I casually strolled to the effeminate latino
behind the counter for a flight to Austin, TX.

Don't get excited, I wasn't so free that I just
went to Texas.

But, I had a feeling about him.

He looked happy, peaceful, behind
the counter. No one was bothering him at the moment.

I went up, told him my story.
When he asked why I missed my flight,
I said "it's a long story..."
and gave an almost imperceptible wink.

My message to him was clear,
I missed my plane because I was having
gentle sex with lots of latino men,
men just like you.
wink.

Never be ashamed to flirt with a gay Puerto Rican
if it will get you home to your family.

and get me home, it did.

He did some magic in the computer,
and made the record show that I had purchased
a ticket for a later flight to Buffalo, NY.

Perfect. Now I could visit my friend Tom,
and meet up with my family the next day.

The moons aligned,
and they all pointed to El Gato Negro.
(infamous Chicago gay-latino bar)

I thanked him sincerely.
No winks, he just made me promise
I would be friendly to the ladies behind
the other counters.
"They've had a rough day"

No problem,
being friendly is easy
when you have a new boarding
pass and two beers in your system.

I passed the others on the waiting list.
Watched them fume to themselves,
swearing at newspapers and chairs
while I smiled and checked in.

Seat 18B.

oh... yeah.

-p