5.04.2016

ROADLOG: STINKFOOT AT 30,000 FEET


ROADLOG: STINKFOOT AT 30,000 FEET
5/3/16
I catch my flight ATL>Dublin. 
As usual on overseas flights to Europe,
The plane is packed. 
I get a window seat.
Seat 41-J
In a two seat row
Sitting next to me is guy from Georgia. 
Name: Jamal. 
Both of us have long legs 
So we're a little cramped. 
We exchange inflight-appropriate pleasantries
But really don't talk any more than that,
Which is good.
Because overly extended 
inflight talk is so boring
And you have to expend a lot of energy 
On mom & pop-like politeness. 
As we taxi down the runway,
Jamal notices the two seats behind us
Are empty. 
He looks at me.
"Go for it," I say. 
He immediately grabs his stuff 
And occupies the two empty seats. 
This is an excellent turn of events. 
Now he and I have our own space. 
This is nirvana in flight terms. 
No elbow wrestling. 
No odd, accidental dude-to-dude 
Hetero/homo strangeness. 
No useless yakking. 
No piss break jockeying. 
We're home free. 
And we each have two seats
Worth of airplane real estate 
To sleep on. 
Fucking fantastic. 
Plane takes off.
Everybody's happy. 
I settle in with my book,
A Dave Van Ronk bio:
The Mayor of MacDougal Street. 
It's not bad. 
Right before the inflight meal comes,
About 2 hr into the 6.5 hr flight 
I pop a sleeping pill. 
My plan is to time it perfectly 
So that I get sleepy and zonk out
Right as my meal is digesting. 
It'll help me adjust to EuroTime. 
As I eat my meal (some fake chicken shit)
I notice a powerful foot odor radiating 
In our area of the cabin. 
This happens sometimes. 
People sweat a lot,
kick off their shoes,
Go to sleep.
It's not horribly bad. 
But it's definitely noticeable. 
It kind of dances around the upper lip 
Every 7-10 min 
Then disappears
Like a little stinky ghost. 
I ignore it.  
I'm used being around stinky dudes. 
Hell, I'm one of them sometimes. 
But not THIS time, comrade. 
I even checked my shoes & socks
After the meal to confirm 
That it was not me. 
Not this cowboy. 
Judging from the direction 
Of the stank waft,
I suspect the culprit
Is an overweight man 
In the seat in front of me.  
But I'm not sure 
And am really not that concerned 
About it. 
Humans stink.  
Fuck off. 
You can forgiven them. 
So I lay down across both seats, 
Stuff the ear plugs in,
And throw on the blind fold. 
Lay there. 
45 min passes. 
No sleep. 
Got a problem: the Advil PM
Does NOT work. 
Fuck it, I pop a half a Xanax 
I have stashed. 
I was gonna save it 
for a bad mood day. 
But Fuck it. 
20 min later, I'm out.
Sprawled across both seats
Kind of like I'm doing a cannon ball
Into a swimming pool
And landing on my back. 
Feet toward the window. 
It works. 
I fall asleep. 
I sleep for approx two hours.
THEN.....
I feel my seats violently shaking
Like a gorilla playing bongo drums
On them. 
At first,
I thinks it is violent 
Air turbulence. 
What the fuck?!
Then think the plane's going DOWN. 
I realize
Someone is leaning over the seat 
And yelling at me.
Anybody that knows me well
Knows I'm a freaky sleeper. 
I sleepwalk, sleep talk,
Speak alien gibberish, 
And throw random punches,
elbows, & kicks 
Into the air 
At devilish ghosts u seen
ALL THE TIME. 
That's just the way 
It's always been. 
My mom, sisters,
And bandmates
Can verify this. 
Nonetheless....
I tear off the blind fold,
Yank out the earplugs,
And throw a few 
Nightmarish judo chops 
Into the cabin air above
To fend off whatever
Is trying to kill me. 
When my eye focus,
I realize the guy yelling at me
Is Jamal,
The dude that was sitting beside me,
Now sitting behind me. 
He's beating on my the back
On my seats 
And yelling,
"I CAN'T SLEEP!
AND YOU'RE FEET ARE STINKING
RIGHT UP IN MY FACE! 
YOU GOT TO MOVE THEM FEET!"
What the fuck?!!!
I don't know about anyone else,
But when someone comes at me crazy
(Especially if I'm sleeping)
The "street" side of me comes out hard
And a crazy switch 
In my head flips. 
I yell back him 
Through the darkened cabin 
Of sleeping people,
"Sit your motherfucking ass 
Back down!
That ain't my feet stinking up this 
Place up!
You dumbass!
I smell it, too! 
Sit the fuck down!"
I was in a delirium.
Jamal's head slowly sank 
Out of view 
And he sat back down. 
Which is good
Because it could've ended bad
For BOTH of us. 
I ain't a NAVY SEAL,
But I was about to go 
Volunteer Air Marshall
On his stanky foot smelling ass. 
I lay back down. 
Now I'm jacked up. 
Wide awake. 
Pissed. 
Aggravated.  
I lie there 
And try to reclaim my sleep
But I'm so pissed off 
I just keep talking shit
At him. 
Into the air. 
"Motherfucker,
Why don't you go CSI 
Around the whole plane 
And find out 
Whose stinky feet it is?!
Wake my ass up again!
See what happens!
God, I was mad. 
I don't even know
What I would really do. 
I guess the yokels in the plane 
Politely ignored us. 
I really thought the plane 
Was going down. 
And this MFer
Talking about stinky feet?!
Get the fuck out of here!
I finally faded off to sleep. 
But it was a restless 
And agitated slumber. 
Next thing I know 
It's morning 
And 
I hear the captain 
Announce our landing 
In Dublin. 
Light is raining into the Windows. 
Stewards are serving coffee. 
Passengers are awake. 
And I'm all half Xanax'd out,
Raw, and surly. 
Details from the gorilla seat bongo jam
Foot stink episode 
Trickle into my brain. 
I shake my head. 
I even check my socks 
And shoes again
To make sure 
It wasn't me 
That was stinking 
Up the cabin. 
It wasn't. 
My shit smells like roses. 
Well, not really roses.
But they didn't stink. 
I'm still pissed. 
I make a decision. 
When it's time to disembark 
From the plane 
I'm going to mad-dog Jamal
And let him know 
That shit wasn't cool. 
Just as a parting shot. 
But when they open the cabin doors
Jamal stands,
grabs his shit fast,
And rolls out of there. 
He won't even look at me. 
He's got his back to me 
The whole time we're waiting 
And doing the waiting thing 
Where passengers are all standing 
There
Waiting for them to open the doors. 
Would. Not. Even. Look. At. Me. 
Later, dude. 
I grabbed my shit.
Blew out of there. 
And tried to forget 
The whole the whole thing
So as not to ruin 
My day in Dublin. 
I don't know what the moral 
To the story is.
But maybe it's:
DON'T BE TRIPPPING 
AND PLAYING AIRPLANE BONGO DRUMS
ON A MOTHERFUCKER'S SEAT
WHILE HE'S SLEEPING
UNTIL YOU 
KNOW
WHO'S GOT 
THE STINKY ASS FEET,
MOTHERFUCKER!


No comments: