Getting to Australia

Hey buddies. Cptn. Torrence Rapebeard here, reporting from Sydney Australia. OH HELL YEAH U NO IT! It was a lavish and expansive chore to get here. Let me describe it to you thusly:

My mom dropped me off at the Indianapolis airport early in the afternoon on the 14th. Must’ve been about a day and a half ago by now. After saying goodbye, I waddled up to the United check-in counter and handed over what has got to be the smallest checked bag in civilized history. It was a toiletry bag full of everything you’re not allowed to take on planes any more. Liquids, flammables, knives, indigenous wild animals. But I totally tricked them and it worked. I had an hour to murder in the airport. Sitting quietly, staring forward was my weapon of choice.

The flights to Chicago and San Francisco were uneventful. I wasn’t able to call home to let my parents know I was ok during the plane change in California, mainly because the plane change consisted of a man with a face in a suit doing roll call then shoving us on a shuttle. 30 people from the flight I arrived on were supposed to be on the plane to Sydney, the boarding time of which began when our plane got there. Booyes.

We got all up in the plane. And I’ve got shit to say about this one. First off, I was SAVAGELY disappointed during minute one (1 of 900+, so luckily I had spares). “Seat 62D, you say? Alright then, I’ll just enter the vessel and… lets see here. 62D, 62D… 14… 22… 46… 50… Oh look! 62 is the exactly last row in the aeroplane!” I was safely hidden away, back of the bus, right next to the lavatories. Needless to say, I was very relieved. *pauses and looks at you* But consider the bright side… I’ve never been eviscerated by a samurai.

And it turns out this is one of those planes that’s old. I remember when I used to fly internationally back in the day on Continental. Even then the amenities far out-fanced those of this craft. Back then, each seat had a screen in the back, so you could decide which show you wanted to watch 3 times in a row.

Not so here. Someone thought they’d be a really cool guy and jam a cheap projector in the ceiling 30 years ago, catering to THE ENTIRE BACK OF THE PLANE. One image to rule them all. I couldn’t see a damnable thing, what with Captain Giant Pendulum Head sitting right in front of me. I was shuffling down a narrow isle to Grumpyville.

In between head shifts, I saw some bizarre fraction of Harry Potter (4? I’ve lost count.). From what I understood, a fairy named Harry is subjugated from every angle by a plot fixed massively against his favor. In the end, he engages confusion, blind luck, and the acting skills of his counterparts to stumble through an expensive, special f/x ending, thereby still not banging that one chick. Nor that asian chick. Nor any chick. Which book has them all finally turning 18? Can we make that one into a movie next? These things get closer to rated R each time anyway.

Most of the rest of the flight was approximately a blur of watching something crappy on 1/8th of a screen, listening to music, sleeping/sweating, eating, getting up to let people out, and masking farts that were too loud to be drowned out by the engine by sobbing violently. If this isn’t heaven, kill me now… please.

Not only all that and my snuggled location near the fequalibrium, but apparently the area next to my seat was the designated stand zone. People would get out of their seats, come over to mine, and just stand there. It’s like they all called each other the night before and decided this would be the best way to mess with me. When strangers hang out in a confined space for more than two hours, stuff gets creepy.

After about three hours of sleep scattered over the entire flight, I woke up to some fruit, orange juice, and an eerily tidy omelet. I’d like to go ahead and call it a vomlet if I could, on account of every time I touched it with something, it would wretch out some kind of goo. I think it was trying to fake sick so I wouldn’t eat it.

Then the flight attendants came by and for some reason offered everyone free bloody marys and screwdrivers. The allure of free alcohol did spark my attention for just a moment. Then I realized I still had to find my hostel, and that I wasn’t an alcoholic. The lady next to me ordered a bloody mary.

Finding the proper shuttle was confusing and hazardous. But I made my way here anyway, and immediately passed out. I don’t know when I fell asleep, or when I woke up, but I do remember absolutely nothing in between. Soon after, I took a shower, bought some microwavable stew, ate it, bought a calling card, called my dad, left a message, called my mom, then realized it was like 2:30am over there. Son of a bitch.

I’m hunkered down in my room right now, watching people in towels make their way into and out of bathrooms, I’m assuming for some kind of purpose. Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep tonight, then find something cool to do tomorrow.