JERK OF THE WEEK: The Tampa Trilogy, Part 1 - Jerks at the Airport
I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I accepted an invitation to fly down to Tampa for five days. My senior NFL Draft writer, Charlie Campbell, lives in Tampa with his wife Amanda. He suggested back on March 25 that I should come down for a visit this summer, and after figuring out my schedule, I bought a plane ticket for July 3.
I figured my five days in Tampa would be comprised of meeting Charlie for the first time(**), hitting up the beach, creepily staring at hot chicks in bikinis and having some beers at a local dive bar. I had never heard anyone refer to Tampa as a crazy party town. I figured it was just a quiet beach city, much like some of the alcohol-free spots on the Jersey Shore.
(**)Charlie has been working for me for almost two years, yet this was the first time I had ever met him. Prior to this month, I had never met four of the seven people who have worked for me over the years. Gotta love the Internet.
Oh, how wrong I was. Tampa was absolutely nuts. The bar scene was incredible. I saw thousands of hot chicks each night. Some of the women at these bars wore bikini tops with flashing lights. One attractive woman had just a black thong on. As someone told me during one of the nights, "They call this Trampa Bay for a reason."
One thing that I did count on was finding tons of jerks to write about. That aspect of the trip also did not disappoint. In fact, I compiled so much writing material over the five days that I'm going to split this entry into three parts; otherwise, this will be a 15,000-word Jerks of the Week column. I know, I know, you're dying to read 15,000 words of mine, but typing all of that up in one session would cause my fingers to fall off. So, without further ado...
Wednesday: Jerks of the Flight - Security Line
Might as well start from the beginning, right? The flight itself going to Tampa was loaded with jerks, though that should be no surprise to you if you've read my Jerks of the Philadelphia International Airport entry that I posted back in February.
In fact, I encountered my very first jerk mere seconds after walking into the U.S. Airways terminal of the Philadelphia International Airport. I strolled back and forth, wondering where the kiosk for the online check-in was, when I noticed that this black guy was following me. You might be thinking that he was trying to challenge me to a basketball game or a dance contest, but that was hardly the case. Instead, he muttered to himself in a lisp, "Jeezth I have like no idea where to go in thith airport!" He then looked in my direction.
Gay Black Guy: Excuth me thir, do you know where the thecurity line ith!?
Me: See that sign there that says "security?"
Gay Black Guy: Yeth?
Me: It's right there...
Gay Black Guy: Oh my goodneth grathious! You're not going to thecurity? I thought you were going there!
Me: No... I'm going to check my bags.
Gay Black Guy: Oh, OK, maybe thee you thoon!
And just like that, Gay Black Guy was off. I have no idea why he thought I was going to security. Maybe he figured he'd have an opportunity to give me an anal cavity search(**) with some of the security guards. I think I just threw up a bit in my mouth.
(**)Believe it or not, Anal Cavity Search is the name of an actual porno. In fact, Anal Cavity Search 6 was released in 2008. How do I know this? I Googled it, of course. I swear!
Speaking of security, it took me a while to get up there because this couple was holding up the kiosk. They were two obscenely skinny people talking to a seemingly illiterate black woman with red hair - obviously her natural color.
Skinny Man: Can you please tell us the temperature in San Francisco right now?
Redheaded Black Woman: I can't tellya dat. My computa got frozened.
Skinny Woman: Oh, honey, if it's chilly, I'll regret not bringing my sweater.
Redheaded Black Woman: Oh, there it go. It gonna be 58 degree tonight.
Skinny Man: Perhaps we can retrieve our luggage, purchase a sweater and then check our bags again.
Ugh. I felt like I was in those "not going anywhere for a while" Snickers commercials. The other idiots behind the counter were just laughing about stuff and not paying attention to me, so I finally got to check my bag 20 minutes later. Thank God I arrived at the airport two hours beforehand.
Gay Black Guy was nowhere to be found when I finally made it up to security. Thanking the gods, I stepped into "preferred access" line. I always purchase preferred access for $23 just in case I get to the airport late and need to go through security quickly. It's also nice to be able to board first - though that's something I'll discuss later.
The preferred access line was moving quite slowly today, unfortunately. It didn't take too long to see why. The fat black security lady was shuffling random people out of the regular line and into preferred access because the regular line was too long. Umm... isn't that the point? I paid $23 for the right to go through security quickly, yet she was holding up the process by allowing freeloaders to cut in. This pissed me off immensely. I would've said something, but I didn't want an anal cavity search from such an obese black woman.
There was another security guard there - a chubby Asian fellow who seemed like a pretty nice guy. He talked to everyone in line. He asked how they were doing, and when they responded with the same question, he told them that he injured his arm and that he was experiencing some numbness.
When I was finally near him, I expected him to say hi to me as well. Instead, he looked at me, grimaced and turned away. He turned around about two minutes later. The line hadn't moved, so I was still there. I looked at him and said, "Hey how are you?" He didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the next person in line and asked how they were doing.
What a dick. Hopefully karma strikes and his arm is numb for the rest of his life!!!
I wasn't angry for too long because I was distracted by a cute girl. She had blond hair with sunglasses resting on top of her head. She was in the regular line, but the black security guard checking IDs and boarding passes summoned her first. He looked over everything and let her through. He then called me up. He studied my ID card for what seemed like a minute and then asked, "Pronounce this last name for me, please."
Umm... what? I know my last name is long, but what the hell is the purpose of pronouncing it? If I were a terrorist with a long last name, I'd A) make a fake ID with a common name and B) know how to pronounce my last name if I decided to go with that. Did he really expect me to trip up on that question? There was no way in hell I was going to say "Char... no... chur... no cherek... no... Jones... no... derp!" Nice job hiring these super-sleuth security guards, Philadelphia International Airport. There's no way any terrorists can possibly elude these geniuses.
I finally stepped through and grabbed a basket to place my flip-flops, cell phone and laptop. The cute girl, who was in front of me, looked at me and said, "You can go ahead of me."
Sweet! She totally wanted to stand behind me so she could check out my a**. I had no issue with this. I would love to be treated like a sexual object by hot women. Nothing would make me happier, save for getting stalked or raped by attractive females. Unfortunately, my dreams were thwarted when I tried to say something to the cute girl. My mind raced as I tried to come up with something clever, but I saw that the reason she let me through was to stand next to another guy - presumably her boyfriend - who was previously waiting in the regular line.
I would've went with something like, "You want to be with that loser, or do you want a real man with preferred access?" However, I would've held up the line and probably would have been subjected to an anal cavity search by the fat security guard. Ah, if only she were hot...
Wednesday: Jerks of the Flight - Pre-Flight
The first thing I noticed while strolling through the U.S. Airways terminals was that there were so many hot women there. For example, there was one girl who was charging her phone in one of the ground outlets. She wore short pink shorts and had legs that seemed to go on forever. However, many of the other females weren't as revealing, opting instead to wear jeans instead despite it being 85 degrees outside. I'm a legs man, so I was appalled by this poor effort.
There were some other women there who would've been attractive had they let their hair grow out. I hate females with short hair. There should be a law that says girls can't have their hair length shorter than their neck. There's really no reason to have a Justin Bieber lesbian hairstyle. Seriously, it looks disgusting, and the effort is even worse than that of the chicks who hide their legs by wearing jeans.
Anyway, I had close to an hour to kill before my flight. I wanted to grab something to eat, but something I went to my gate first just to make sure I knew where it was. I found it, but what I saw disturbed me. I did not see one attractive woman sitting in the chairs at the flight to Tampa gate. They were mostly old people. A particular geezer who stood out was a 90-year-old man with a neck brace. He appeared to be in a coma. There was also a woman in her 50s with unkempt hair. She appeared to be homeless, and she happened to be holding a skateboard for some strange reason.
I turned around in frustration and went back to a Sbarro I passed by on the way to my gate. I was pretty hungry, but I looked at the menu and saw that most of their items were 600 calories or more. I was in the mood for baked ziti, but that was supposedly 700 calories. I knew I was going to eat out with Charlie and Amanda, so I wasn't trying to have a 700-calorie lunch on a day that I wasn't going to exercise.
OK, I'll admit that I sound like an anorexic girl right now, but my goal is to lose a tenth of a pound per week, which was going to be difficult because I wasn't going to hit up the gym at all while in Tampa. This is why I wish Sbarro didn't have the calorie count posted on the menu. Who do these communist a**holes think they are by posting the calorie number? That's such a dick move. If they didn't have the calorie numbers up there, I would've just purchased the baked ziti and ate a more filling meal. Instead, I settled for the Caesar salad.
There were two types of Caesar salad: regular and side salad. I thought about purchasing the former, but the side salad happened to be $3.50. I figured that would be enough. I approached the counter and told the fat Mexican worker that I just wanted a side Caesar salad and a bottle of water. He looked at me strangely and proceeded to pick up this tiny saucer.
I was completely taken aback by this. A tiny saucer of Caesar salad was $3.50? What a rip-off! I quickly told the fat Mexican that I wanted a regular one instead along with the bottle of water. The "regular" salad bowl wasn't much larger, but it was the only alternative.
He mixed up my salad and then brought it to the register. He told me the total price was $6.50. I handed him a $10 bill, and he gave me back three $1s and three quarters. So, we have the mathematically challenged Mexicans to pair with the illiterate bag-check people. Philadelphia International Airport is the best.
I reached for the bottle of water in the bin, but the fat Mexican stopped me from doing so.
Fat Mexican: Eh ese, you have to pay for the water.
Me: But I said I wanted a Caesar salad and a bottle of water.
Fat Mexican: I no hear you say you want a bottle of water.
Me: Well, I'd like a bottle of water too.
Fat Mexican: Only if you pay for it, ese.
OK, so I guess I was clearly trying to be slick by stealing a bottle of water. Are you kidding me? It's not my fault you don't listen and suck at math, especially when trying to calculate how many calories you're ingesting every day, Mexican a**hole.
I paid for the water and sat down at a two-seat table. There was a tan woman in her 50s to the right of me. I didn't think anything of her until I noticed that she was blatantly staring at me. Seriously, she wouldn't stop looking in my direction. I eventually had enough and had to confront her about this.
Me: Can I help you?
Tan Woman (with a Mexican accent): I'm waiting for a cheesestakes with oni-yons and no pepp-pors.
So, that's why you're staring at me? Because you're waiting on a cheesesteak? What does staring at me have to do with a cheesesteak? What a weirdo.
Minutes later, a white guy in his 20s brought over her cheesesteak along with a Pepsi. She looked at the meal, and rather than telling him "thank you," she said, "Oh no, I no have straw for the Pep-si." So, get it for yourself, ungrateful b***h.
The white guy retrieved the straw, and the two sat down and had little to say to each other. One thing I heard the tan woman say was that her last name was Fernandez, but her cousin's name was Hernandez. How interesting.
I've been thinking about it, yet I still have no idea why a guy in his 20s was ordering food for a Mexican woman in her 50s. Perhaps she was the fat Mexican's mom and was interviewing a potential math tutor for her son.
Wednesday: Jerks of the Flight - The Flight
I threw out my empty salad bowl, took a piss and made my way back to the gate. I saw this unbelievably hot blonde with blue eyes and short black shorts standing in the area. Sweet, someone to creepily stare at while on the plane! I thought excitedly. Unfortunately, she was one of the people to get off the previous flight. I wondered though - was this the type of female I was bound to encounter while in Tampa? Like I said, I had no idea what exactly I was in store for.
Anyway, the thing I hate most about flights is when everyone hovers around the actual gate when they announce they are boarding. I always assume that these people are in line, yet they're just standing there like morons even though it's not time for their zone to board. I once was one of the last people to board a plane even though I was Zone 1 because I was standing behind some a**holes who were in the final zone. I thought they were in line until they were the only losers remaining at the gate.
This is a PSA for anyone who flies: If it's not your time to board, just stay seated. There's no reason to stand around the gate when it's not your time to get on the plane. You're not going to magically miss your flight by remaining in your seat.
Then again, not everyone stands around. This guy and his wife, a somewhat large woman with kankles, moved ahead of me in line as they were calling up those with preferred access. The husband had some reservations about this.
Husband: Honey, I think these people are waiting in line...
Kankled Wife: No, trust me. They're not.
Husband: I think they are... Maybe we should ask.
Kankled Wife: No. They're not waiting. No questions are needed.
I would've said something, but I fear women who have kankles. I do regret it though because I went onto the plane right after them, so I was stuck standing there for what seemed like an eternity as Kankled Wife ordered her husband to stuff her giant pink suitcase in the luggage compartment.
This is yet another thing I absolutely hate about flying. I don't mind it when someone brings a small bag aboard the plane, but medium- and giant-sized suitcases should be checked in beforehand. There's no reason to carry them onto the plane if you're not going to use the contents that are in them. Just be a normal person and check the freaking luggage.
I finally made it past Kankled Wife and made it to my seat. I watched as the passengers walked by. I prayed for an attractive woman to sit next to me. A couple of them walked onto the plane, but they just passed by. I then saw the homeless woman from before. She was no longer holding her skateboard. I wonder how she got on the plane...
Homeless Woman: I need a ticket to Tampa!
Ticket Vendor: You can purchase one.
Homeless Woman: But I have no money...
Ticket Vendor: Well, I don't know what to say.
Homeless Woman: Wait, I have this skateboard! And I can also give you an anal cavity search. I'm really good at those!
Ticket Vendor: Ehh... you know what? I'll just take the skateboard.
Homeless Woman didn't sit down next to me, but some guy did. He was a squinty-eyed man in his 50s. He immediately took out an iPad and began playing some game called Bejeweled. He seemed to be doing well, but eventually lost. He then slammed the game down in frustration and yelled, "F*** this game! F*** this game! Such bulls***! Such bulls***!"
I was legitimately scared that this guy was going to have a heart attack on the plane. Don't get me wrong - I didn't care about his well-being or anything. I was just worried that it was going to delay the plane. Fortunately, nothing happened, and I don't even know if he played Bejeweled throughout the entire flight because he asked to be moved.
There were three possible reasons why Insane Bejeweled Man wanted his seat changed:
1. He saw me trying to contain my laughter as he was freaking out upon losing the game.
2. He looked and saw that I texted myself the word "Bejeweled" as I was writing down notes for Jerks of the Week.
3. The guy in the aisle seat. He looked at me and said, "Do I smell, or something?" when Insane Bejeweled Man moved.
I took a whiff and... yeah. He smelled. Like rancid socks mixed with skunk splooge. The flight seemed a lot longer than 2-and-half hours. I almost wished I had been subjected to that anal cavity search.