So, this is me. Living and
whatnot.
This story starts at the end,
because you need to know that to understand the other parts of it. I am sitting
on the floor at the Delta Baggage Claim in San Francisco International Airport.
I am waiting on a gate checked (for free) bag because I am no
longer going where I needed to be.
How did I get to this spot? In
the year 2018 of our Lord & Living Savior? Son las 1:52pm.
Glad you’re still reading.
It all started with this thing
called adulting. It’s this thing where you have to be an adult the entire time,
and when you start being an *air quote* adult *air
quote*,
then stop, it’s customary to get your life together. The most successful class
of this species (actual
adults) being an adult that consistently keeps their life together. The ‘okay’ class of
this species (just
about all others)
fluctuates, but tend to right the ship pretty quickly. Then there’s me. The
least successful; the *tantrum* ‘fine
stop coming in here waking me up DANG I was just about to get up’
*pulls covers back over face* class, which has, well, no class.
So, after finally deciding to
take the covers off, I figured I should get my ish together. This is where the
airport comes in. Sometimes you have to travel to do that. Like, you can’t
always get it together where you live, you have to outsource zip codes and
traffic patterns. Well, looking at the successful class of the species, I
decided to grow up a bit. Booked a flight. Underpacked a bag (that
right there was a win, no extended zip pouches for me). Got
to the airport on time.
So, their subconscious petty
ass spirits joined me for my trip to the airport. They wanted to see how far
they could take me. They know like I know it’s Black History Month, and the 9th
Eve prior to Black Panther, so I want to maintain my cool – but that’s not the
way I’m set up. Wanna see what they willed to me?
Let’s go.
6:15am:
S.A.T. (not the test); I sholl’am hungry.
I have
time to get something to eat. I shouldn’t buy food in the airport, but you’d
rather not see me hungry. I get a hot black tea with ginger and a toasted bagel
with cream cheese. I get a couple of honey packets on my way to the pick-up
area. The server, shortly after my arrival, late for my hunger, announces a
toasted bagel with cream cheese. And like Allen Iverson slipping through defenders
for the steal, Susan’s daughter Alice snatches the toasted bagel with cream
cheese. I’m ready to pop off because T’Chaka didn’t die at the hands of
colonizers and capitalists for this. But I say to myself, perhaps she was in line before me, chill out. Actually,
that was Jigs talking to me, because I would have been like, get your reparations from Alice – it’s February. I
chill though. More people get food. I get angrier…and Alice over there talking
to Jessica about bangles and blue hair tint. I look up at the server like, WTF? She looks at Alice and Alice
is like, Wait…uh…it wasn’t me …and the server is like, Effff man,
this is not good.
No.
This is bad. I finally got my food, but the spirit of S.A.T. was all up in that by default because nothing I ordered was on that Whole [there’s only] 30 [things in the free
world you can eat] Diet. I hate people.
6:45am:
T.A.T. Is we ready or are we leaving?
So,
you know how people see stuff on social media and don’t know how to just scroll
on by if they don’t like it? I’m not talking about the people who offer a
different opinion or perspective in the spirit of conversation or true
engagement to self actualize us all as Maslow intended. No, these are people
who take way too many selfies. Or people who troll your posts because they see
that everybody loves you so they want to be the 1 NEGATIVE COMMENT like that
bootsy ass negative review of Black Panther. Or, well, hoteps. Cause negros
hate being called hoteps more than they hate being called ashy, and frankly, we
call you both. Anyway, I maybe text her that she was the hotep whisperer or
something like that and they need to drink their hotep-ovaltine and leave me
alone.
So it
wasn’t exactly her, but it was the spirit of the hoteps for which she interprets
that was like, oh, this bih ain’t leavin’ the city on our watch
#effherplans. We about to throw some shade at her destination.
Enter, LA fog. Grounded at the gate until further notice. If I had any idea
hoteps knew people who could recreate ashy cloud formations like airbenders, I
would have kept the ‘vegan bean sprout pies’ comment to myself. *hoteps sprinkling bacon salt in my wounds*
9:13am:
Jigs. You dropped my mustard seed and I stepped on it. Faith is gone.
Now I’m
at the Delta counter with my woes. Like all of them, because we had to get off
the plane because this flight is cancelled. I’m in the line about to take off
on this dude for trying to circumvent the sky priority rug we all in formation
behind because, not today Satan. Not to-damn-day. The agent at the gate
politely tells the man numerous times to get in line or go to the courtesy phones
– he finally leaves her alone. I am avenged.
At
this point, they broke out the free snacks, so I mean, I am upset, but I will
be less upset after that ginger ale, Sherry. Thank you.
I get
my chance at “who wants to fly out today” bingo. There is a 1:22pm flight
available on United Airlines. On who? I can’t fly
them. Yall gate-checked my bag and my hands are in there. I need them if I’m
going to fly United. I can’t serve a 2-piece like the one Kobe received when my
hands are in my bag! Please, no. Don’t worry, we can reroute
your bag. We got you covered. Covered with one of those blankets or the blood
of the ancestors? I need to know which.
Then a
symphony of keyboarding. Hey, yall ever see the movie Baggage Claim? It made me
think of LaLa behind that counter. That bih was shoe shopping. I feel like that
what she was doing. And this is why this moment is Jigs. It’s the pettiest part
of the experience. ALL OF THAT TYPING and LaLa’s understudy didn’t even confirm
my ticket on United. She literally did every step but the last step. You know what
kind of petty that is? That’s braiding hair in the late 90s and not burning the
tips of the braids. I hate Jigs above all others. May her next pedicure come
freshly chipped. I hate yo guts *in my Dave Chappelle voice*
Break: While
at the United counter trying to get on that unconfirmed flight, the gate agent
was throwing HELLA SHADE at Delta. They never do these things right. They always miss a step. See
the way my loyalty is set up, you can’t say nothing like that to me and get
away with it. But, I wanted to get on the flight, preferably in a MMA free
zone, so I was letting her live. When she actually got on the phone and confirmed
that they indeed didn’t confirm my flight, my chest, Father God ♫ queues
up toni braxton ♪
10:23am:
Pearl; Well, since you still here, bih…minuswhale stay.
Minuswhale.
I ain’t got it in me. I have been to the gate. On the plane. Off the plane. To the
counter. To United. To Delta Special Services. To American. To Delta Special
Services. To… Baggage Claim. It’s time to call it. Toe tagged at 11:38am. She
wore an uninteresting outfit to the airport that day, with a chic hat and scarf
and gladiator low top sandals. Minuswhale stay here because Pearl is somewhere in
the universe with her tongue sticking out teaching imaginary me how to say ‘coon-coon’
in hoodrat. Tell them you want your bag sis. Go home.
1:48pm:
Jigs, again. You musta’forgot I be watching your petty ass shady moves.
She’s
right. I forgot. She, being thoughtful, texts me while I’m on the floor
tracking my tears in the dirty carpet, to ask why I’m still at the airport. Had
my bag gone to Los Angeles, expeditiously, sans me? I respond, of course not. The man at the counter sent them a
message to get my bag. He confirmed the color twice. His name was Reginald, so
he must be an upstanding honest citizen.
That
negro named Reggie and he lie like a mug. My bag is successfully in another zip
and area code trying to turn up like we did in days of old. My bag looked back
at it, and was like, wait, where is ole girl at? She ain’t make it? Ole
girl is me. No, I did not make it. Eff yo couch Jigs. Eff yo comfy ass couch.
1:52pm:
Yenny. *no words* *wall slide into depressing slumber*
Yenny
spent the entire night before that clutch ride to the BART this morning not
listening to me or answering any of my questions last night when we watched
Scandal and How to Get Away With Murder. I am so far behind I was like, when Liv wig get that strange? Where the baby come
from? Annalise still walkin sideways, but she fierce. Wait, another baby? Why
she need permission to see the baby? Yenny answered every third
question with a grunt. She eventually stopped doing that. I looked her dead in
her sleeping eyes and was like, I know you hear me!
I’m using my outside voice. Hell, my inside voice is loud enough.
That
poor lady at the Delta Baggage Services Counter. She didn’t deserve none of the
L’s she took. But before she took them, that wall slide I did back into my
depressed spot in the carpet was really saucy. She was talking to me and I coulda’swo
I grunted. She was offering me lunch vouchers and everything. Lord, bless it
all. Jesus, make sure when you out there chippin Jig’s fresh pedicure, make Kim
from baggage claim’s shine like a diamond. Because, $15.00 lunch…
| https://airhex.com/airlines/logos/ |
Oh, that's adorable how you thought the story was over? You obvs don’t know the way my life works. So, like my socks and pannies are already in LA. I gotta at least try one more time, right? I go back to Special Services. Get a standby ticket for LA (with a confirmed seat the next morning) and get back in line because *not surprised* you have to go through security screening again AND chug that free ginger ale you got from Sherry’s non-confirming the United ticket that your bag was probably on. The attendant at the entrance, after asking if you could move up in the line because you have 50 minutes to get to the gate and there are exactly 50 million people in front of you, tells you next time, get here 2 hours before your flight.
And that’s how you got the
link for the GoFundMe page. I need bail.
Clearly, I didn’t make the
standby flight. Obviously, I am still at SFO. I have literally been up 12 hours
attempting to get 300+ miles down the road.
Hating life is an
understatement.
Those Yamps tho?
#bruh #ItsGoingDownTonight
#TonightItGoesDown #InDMsFMsAMsAndPMs #ImStillHereTho #TheyGettinThisWork #YellowCardsAreTheLeastOfTheirProblems
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