Who's Airline Is It Anyway?!

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.

But, sometimes adulting doesn’t always coincide with friends and shenanigans. So it just happened that this trip fell on a YAMP event. What’s a YAMP? Well, it’s not the Tupac description, if that’s where your mind went to. Let’s just say we reclaimed the nearest hoodrat word to describe the hoodrat things we do with each other because we’re friends. And, well, friends leave friends when they have to be adults, but you pay the price. YOU. PAY. WHAT. YOU. OWE. LILLY.

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 9^th 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/

…before I try to make it to Los Angeles on standby.

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

It. Is. Finished. #ISaidWhatISaid #NoKapNoNFL

Had I known that Superbowl LI (51) was going to be the last football game I watched, I would have spent the day watching that (because, superbowl party) and  also replaying the Cowboys win over the 40-whiners at Levi Stadium. I was in the stands that day, in the sea of blue fans making waves over the red and gold. Because, America’s Team. I would have enjoyed that game in HD. I would have also really enjoyed seeing Colin Kaepernick kneel in HD too. Because poetic justice is more than just a movie.

I survived an entire football season, without watching a single game. I know that there are those of you who probably believe I capitalized on those “accidental” views. You know, walking into a restaurant, and looking towards the bar seeing the game on. Visiting a friend on football day (basically, Sunday – Monday – Thursday), as they are glued to the surround sound and replays. Watching some of my favorite sports shows (Highly Questionable, Around the Horn, Pardon the Interruption) and getting that itch to just click over to the game, just for a few minutes, because I just want to confirm who I agree with, even though I usually agree with Bomani anyway. But, confirmation.

None of it. I did not exploit not one of those instances or any others. I actually walked right out of some of the restaurants and friend’s homes. I said what I said. No Kap. No NFL. Nope. 

My life was football from August to January. Sure football went into February, but by January, I was winding down and accepting that I would have to wait another six months to live again. I had to accept some ugly truths (also a movie) about myself:

1. Football is my only hobby from August to January. Sure, I do things, but it’s scheduled around football season. And, if I have something planned with you and someone invites me to something football related, I may or may not remember to inform you that I am no longer coming. You’re probably texting me asking if I am on the way as I’m raising a glass of beer that NaShaun/KRD is nowhere to finish – so I’m texting him/them about the beer. Not you.  

2. I’m super sociable because I can open conversations with football. Did you see the game? Are you going to the game? Who did you put into the game #FantasyFootball? Without football, I have nothing to contribute to a conversation. What is there to talk about in the world besides football?  

3. People who go to Superbowl Parties just for the food, ‘fun’, and commercials are awful people. It’s like bringing a bottle of wine to a baby shower and all the other attendees are pregnant. Like, why are you even here? Nobody is interested in what you have (well, interested maybe) but that’s not what this party is all about. The most interesting thing here is the game, not why you don’t watch football. Who sent you?

I have loved football my whole life, just like the Pearson kids. It was Daddie’s thing that became my thing, then this beautiful thing we shared. We could sit for hours watching games. Then watching commentators talk about the games. And critiquing everything because we know more than every NFL referee, ever. Without ever being trained, we are literally always right.

I didn’t wear a single NFL related shirt in my collection. Even packed away the Cowboy earbuds from Alicia MaKeykey – a surprise birthday present from an admitted Giants fan. I will never understand how we make it work. Hell, we talked trash this football season and I hadn’t watched a single game. I kept the Cowboy flip flops in the rotation because I refuse to protest comfort, they were a gift from my Naija sister-friend, and this pedicure is gonna get these stars because Lord knows I need it. All the rest of it though, new shirts from the Dallas Pro Shop and a never worn necklace, all of it packed away in a plastic tub, in the closet.

I had to dig into the back of the closet for this Superbowl weekend, because some friends have 2 – for – 1 events that include birthday parties. As much as I knew I would actively avoid the game, I didn’t want to be a complete distraction. I wanted to be able to hide in plain sight, like the Assassins. For people to be able to say they saw me, when in reality, I had been in a corner with my purple journal and green pen, writing to save my life.

When I got dressed though, I forgot I even had it packed. I wore an army green “Nah.” shirt, a present day interpretation of Rosa Park’s fateful protest because she was sick of Jim Crow’s sh!t. Without intentionally trying, I stood out like a sore thumb. Are you watching the game? Nah. I haven’t watched any football this season. Before I even realized what I was saying, I was saying it with my chest. I will refresh your drink. Help you use this bougie ass refrigerator in Pop’s house. I will wash these dishes because I don’t want to do it later. And, I’m gonna be one of those awful people who come to Superbowl parties for the birthday and the commercials. Then I am going to go upstairs, because heeeyyyy, First Wives Club is on! Why do I love this movie? I don’t know why, but I do.

A friend told me that she was proud and inspired that I was able to ‘fast from football’ as I did. She did not know anyone in her life who loved football as much as I, that was able to completely give it up. And all the other things. I didn’t just fast from football, I fasted from football related things. All of my sports shows. Many of the Happy Hour places, where everybody knew I wasn’t gonna drink all of the beer. My schedule, no matter how busy work made me, I never missed an appointment.

Sunday – Jesus & Football, all day.

Monday – Happy Hour and MNF.

Tuesday – Sports Shows and Fantasy Football.

Wednesday – Sports Shows and Fantasy Football.

Thursday – Happy Hour and TNF.

Friday – College Football.

Saturday – College Football.

…because there is enough football to do it every day. But when you have a strong moral code like mine (she says) you will fill your days with other things than, let’s say, our morally ambiguous friend (most Giants fans totes are) at the table that night. Then she asked the question that everyone is asking us protesters, are you going to watch next season? What if Kaepernick gets a job in the NFL? Are you waiting for that?

kaepernick7.com/million-dollar-pledge/

Answer: It’s past whether or not Kaepernick gets a job. He did what he was supposed to do. He made us think about the state of the football union and decide for ourselves, just like he will decide for himself. Football seems to be the thing Kaepernick is passionate about. Just like my being petty. If he wants to play football and goes back, I hope he makes it to Canton one day. I will definitely watch that Hall of Fame speech.

For me and my house? (this is still just me) I don’t know. I still have my football allies and antagonists. I am a Cowboy fan because I am from the republic of Texas and am fiercely loyal, but not loyal enough to side with Jerry Jones. He has race issues he needs checked. I am glad that the Patriots lost, but I am not happy that the Eagles won. And dammit, why did the Giants have to make that dirty dancing commercial? Now I can’t have the time of my life anymore. See how they ruin everything?!?! The NFC East is just too big a burden to carry, saints.

The problem? There is no untelling (that’s a book). I have sight beyond sight now (that’s a cartoon). Whether or not Kaepernick makes his mark in the NFL, I have planted my knee in the gridiron already. Like I said before, I always knew the NFL was problematic. I mean, even if you didn’t know, you have to wonder why there are so many Cowboy fans for summa'yall to hate all over the world? Sure, there are bandwagons, but it’s more than that. If you dig deep into the intersections of race and professional athletics, you’ll find the Dodgers there and a whole host of other skeletons too. The NFL is not going to change.

I changed though. Literally took six months to do it, but the job is done. I just wish that damn Patriots vs. Falcons game wasn’t my last view of something I loved so much. All of the amazing games I have seen in my lifetime, and I am left with “Eh…”

But that’s the way of those things we loved so much, isn’t it? We knowth not the day, or the time. We aren’t ready. But we figure it out eventually.

Seeing that people are talking about a baseball strike, my strong moral code is shaky. Life is still asking too much of me. If I have to one day give up basketball, make sure my room in Arkham is padded.

Please.