by Joe Thomas
I waited a few minutes, looked back and forth at Kirby and Abbie, and then my temper got the best of me, “Let’s go! I need a drink,” I made sure he heard me.
Dick pilots don’t care about anyone but themselves. They especially don’t care that the flight attendants patiently waiting in the van have spent their entire day serving hundreds of passengers sodas, cups of black coffee, and nuts in a pressurized tube. All we want is to leave the airport as quickly as possible; not wait for some obese pilot to finish his cigarette. An obese pilot who couldn’t master the simple task of tucking his fucking shirt into his pants. It was at that moment I knew I would not be joining the Jimbo fan club. The three of us sat patiently in the van watching him hungrily puff on his cigarette until he finally threw the remains of the butt on the ground and squashed it with his heavy foot. Puffing the smoke into the air he shuffled his bags over to the young van driver—who had been waiting in the back of the van with the door open—and wobbled to the van door and boarded with the rest of us.
He climbed in (literally), plopped his ass down in a seat, and made no attempt at closing the door. He sat there catching his breath from walking five feet and climbing one step into the van. I was in the last row as far away as possible. I wanted to sit on the luggage in the back of the van but it wasn’t an option. The sweat dripped off his brow like a draining faucet forcing him to push his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose every few seconds. It was sad. The driver walked around and slid the door with a force that made us all jump. When Jimbo jumped I thought the van shifted gears. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and wiped his forehead, “Sorry guys, but I smoke.”
No shit. From his one cigarette the entire van smelled like the set of Mad Men.
With his messy hair, neck waddle, and beer belly, Jimbo was repulsive. I couldn’t imagine any human being finding him attractive but the wedding ring on his finger begged to differ. Someone found him charming enough to marry and occasionally fuck because he boasted a few times about his kids. People like him reproducing proves there’s no hope for humanity. The idea that some poor woman had to climb under him while he penetrated her had my stomach in knots and wishing I could reach the Pepto Bismol in my tote bag. I only hoped that she was usually on top, at least if not for comfort, for the sake of her poor squishy uterus.
While he continued to ramble on about who-knows-what the three of us kept our faces down and tapped away at our cell phones while passing the SuperDome. I secretly wished bad things on Abbie for inviting him out with us. Nothing too life threatening, just that her hair turn grayer or that the next time she had sex the guy had a micro penis. You know, shit that matters. My desire to push him out of the van increased every time he spoke. While he continued rambling, I wanted to stuff the pack of cigarettes in his front shirt pocket down his throat.
I texted Abbie: “I can’t believe you invited him to come with us.”
She looked back at me and frowned. Any lie she told him would have worked: we had headaches, we had horrible corns on the bottom of our feet, we had our periods and were bleeding out all over our jumpseats; anything was better than putting up with him for the night. I would have gone so far as to sacrifice any chances of witnessing Kirby naked with my own eyes. Anything.
The van pulled up to our hotel and we all filed out after Jimbo. He took forever to slide the door open with his ham hock arm. Kirby followed next, then Abbie, and I took up the rear. I grabbed my bags and started towards the hotel lobby to check in.
Jimbo pulled his bags to the side of the building and already had another cigarette hanging out of his mouth,, “Leave my key at the desk. I’m grabbing a quick smoke.”
“Of course you are.” I responded and pushed open the door and entered the hotel. Kirby and Abbie followed behind me.
The front desk clerk smiled, “Good Evening. Flight number?”
“456,” I answered placing my hands on the counter.
She had three plastic key cards in one hand and a solo card in the other, “I have three rooms on the seventh floor and one on the ninth floor.” We snatched the three keys on the seventh floor right out of her hand. Jimbo was still outside as we walked to the elevator. Kirby tried spotting him through the glass window, “Can you see him out there?” Abbie and I didn’t say a word. We weren’t looking, “I’ll just text him and let him know the plans.”
Did he really have to text him? I thought that was unnecessary. I had hoped the reason we couldn’t see him standing outside was because he had already been mugged and left for dead.
Alright—just wounded. I’m not a monster.
Abbie asked, “What are the plans? What are we doing?”
I pushed for the elevator, “Let’s meet down here in 15 minutes and then we’ll decide.”
“Sounds good,” Kirby answered, “I need some food.”
Abbie was giddy with excitement, “I am up for anything.”
Was she up for a slap across the tits for inviting Jimbo? I wanted to ask her but I decided to leave that one in the back of my mind. My room was closest to the elevator and Kirby was right next door. I prayed for adjoining rooms—just in case—but as I walked in my room, instead of a friendly adjoining door, there was only a bare white wall. I parked my suitcase against the mirror and the moment my eyes made contact with the bed I had the desire to sleep. It happens often when I get to the hotel. I needed a recharge and because coffee wasn’t an option, a shower would do. The shower would decide my fate of either waking up or just calling it a night. If that happened, I’d let Abbie know I was staying in for the night and if she found herself on the receiving end of a pilot bukkake, she could thank me in the morning. Well, thank me for Kirby. I’d expect her to throw up if Jimbo squirted his cigarette juice all over her.
The shower was a success and felt like a shot of B12. I changed into my favorite blue t-shirt, blue baseball hat, and khaki shorts. I snapped a selfie in the mirror, posted it on Facebook, and then let the door slam behind me as I walked towards the elevator.
The three of them each occupied one of the overstuffed chairs in the hotel lobby and I was disappointed that Jimbo was still alive. Did I say alive? I meant not on his way to the emergency room for stitches. I forced a smile on my face and approached them. I didn’t want to ruin Abbie’s layover with my shitty attitude.
“Took you long enough. I thought you’d be down here first,” Kirby jokingly said.
I smirked, “Needed to wash all the dirty airplane off me. Are we ready?” Without another word we stepped through the revolving hotel lobby door onto the uneven sidewalks of New Orleans.
All four of us had different ideas of how we wanted to spend our New Orleans layover. I shouldn’t have been surprised. We walked one block from the hotel when Kirby spoke up, “I wanna grab some food and play pool.”
Abbie joined in, “I hear there’s a great live jazz bar in the French Quarter.”
“I don’t know if I wanna do that.” I answered. She gave me a look but I gave it right back. I refused to back down especially when it was her fault that Jimbo was trailing behind us dragging his cellulitis legs. I added, “I just want some drinks and dance music.”
“What you wanna do, man?” Kirby asked Jimbo who tracked behind us like an chain smoking elephant.
I was convinced the only thing Jimbo wanted to do was eat, smoke cigarettes, and annoy the fuck out of me. I came to that conclusion because he was still hanging with us and not in his room attaching his sleep apnea machine to his snout and going to sleep. Abbie continued clammering on about the live jazz band but I was distracted by the thought of running Jimbo over with massive farm equipment.
Jimbo put his cigarette out and caught up with us, we had to stop so he could catch up. I despised him. “There’s a pool hall around the corner. The food is pretty good.”
It was settled. As long as I had a gin and tonic in my hand in the next 10 minutes I didn’t care. We entered the dark sports bar and it looked like they were about to close, and I don’t mean
for the night… forever. It reminded me of a bad vampire horror movie where the doors get locked and the hungry vampires feed on the drunk victims for the night. I would instinctively push Jimbo in front of us so the three of us had time to escape. I was pretty sure their entire coven could feast on him for a few days. I followed Kirby to the bar so we could order drinks. I’d be ready at the first sign of fangs. Kirby asked, “Do you have a food menu?”
“Sorry man. The kitchen closed fifteen minutes ago. Can I get you some drinks?”
Fuck. Now I would have to manage through Jimbo on an empty stomach.
“That sucks,” Jimbo added with his cell phone in hand, “They have the best food here.”
“Doesn’t help us if the kitchen is closed.” I spit out. It didn’t phase him.
Jimbo asked Abbie to order him a drink and then he vanished outside for another cigarette. The time was well past 11 p.m. and after ordering our drinks Kirby moved the party over to one of the open pool tables draped by a wall of televisions.
“Who wants to play me?” Kirby asked grabbing a pool stick and sliding it up and down in the palm of his hand. I almost dropped my gin and tonic on the ground but composed myself so that I didn’t make a scene. I was open for playing him until it was time to go back to the airport.
“I’ll go first,” Abbie giggled while taking a sip of her drink and placing it down on the round bar table. She laughed for no reason which made her more like a prepubescent teen than an older experienced woman. It was cute.
“Joe can play the winner.” Kirby said as he entered the quarters into the slots on the table and released the balls. He moved to the end of the table and bent over while racking them up. I could hardly contain the drink in my glass from the excitement of him bent over. Thankfully, I don’t spill alcohol unless it’s going down my throat. I looked over at Abbie while we both took sips of our drinks and I mouthed, “Oh my god.” We erupted into laughter and I was glad Kirby was intensely focused on making sure the balls were as straight as possible.
“Sounds good to me.” I scooted myself up on one of the bar stools while he walked around the table and set up for his shot. His right bicep flexed as he moved his arm back and forth preparing to strike the cue ball with his long stick. Those balls placed perfectly together at the end of the pool table weren’t the only ones looking for attention. The two in my shorts were about to burst and dribble down the side of my leg. When his long stick finally made contact with the cue ball and exploded into the awaiting balls at the end of the table, I shuddered. I sighed loudly. Abbie looked towards me and I grinned. From the way she glanced over I figured my pants weren’t the only ones reacting to Kirby’s fine ass. She probably needed a wet vac. And Kirby was right, he won before the game even started. She barely had a chance to play before he sunk the eight ball deep into the side pocket.
“You’re up, Joe,” He said pulling quarters out of his pocket and walking over to release the balls again. Jimbo had come back inside the bar from polluting the air outside. As he sat next to me at the bar table, I scooted over. In all fairness, he had just purchased a round of drinks so I was cutting him some slack even though my first instinct was to banish him to the other side of the bar. The side where I was certain the vampires would emerge from once they smelled his stench.
The four of us were double fisting and drinking like it was the end of the world. It might as well have been seeing the bar was officially closing in 20 minutes. We drank like we had just spent the last month on a deserted island. There wasn’t a time that we didn’t have two drinks at our disposal. One in our hand while the other one sat patiently awaiting our throats an arms length away. Kirby and I slapped pool balls around like professionals while Abbie talked to Jimbo about god-knows-what. I could have cared less. Maybe she was telling him that he was a fat fuck who should join Weight Watchers. I doubt it. She was too nice for that.
While we played pool, the Stanley Cup echoed from the televisions surrounding the bar. The Boston Bruins were hitting the ice against the Chicago Blackhawks and Kirby was fully invested in the game. He occasionally yelled at the television but for what team, I couldn’t tell you. I really didn’t care. I was fully invested in his arms and my gin and tonics. He beat me landing the eight ball into the side pocket again, all while barely paying attention.
I looked at Jimbo, “Are you gonna play?”
“Nah. Hey, let’s go to Bourbon Street. I know this great piano bar we should check out.”
We drank our drinks in quick gulps, ordered one more round for the road, and waved goodbye to the bartender. He was happy to see us go. Half a second after stepping outside, Jimbo lit up another cigarette. The way this dude smoked you’d think he carried a carton of Marlboro in his back pocket. My mind wandered to the image of him deeply inhaling the cigarette filter allowing the nicotine smoke to quickly surround his sizeable lungs while crushing his enlarged heart. It made me smile. On the other hand—my nicer hand—watching his attempts at keeping up with us in the muggy air made me almost pity him. Almost. If a stranger happened upon him they’d probably ask him why he’d been swimming with his clothes on. He was soaked from sweat and we hadn’t walked a block. He struggled to walk down the sidewalk but held onto his cigarette like a fucking crutch. I even complained to Abbie about how loud he breathed. He sounded like a pack of wild boars running through the Everglades.
We turned onto the street that lead back to our hotel and Kirby paused for a moment, “Alright guys, I’m heading back to the hotel. Have a good night.”
“What?” I stopped walking and stared at him, “You can’t leave us.” I sounded like a young child watching his dad go out for milk, destined to never return.
“Sorry, man. I’ve been awake since four this morning. I’m beat.”
My puppy dog eyes did nothing for the straight first officer. He said his goodnights and disappeared down the street walking towards the hotel. My heart was broken for the night.
The humidity was disgusting. Every inch of me was screaming for ice water but there was none to be found. The only thing to refresh my thirst was the gin and tonic I held in my hand. To give my mouth a burst I’d occasionally suck on an ice cube before taking another sip of my drink. We followed Jimbo towards Canal Street and listened to his spiel about how we were about to experience the best piano bar in the world. Piano bars are not my thing. I find sitting in a piano bar surrounded by geriatric patrons to bring back memories of nursing school. A time I’d rather forget. Jimbo wasn’t my thing either but here I was walking side by side with him and Abbie sipping my drink and agreeing with everything that came sputtering out of his mouth.
I had been daydreaming about Kirby as the three of us turned right onto Poydras Street. Now, I don’t know if it was the humidity, alcohol, or nicotine overdose—or the fact that Kirby had abandoned us—but the moment we turned the corner Jimbo let his true self shine, “Obama is ruining this country. Destroying America. That’s what he’s doing.”
It snapped me out of my Kirby fantasy and landed me smack dab in a nightmare on Poydras Street. How did we even get on the topic of Obama? I had no idea. While he continued his verbal assault on our 44th president, I racked my brain trying to remember how the conversation went from the piano bar to the president. How many drinks had I consumed? Was it enough to black out while walking down the street? Apparently it was. I looked over at Abbie while she worked on her best impression of acting like she gave a fuck what he had to say. I cleared my mind and started focusing on everything he was saying. Abbie walked between us as we made our way down the sidewalk. Jimbo finally let his guard down and I smiled knowing I had been right about him from the first moment I met his lard ass on the fucking jet bridge. We finally saw him for his true colors, I just didn’t expect those colors to be such a nasty shade of bigot.
His anger went beyond the president, “What’s this bullshit about gay pride month? Why do the gays get a month? The blacks get a month. The gays get a month. When is it straight guy month?
”
Abbie turned to make eye contact with me and immediately saw the fury in my eyes. My blue eyes were red. My blood turned into the fuel that set off Delta rockets. I turned a shade of crimson that made a Red Delicious apple look pale. True, I couldn’t actually see my face catching fire, but I could feel the heat rise from my pinky toe all the way to the tip of my bald head. I’m surprised my hat didn’t combust.
I couldn’t hold it in any longer and stopped walking, “Every month is straight guy month. Are you fucking kidding me?” I wiped the spit from my the side of my mouth. They both stopped two steps ahead of me. The entire world was outlined in red outrage. My brain was conjuring up words faster than my lips could get them out. I took a quick sip from my plastic cup and started walking again.
“Well you know what I mean, right?” Actually I didn’t. “Everyone gets a month to parade around their flags, their pride, and all that shit. It’s ridiculous.”
I decided to keep my mouth shut. Any further interactions with Jimbo would land me in jail and terminated from my job. I focused on walking while counting my steps, coming up with a game plan on getting out of the situation. There was no way in hell I’d spend another moment with this douche bag. Like a bad date, I had to get out quick.
When I was single, and on a horrific date, I’d excuse myself to the restroom moments after arriving at the restaurant. It was there that I sneaked into the stall, called my friend Peggy, and whispered into my cell phone, “This guy is a troll. I can’t be on this date. Call me in 30 minutes so I can get out of this.”