Frenchy's Rant

I’m not sure if it’s just a recent lucky streak, the effects of the full moon, or maybe just my weirdo magnets have been switched to high power – whatever the reason, lately I have been attracting all kinds of serious whackos. This morning before work, I took a stroll around downtown Phoenix. Even at 7:30 AM, the city was already going from hot to sweltering. After walking and sweating for a while, I decided to stop and get an iced coffee to cool down. And what could go better with iced coffee than a nice chocolate croissant? (Ahh oui! Food from the homeland!)

As I sat outside in the shade to enjoy my little breakfast, a young, rail-thin man wearing headphones and a bright red, sweat stained shirt sauntered to the street corner. He turned sideways to me, looking mostly across the street at the smartly-dressed businesspeople hurrying to their cubicles.

Then he began shouting out his tirade; “Look at all you people, making the corporations fat on your sweat while you just sit there and watch Kelly Ripa! That bitch has three of my children! You sit around all day and do nothing except you get fat! That’s how you get gastroenteritis! That’s right! Gas-tro-en-ter-i-tis! Goddammit listen to me!”

The businesspeople did their best to not listen to this angry young fellow’s admonition. He stood there for another minute as if he had more to add, but had lost his momentum. Deflated, he walked past me, then stopped and turned around. I was afraid he was going to lecture me on the hazards of ice coffee, croissants and colorectal polyps, but he simply said, “I’m sorry you had to hear all that while you’re eating, but I had to warn them.” And with that apology he walked away, no doubt to caution others about the intestinal perils of watching Live with Regis and Kelly.

Now this next part I debated leaving out, but even though it’s a bit over the top, it continued the theme too well to not write about it.

After the angry man left, I resumed breakfast. Two well groomed hipster dudes walked by, and I overheard just a portion of their conversation:

Hip Guy #1: “Are you talking about the girl that you took a shit on?”

Hip Guy #2: “Naah, this is a different girl.”

Unfortunately (or fortunately) these two clowns walked away before I could hear the rest. All I could think is what a lucky girl she must be!

My weirdo magnet must have really been maxed today!

Taking a walk outside the Tucson Arena today, I noticed a drunk looking man staggering my way. Hoping to avoid him begging for beer money, I sped up. With something clearly on his alcohol soaked mind, he changed his course to intercept me.

As he got closer, he slurred, “Ohhhh, It’s just another looooovely day here in Amaaaaaah-reeeee-caaaah!”

“Yup, sure is!” I replied, hoping this would end the conversation.

But he wasn’t finished yet. He rambled on, “You know what? Fuck Vladimir Putin! You know what that Russian asshole said about America? He said we’re worse than the Nazi’s! He did! That prick! That’s why we have nuclear bombs, for assholes like that guy!” And with that sentiment safely off his chest, he staggered away.

I hadn’t heard of Putin’s remark until just then. Not that it really matters, but it’s kind of sad to think random street drunks are more aware of foreign political affairs than I am.

Having flown a few hundred million times, I have nearly the entire ‘Pre-Flight Safety Briefing’ memorized. You know that useless spiel contrived to inform half-wits on such important subjects as the proper method of seat belt buckling (put the flat end in the metal buckle, to release, simply pull up on the metal flap, duh), where the oxygen masks will come from and what to do with them if the plane suddenly loses cabin pressure (masks will fall from the panel over head, secure your own mask before helping others) and my favorite; what to do in the ‘unlikely event of a water landing’ (you’re gonna drown sucker!)

The other day I had the misfortune of flying that Great Greyhound Bus of the skies, Southwest Airlines. The low cost fares and lottery-like seating appeal mostly to the ‘Fly-to-Vegas-drunk-and-come-home-drunker’ crowd. Most times when I fly I completely tune out the safety briefing. I know that if we crash I won’t remember a word of what they are saying anyway, so I try to do something useful before takeoff, like look over the wings for huge cracks or rust spots, or inspect the cabin for billowing smoke – because you never know if they got a bad batch of crystal meth down in the aircraft maintenance shop.

During my personal pre-flight inspection on this Southwest airplane, the safety briefing started. But it wasn’t the usual scripted crap, the in-flight leader (or whatever they call themselves these days) was putting on an improv show, and, out of the hundred million or so of these time wasters that I have endured, this one was the best so far:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I need three minutes of your attention. My ex-wife and my girlfriend are now in the aisle to help demonstrate some of the safety equipment of this aircraft. Now, don’t worry, we don’t plan to have to actually use any of this stuff today. If we did, we would have all called in sick! To fasten your seatbelt, put THIS thing in THAT thing until it clicks. Got it? Good, Y’all seem pretty bright. I knew you would. Moving on. Please note that there are six emergency exits on this aircraft. If we have to use them, just listen for my voice outside, because I will be the first one out of the plane, along with the film crew. In the unlikely event of a water landing, a HIGHLY unlikely event considering we are flying from Texas to California, we’ll all know that our pilot got lost. Grab your seat cushion, and once you’ve stopped screaming, make your way to the nearest usable exit, realizing that it may end up above you. In the unlikely event of the plane losing cabin pressure, party masks will fall from the sky. Since we are heading to California, and we all know that in California ‘It’s all about me’ put your own mask on first. If you are traveling with a child, and you feel that child shows promise, then help that child with the party mask after securing your own. One more thing. Don’t smoke on this plane. There is a smoke detector in the lavatory. Don’t break it. If you do, you’ll get a federally mandated $2000 fine. And we all know that if you had that kind of money to throw away, you’d be flying Delta or American Airlines, not Southwest. Now my lovely assistants will walk up and down the aisle one more time to show you their armpits before we go. Thanks for your attention.”

Abi, Fiona and I went on a little motorcycle ride last weekend, heading south to enjoy some of the lesser traveled roads of the region. Among other things, we attended my first ever Padres game at Petco Park in San Diego. After the game was over, we wanted a picture to commemorate the occasion (I just wanted proof I was there, since I don’t really consider myself a baseball fan.)

We asked an usher to take our picture, here is the result of his effort:

Not bad, but this picture could be anywhere. It doesn’t prove I suffered through an entire baseball game. Actually, to be honest other than beers costing $8.50 each, it wasn’t that bad.

That’s right. $8.50! For ONE beer!! Obscene, isn’t it?

One thing is for sure. If all beers cost $8.50, I’d be a HELL of a lot thinner – and richer for that matter!

Anyway, the first group picture was a little too generic, we wanted something that showed where we were, like maybe the Petco Park sign in the background. We asked an older, sober gentleman if he’d mind helping us out. He hesitated, saying, “Uhh, I’m really not good at taking pictures.” At the urging of his wife, he reluctantly agreed, grabbing the camera then saying, “OK. Line up right here.”

He proceeded to fumble a bit with the camera, finally figured it out, pointed it at us, counted to three and snapped this picture:

Well, he ALMOST got a good shot. But still, it could be better, right?

Finally we stopped a guy with tattoos that looked like sleeves covering his arms. I wasn’t sure if this guy would take a photo or just take off with the camera, but we asked him to take the picture anyway. It seemed as though this guy might have spent his entire paycheck on Petco Park beer, so I rationalized that if he did take off, he couldn’t have stumbled too far. He pointed the camera at us, slurred something unintelligible, then snapped this shot:

He then returned the camera and staggered off into a nearby wall, but the picture proves once and for all that beer, even ridiculously overpriced beer makes everything better.