Well, friends...Sit back and let me tell you this months crazy story from LA. It involves a beautiful young flight attendant on the eve of her return to work after an amazing three day santa monica layover. After three days of perfect relaxation and shopping therapy I must say that she did look pretty fine with her bouncy hair and well rested skin. But maybe, just maybe, this attention to detail was the seed of her decline. Because, gentle reader, this is a story of woe. Woe I Tell you!
Sorry about that. Jet lag can really kill a girl! But on with the story...
Okay, I am waiting in a random hotel lobby for some tom, dick or Marvin to show up in a van and whisk me away on the 1.5 hr journey from Santa Monica to Riverside so I can start work. I am joining a crew so the rest of those crazies I am to fly with are already in Riverside.
UP pulls Marvin (I like Marvin better than Tom or Dick, don"T you?) to the front door to load my bags into the van. And upon spotting me he calls out loudly across a foyer "Is that your real color? Or you got some fake tan on." As far as I know this is not the standard greeting but maybe I missed that memo. I just get in and buckle up.
As the van pulls away from the hotel I immediately call my boyfriend, as I am soon to leave the country for a week or more and something about that makes him a little squirrelly sometimes. It serves a dual purpose as I am trying out a new thing out on him. The technique consists of annoying him so much on the phone that he will come to view my leaving as a reprieve rather than an annoyance. Very mature, I know. You should try it. It's almost Pavlovian.
After about a half hour of this Marvin (remember that van driver) starts to cackle oddly and suddenly shouts out "Do you ever get scared alone in vans with strange drivers? I bet that you don't even know where you are. I could bring you anywhere and you couldn't stop me." He punctuates this with more cackling and an audible fart. This is where I say good night to Ross as I a want to have my phone free to dial 911.
He right. I never checked his ID. I don't know the plate number and I have no idea where the hell I am. This Sucks!
This is where traffic clears up a bit and Marvin turns into a speed racer. He driving approximately 3000 miles an hour and dodging around semis and other motorists with a meth like fearlessness that is altogether far too frightening. He obviously senses my fear as he calls out "Don't be scared! I drive like this all the time and I ain't gotten a moving violation yet. And I ain't gettin one today!"
At this I immediately start to wonder to what lengths he would go to avoid getting that elusive moving violation. Does this freak show have a gun under his seat? This is LA.
I'm pretty sure that I am going to die, in any event. He is either going to kill me with his driving or cut me up into little pieces and feed me to his dogs.
Surprisingly enough I did finally arrive at my intended location in one piece (versus the many I had feared). And so I am here to tell you the crazy LA story of the month.