Search
  • Toni Anita Hull

Not Serving Alcohol at the Airport Should Not Be a Thing


I am at the airport. I like writing in airports. I usually have a cocktail in hand, but as it’s 4:45am here in Los Angeles, that’s not possible. It is illegal to serve alcohol before 6am. Aren’t airports exempt from such rules? I saw that one movie with Tom Hanks that one time, and for some reason, that makes me feel like they can serve me a damn adult beverage. If this were Europe, I would be able to have the drink. Hell, if this were Europe, people would be strolling up to this bar here at the Rock & Brews in their club clothes. They would still be very drunk because they rolled into the club at 2am. They may be angry because they only got a few hours to party. That’s how Europeans roll. How do I roll? I’m wearing a PINK sweatshirt like a basic bitch, yoga pants, and my hair is in a bun stands erect from the top of my head.

The bartender has apologized to me about four times at this point. I must look like I need this drink. In my defense, it wasn’t like I ordered a shot of tequila. I ordered mimosa… like a lady.

Since I couldn’t drink, I’m eating. I should have probably ordered oatmeal or fruit. Not only because health, but I haven’t pooped in four days. I’m eating a breakfast croissant. I just ate all the bacon off, and I am mainly eating the fried potatoes that came with it. I am emotionally eating because the last 21 hours have been hell, which almost feels like an understatement.

I woke up at 7am to an email alerting me that I could check in for my flight at 12:59am. This had to be wrong, I was flying out Wednesday night, not tonight. American Airlines fucked up. I was sure I would see a headline reading something like, “American Airlines Causes Panic Among Passengers When System Malfunctions”. No dice. So, why was I getting this alert 48 hours in advance?

BECAUSE I BOOKED MY FLIGHT FOR THE WRONG DAY.

My brain read a 12:59am on Wednesday, 7/25 as a 12:59am on Thursday, 7/26. Panic set in for this passenger. I hadn’t done laundry and for the love of God, I needed a haircut. I swiftly pulled up aa.com, and there was option to change the flight… 6:10am. So, here I am. At Rock & Brews. Have I mentioned that they aren’t serving alcohol yet?

Post flight-fuck up panic, I was scrambling to book musician for the podcast I produce – which is recording tonight. As in Wednesday, 7/25. Trust me, I’ve never been more aware of July 25th as I am this year. Let it be known that July 25th is “Health & Happiness with Hypnosis Day”; “National Hot Fudge Sunday Day”; and the Feast of St. James, who is the patron saint of: veterinarians, equestrians, furriers, tanners, pharmacists, oysterfishing, woodcarvers. It also looks like he may have invented the pilgrim hat?

Where was I?

The musician. For the record, I am not a last-minute kind of a gal. We were supposed to record yesterday, and I had a musician. Then it got moved to Wednesday on Monday, and my musician couldn’t do Wednesday, so hence the scrambling. I had also lost all my guests, so I spent Monday scrambling to find two guests, who couldn’t do their pre-interviews until yesterday afternoon, which means I didn’t get my notes to the podcast team until 10 minutes before our call. And then, there was the call... the call to end all calls. I couldn’t form one complete thought. I sounded stupid. I sounded… unprepared. I cried after the call. And by cried, I mean I sobbed. Sadly, it was the first, last or only time I sobbed yesterday.

Post call, I went to get a pedicure. NOTE: I cannot afford a pedicure, let alone a 12-day trip. Nonetheless, I got the pedicure and am currently waiting to board for this 12-day trip.

I went to Target for bug spray because I am traveling to Iowa and Minnesota, and there are lots of mosquitoes, and mosquitoes love me. Because I’m so sweet. ICYMI: That was sarcasm.

Finally, I went home to tackle laundry. Ok – I stopped by McDonald’s for a Happy Meal. And then home.

About 45 minutes later, my timer went off to switch the laundry over. This seems like a mundane detail, but it’s the nail in my day’s coffin. As I grabbed my laundry bag and cell, I flew out the door. Halfway down the hallway, it hit me… I didn’t grab my keys.

The locksmith arrived within a half hour. He looked at the lock, and said, “It will be $80.” I sighed a sigh of relief because I had a fear it would be over $100. But then he followed with, “Then another $30 for the service call, so your total is $110. Is that ok?” He had me. Right where he wanted me. I had been sobbing, and he knew. I was standing there sweating. I had stupidly told him how stressed I was. He had me.

To top it off, as I signed for the credit card charge, it asked for a tip. I can’t not tip. I don’t know why, but if I am asked for a tip… I tip. But also, this guy could get into my apartment and knew I would be on a trip. I tipped him $15. In cast you haven’t done the math, that brings the locking out of the apartment to… drumroll please… $125. OUCH.

I spent the rest of the night sobbing while I finished my laundry. I looked at my budget, and realized just how very screwed I was. I should not be traveling. I should be working every hour of every day, and when I am not working one of my three small jobs, I need to be looking for a full-time job.

But here I am. Sitting at a bar at 4:45am, drinking a Diet Pepsi (gross) and eating a breakfast croissant. The left side of my brain is telling me that I shouldn’t be going on this trip, but the right side of the brain is telling me that life is short. I have obviously listened to the right side of my brain. I’m sure my brother wishes I had listen to the left side.

Ok. Time to board. If I post this, it means I survived. Which means, I’m a survivor.


100 views

Recent Posts

See All

My Intimate Encounter with Christ

I love Lent. I guess it is the Catholic martyr in me. I love the ashes, the fasting, the palms, and I love how you are forbidden to say “Alleluia!”. Oh, and the colors of Lent... black, purple, red...

Dirty Laundry #1: Toni Interrupted

I have this fear. This fear that someday someone will expose me for every horrible thing that I've ever done or dig up every skeleton that's in my closet. Someone will come along and say, "Toni Anita

great.

It is nearly 7am on Monday, and I cannot move. No. It’s not "the Mondays". It’s depression. I have battled anxiety and depression my entire life. I have always bitten my nails; picked at my cuticles.

© 2023 by Andi Banks. Proudly made by Wix.com