The bad news is... No drama makes my blog boring (or more accurately, non existent).
So I'm going to reminisce on an interesting situation from a layover months ago.
Some specifics may have been lost in the months since this actually happened, but thankfully I will fill them in with more exciting, more funny details. Isn't that what people do anyways?
It was actually a very pleasant trip I was on. I had a few "long" layovers (12 or more hours) in "good" cities (not Rapid City or Des Moines). This story takes place at the tail end of the trip.
Before the ass crack of dawn the day I was to eventually end up at home, my crew checked out of our hotel in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Everybody in the airline industry (and every other industry besides drug and human trafficking) knows New Orleans should probably be renamed Dirtysketchtown, or something just as icky - so, we made sure none of our crew members were missing persons and proceeded to our taxi van to go to the airport.
It was early. Like not even bed time when I was in college early. Plus, I was in the East Coast time zone, so my poor, unrested body and mind were wondering why I was making them operate at 3am. They weren't up for shenanigans. Fortunately for my blog, nobody asked them.
The taxi van driver (who was surprisingly sober and recently bathed) loaded our luggage into the back and we were piling into the van. A young man approached the vicinity of the van in an innocent manner asking to use one of our phones. From 6 or so feet away, he told us that the night before, he and his friends were partying when he was robbed and got separated from his friends. He also mentioned that he was in the military. Instinct told me that was his way of telling us he had a gun and knew how to use it... But he seemed so friendly and genuine.
I was torn. I knew the kind of city New Orleans was, so it was likely that if this gentleman had anything in his pockets at the beginning of the night, he probably didn't have it any longer. He spoke without slurring and his sentences were coherent. His body language was non-threatening. His clothes were obnoxious (Ed Hardy or Affliction or something tool-y) yet clean, and in good condition. He clearly wasn't my definition of a creep.
But I also wondered why he would approach a group of working people heading out of a hotel in the early morning while there were dozens of open businesses and a police station within 2 blocks.
I yelled to the guy (in case he was legitimately needing help and was just poor at choosing people to help him), "Go into the hotel and ask to use the phone! They're nice!"
Then I told the flight attendant who was half in the vehicle, "GET IN! GET IN AND LOCK THE DOOR! RIGHT NOW!"
She got in, shut the door, and sat there looking out the window. Young man army lunged towards the door, and some supernatural reaction came over my sleepy self and I also lunged for the door - locking it just before he got to it. A small victory for me... and a big middle finger to people trying to open locked doors everywhere.
As our taxi driver was coming around the driver side of the vehicle, he yelled something at Mr. Hardy along the lines of "Leave my customers alone, scumbag." He got in and locked his door. My heart was pumping. Both because that was more excitement than I ever experience in the morning and because I was really sad for that kid. Whatever his situation was, it sucked.
I avoided looking at him as we pulled away. Two blocks down the road I was curious if he was still standing in front of the hotel or if he had moved on to other unsuspecting victims.
This next part is going to seem made up, but I promise, this is completely literal and true:
He had been meandering slowly in our direction until he got to the corner near the hotel. At that corner he stopped and looked up and he and I made eye contact. In my head I thought, oh how awkward.
He starts running. Sprinting like a wild werewolf man. (I wouldn't be surprised if camera men from the vampire movies were there recording this - he was crazy eyed. And fast.)
Why is he doing that, we are in a car! He must be loco. He was almost hit by a taxi taking a turn and didn't even flinch (the taxi slammed on his brakes and running man kept on cruising towards us). I said, "WOAH, he almost got hit!" And everyone in the van turned around to see him trucking towards us.
(He looked kind of like this):
It was at this time that I realized we were no longer moving. I looked forward and saw that we were at a stop light. I thought my heart was beating hard before! I turn back around just in time to see him stop pumping his arms and reach down to his waist. Good Lord, I thought - he has a gun!
"Maybe we should just go!" I suggested to the taxi driver. Apparently being massacred by a lunatic was better than getting a ticket for running a red light. We stayed.
As he was within half a block of our van, he grabbed a hold of the bottom of his shirt with both hands and RIPPED IT OFF! He didn't have a gun but he wanted to show off his guns. Whether he wanted to intimidate us, swoon us or was just getting really warm from all the running, I still don't know.
(I told you it was going to sound made up. But contact anyone who was there - we all saw it.)
He didn't miss a beat - still flying towards us. I was freaking out a little on the outside and a lot on the inside - this is the longest red light I have ever been at, I thought. He obviously really wanted to get to our van. What was he going to do once he got there? Jump on it? Wrap his shirt around his fist and punch through a window? (If it was a good action movie that's what would happen.)
He ran out into the road when he was about 3 car lengths behind us. We were all staring out the back window and saw the reflection - GREEN!
It was unanimous, "GO!"
He was left in our exhaust like the cheating asshole in bad chick flick: arms outstretched (as if asking, "why?"), tired from chasing the girl (or in this case 4 women and 3 men) and shirtless.
It would've been raining in the movie.
But this isn't a movie.
This is my life.
