The Eighth Page

Features Faceoff: Cheatham

If I had to imagine hell on earth, I would start by picturing the father and disgruntled son you see arguing at gate 7 in Logan Airport. Hell could also be the hour and a half you spend waiting in line at the ticket counter. No matter what it is at the airport, my experience waiting for my flight always turns out to negative. This is because airports get you by the man parts. There’s no way of traveling quickly over 600 miles from Cleveland to Boston without using an airplane and there’s no way of traveling happy either. It’s a catch 22. You see, airports are aggravating from the moment you enter until the moment you leave. I lose my mind when somebody takes thirty minutes trying to work the computers. These people are stupid. Somehow and someway, they manage to get confused at one of the instructions. Then, once you get to counter, the clerk says that your bag is overweight and they charge you $50. This is why I don’t feel guilty stealing Playboys and Hustlers from the magazine stands. Now that you have some quality reading material, you sit down in the crowded lobby while you wait for your plane to arrive. The people you meet in the lobby bother me the most. There is the discontented son; who at 15 years of age, gets a visit from Aunt Flow. These kids argue with their moms or dads about the smallest things. They argue and argue, until finally, the little wuss starts crying. You try not to laugh but the kid in front of you is perhaps the biggest pansy you will ever meet. My advice: walk away. Getting into a fight at the airport is a hassle, especially if your black and the security guards decide to use violent force. If you are white, you kick the kid and then have to face the dad. Since I’ve never gotten to this point in the said situation, I can give my white brethren no further advice. Sorry David and Fatty. When the plane arrives an hour late, which it will undoubtedly do, you are greeted to your seat by some fat dumbass, who thought that seat 30C was 15D. If the guy gets up, which probably isn’t a good idea anyway, you get lulled into a false sense of relief. You try to sleep, but NO! There is a baby behind you. He is crying and has crapped all over his diaper. Disgusting, I know. The woman next to you isn’t any better. She wants to read so she turns the light on. No she doesn’t. She really wants to learn more about you and which college you’re going to attend or what your high school is like or what song you’re listening to on your ipod. I respond simply, saying that I am addicted to crack and dropped out of school a year ago. I guess she just thinks that this is normal for black youths, because she doesn’t express any sign of surprise. God forbid you have to ask this lady to use the bathroom. Not because she’s old and slow, but because the people in the aisle will guilt you into not leaving your seat. I’ll admit that it’s a pain to scrunch up my legs to clear the aisle, but sometimes nature calls. Hey, it happens! Getting out of the aisle is a test of will. The real test, however, is actually using the bathroom. You can’t stand still! This is my argument in a pending trial against airtran regarding a broken light in their plane’s lavatory. I refuse to pay to fix a light that I broke when I was thrust back by the plane’s force while I was trying to wash my hands. Here I was recovering from a head injury and they gave me a subpoena! Again, another reason why I don’t regret stealing from the magazine stands. Least but not least, what’s the deal with the airline food anyway?