You Must Run in Airports. (AKA. Whisky Helps Everything)

(The story of 36 hours spent trying to see Noel Gallagher perform in Indianapolis.)

I live in Dallas.  It’s a nice city.  It’s a great city.  (Fuck you, Houston.)  However, every great once in a while, Dallas gets the shittiest weather that you can possibly imagine.  And last week, we got beat to hell.

Yeah, bad.

The problem with storms is that they also wreck havoc on flights.  I had booked myself a flight to Louisville, KY (whisky) in order to meet up with my cousin and head to Indianapolis to see Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.  I’ve always been an unashamed Oasis fan; but there has always been some sort of natural disaster, freak of nature, or act of god that prevented me from seeing this band… for, oh, the last 15 years.  That’s bad luck.  Noel’s the better of the two, so I naturally wanted to see him.  (I’m sure I would have had no problem catching Beady Eye…)

All flights in/out of DFW were put on hold due to the storm.  My flight was leaving at 6:34 am the next day.  Everyone was telling me that my flight was going to get bumped or blah, blah, blah.  Naturally, I was a bit concerned that my flight was going to be delayed, which means, I would miss the show that night.  So, I woke up early.  I packed my shit, and I headed out the door at 4 am.  Plenty of time to get there.  I took the Tollway to get there faster.  I paid the fucking $19 a day to park right by the terminal, and I left my steel cod-piece at the house so it wouldn’t slow me down through security.  Everything went smoothly through security and I was starting to feel better and better about the day.  I got myself a smoothie (lame) and a banana and parked my ass in one of those seats at the gate and waited for my flight.

I was sandwiched between a lady with a bum leg and a big ass trench coat and this 49 (just turned – Happy Birthday!) year old woman from Hillsboro, TX.  She was nice and attractive; she told me all about her sons and how proud of them she was; and how she was wanting to get to New York because it just seemed like something that she should get done before she turned 50.  She was interesting and alive.  Ms. Wolfe.  It was an engaging conversation, keeping me from silencing her with my earbuds.  We walked off the plane together at Houston (plane switch!) and we shook hands.  Like good travelers, we wished each other a good journey, I slapped in my earbuds, cranked it up and walked away as cool as I could.

I ate.  I drank three Jamesons at Bush (airport), waiting on my next flight to Louisville.  That flight sucked.  The guy that I was supposed sit next to had a baby that was maybe 2 months old.  Cry. Shit. Cry. Shit.  I moved, popped in more music, wrote some, and drank some Jack Daniels.

Coming into Louisville, I popped in a cigarette, walked through the airport as fast as I could, got outside, met my cousin and went to the Irish pub for lunch.  And I had some more Jameson.  Then he went back to work for a bit while I drank Miller High Life (Champagne of Beers, dammit!) and watched Elizabethtown.  It seemed right, I was in Louisville, after all.

It was a nice afternoon.  I relaxed, and when Brad got home, we drank some more, packed up and started to head to Indy to see Noel.  We stopped for a pick-me-up and some Combos.  The cashier hit on me, he was a good Christian boy…

And then we were there.  Just in time.  Curtain drawing back as we walked in the door.  And the sun set.  And the sun rose.  It was amazing.  I can’t even begin to describe.  I would post some video I took, but all you hear is my screaming lyric after lyric as loudly as I can. (Whisky.)  It’s not even worth trying to explain.

This might be as close as I can get you.

The rest was a blur.  The ride home.  The next morning.  The next few whiskys… I ended up on a plane, I landed in Houston.  I got on another plane, before I even started to pay attention again.  Someone was in my fucking seat.  I saw it from midway down the aisle.

I sat down next to this person and said, “I guess I’ll let you sit in my seat.”

“Excuse me?”


And then she just kept talking, so I didn’t shut up either.  And we drank and we were merry and loud the whole flight, probably alerting some sort of flight marshal or something…  Her flight was a short period of time from landing in Dallas, so in the spirit of drunkenness, we ran together, carelessly and probably not saving any time to get to her next gate.

It was delayed.  We drank until they called her name on the intercom.

Cheers, Henna.

{HEYHEYHEY! Support those people that got fucked by the tornado.  Dallas Chapter American Red Cross – Donate Here.}