My 100th post (Ways you know you're not in Gillette anymore)
DENVER -- Ahhhhhhhhhh... The fresh smell of jet fuel.
I step on to the tarmac at Denver International Airport and into the balmy night casting its clear splendor over the Mile High City and thank God I'm alive.
It had been a bit of a harrowing roller coaster descent in one of Great Lakes Airlines' puddle jumpers, the one equipped with bathrooms so small that I felt like I was channeling Chris Farley in Tommy Boy when I went to take a leak. It should have been fun. A plane one-third full with a stewardess of platinum blond hair who has just enough of an edge to let you know that you're not to mess with her. No, not under any circumstances. A plane going from such a small town to one destination at such a steep price is like a country club in the sky. Only the elite are allowed. For a day, I was part of the elite.
Then I got to DIA, with its white cones built as an ode to the Rockies seen westward. Man was I put in my place. Everywhere I looked, money, glamour, people. My small pond had disappeared and been replaced by a Great (western) Lake of humanity with whom I had to compete. Hence is the transistion from small town to big city. You lose perspective, forget what's out there and then have your jaw drop and crack with a pain that hums from your feet to your head. "Small potatoes," I thought. "That's all I am, small potatoes."
I walk from the plane, pick up my bag and into the commuter flight door, held by a woman that had a bored smile on her face welcoming us to this magnificent metropolis that would be my home for the next 36 hours. Up an escalator I went -- there are no such things in Gillette. Then to the walkway. I'd forgotten how to use them and nearly fell down on my first step. It was miserable. A train, another escalator and a couple deer-in-headlights moments later, I was facing a Panda Express buffet line. The server smiled, "What would you like sir?" I'll take the egg roll. And some water. Food in hand I waltzed out down another escalator and past a couple making out, toungues flying and heavy petting working its way to a crescendo.
"You're a winner," I heard the lady squeal with the delight that only horniness could bring to someones lips.
I looked back and she disappeared into the men's bathroom. I definitely was not in Gillette anymore.
I step on to the tarmac at Denver International Airport and into the balmy night casting its clear splendor over the Mile High City and thank God I'm alive.
It had been a bit of a harrowing roller coaster descent in one of Great Lakes Airlines' puddle jumpers, the one equipped with bathrooms so small that I felt like I was channeling Chris Farley in Tommy Boy when I went to take a leak. It should have been fun. A plane one-third full with a stewardess of platinum blond hair who has just enough of an edge to let you know that you're not to mess with her. No, not under any circumstances. A plane going from such a small town to one destination at such a steep price is like a country club in the sky. Only the elite are allowed. For a day, I was part of the elite.
Then I got to DIA, with its white cones built as an ode to the Rockies seen westward. Man was I put in my place. Everywhere I looked, money, glamour, people. My small pond had disappeared and been replaced by a Great (western) Lake of humanity with whom I had to compete. Hence is the transistion from small town to big city. You lose perspective, forget what's out there and then have your jaw drop and crack with a pain that hums from your feet to your head. "Small potatoes," I thought. "That's all I am, small potatoes."
I walk from the plane, pick up my bag and into the commuter flight door, held by a woman that had a bored smile on her face welcoming us to this magnificent metropolis that would be my home for the next 36 hours. Up an escalator I went -- there are no such things in Gillette. Then to the walkway. I'd forgotten how to use them and nearly fell down on my first step. It was miserable. A train, another escalator and a couple deer-in-headlights moments later, I was facing a Panda Express buffet line. The server smiled, "What would you like sir?" I'll take the egg roll. And some water. Food in hand I waltzed out down another escalator and past a couple making out, toungues flying and heavy petting working its way to a crescendo.
"You're a winner," I heard the lady squeal with the delight that only horniness could bring to someones lips.
I looked back and she disappeared into the men's bathroom. I definitely was not in Gillette anymore.
posted by Pedro_in_Wyoming at 6:32 AM
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