Derek: �Dude, where the FUCK have you been? We�ve been trying to call you all day! We�re at the airport, our flight leaves in 20 minutes, we left all of your shit at the desk at the hotel.�
Me: �I thought the flight left at 3pm.�
Derek: �No, it leaves at 2pm, but either way, we had to check out at noon, where the HELL are you?�
Me: �The Double Down Saloon, I�ll see you at the airport.�
I hung up the phone, told Kris Kringle to wrangle me up a taxicab, and paid my bill.
My cab driver spent the entire drive on the phone with his girlfriend, ending the conversation with �Alright, I�ll see you tonight, girl� I tipped him $5, saying, �Here you go, man, get your girl something nice.�
When I arrived at the front desk of the Hooter�s Hotel, I didn�t where to begin with the lady. I said, �Um, my friends told me that my stuff was��
�Oh, so you�re THAT guy!� the woman said.
I replied, �I�m THAT guy.�
She started pulling out my belongings from behind the desk, including both of the Hooter�s cowboy hats that I had purchased during the trip. (Side note, I had seen a hat in the gift shop that I preferred to the one that I bought on Cerveza day and immediately purchased it days before.)
I asked the Hooter�s Concierge what the fastest way to the airport would be, and she suggested the Shuttle bus. I threw my duffle bag over one arm, my Army bag over the other, and wore both cowboy hats onto the bus.
When we arrived at the airport, I ran out the door, and my Army bag became wedged in the doorjamb. My feet flew out from under me, and I basically hung myself by my right shoulder, severely straining, if not dislocating it. The situation was eerily similar to an injury that my dad had suffered as a kid.
(Tangent Story: One day on the bus, my dad was chilling in the back, with the cool kids, when the bus driver asked, �Doerr, you getting off the bus?� My dad, being the total badass that he is, replied, �Yeah� ran down the aisle, grabbed the pole by the door, and swung out of the vessel like he was Tarzan. He mis-judged the swing, though, smashed his head on the top of the door, nailed the curb outside, and rolled under the bus, unconscious. He awoke a few hours later, and walked it off.)
I picked myself up, and looked at the bus door, my bag was wedged sideways, and still around my arm, given the fact that the strap was as long as Lindsay Weiford�s legs.
After ripping the bag out of the doorjamb, I regrouped by a nearby traffic light. My shoulder was hurt bad, so I did what any drunken man, whose flight home left in 10 minutes would do, I started smashing my shoulder against the traffic light pole, trying to correct it. I had seen the maneuver performed in the movie �Lethal Weapon� and, for some fucking reason, thought it would help my shoulder.
I�m not sure if it actually put my shoulder back into place, or if it just made the area numb, but I actually felt a little better, and was ready to continue. A man that looked like a member of the Wu-Tang Clan approached me.
He said, �Man, what the FUCK are you doing?�
After explaining my situation to the man, he said, �Damn dude, take this, it�s my last Black and Mild, man, good luck gettin� home.�
I called Derek, only to find out that they were boarding the plane, and that I would never make it on time.
I approached the American Airlines desk, and requested a ticket to St. Louis. I tried to use my credit card, but I had apparently exceeded the daily usage limit. Panicked, I told her to wait as I ran to the nearest ATM, and withdrew the cash needed to return to St. Louis.
After receiving my ticket, I sat and eagerly awaited my flight home. As I boarded the flight, I noticed that the flight was to Springfield, MO. I considered it a connecting-flight scenario, and thought nothing of it.
I could not sleep on the flight, I was sitting between two 40 something business travelers, and suffering from the shakes. I arrived in Springfield, and was eager to find out where my flight to St. Louis was. Imagine my surprise when the flight had no connection to St. Lou.
Seriously, imagine it.
I went to a desk that was listed as having flights to St. Louis, where two couples were waiting in line. There was nobody standing behind the counter. After about an hour, we were informed that the last flight to St. Louis had left for the day.
I asked how I could get home, and was told that there was a Greyhound station about 5 miles from the airport. I had about fifty bucks, and with no available funds from my ATM and Credit Card; I figured that I would need every penny for the bus fare. I could not risk taking a cab, and ending up short for cash on the bus ticket. I had only one option: make my way to the Greyhound station, with my luggage, nursing my shoulder, wearing two Hooter�s cowboy hats, and my Bernie Federko signed, authentic Blues Jersey� on foot.
I stood at the exit of the airport, and as I looked at the beautiful twilight sky, I thought of� The Goonies.
I didn�t see the 5-mile walk, as a problem, for some reason (perhaps the Wild Turkey and Cokes, Manhattans, and other drinks I had consumed that day, starting at 6:15 am) I was actually excited about the trip. I felt like I was about to go on an adventure, like the Goonies.
So as I stood in the doorway, I looked out at the Springfield and said, �It all starts here.�
I started walking in the direction that the man had pointed for the Greyhound station. After a few hundred feet, I was hit with a need to piss that made my knees buckle. After relieving myself behind a building that had a fence with more barbed wire than a Cactus Jack match, I continued on my path.
During the hike, my shoulder-destroying Army bag was swinging like a wrecking ball, and making things difficult on me, so, I had to adjust the shoulder strap so that they were no longer the length of Lindsay Weiford�s legs.
About a mile into the trek, I saw a large warehouse. Having enough spare funds for a soda, I decided to journey inside to see if I could purchase a beverage. I entered the structure to see that I was surrounded by Hostess Snacks. Every combination of chocolate, icing, muffin, cookie, and sprinkle you could think up were represented. It was a stoner�s dream. I was in a hurry, and I didn�t have any weed, so I decided to buy a soda and be on my way.
A made it about a block away from the joint, when a cab pulled over to the side of the road. The guy said, �Hey man, do you need some help?�
I explained the situation to the guy, and he said that he could take me only half of a mile, due to some restriction with the cab service. During the ride, he said, �Yeah man, I saw you walking, with the hockey jersey, cowboy hats, and luggage, and I just had to find out what you were up to.� We both had a good laugh. He dropped me off, and gave me about five dollars worth of quarters, which is all that he had on him, and he wished me the best of luck.
Refreshed with a Dr. Pepper, the next few miles were much more enjoyable. There was one song that kept repeating in my head, it was White Man in Hammersmith Palais, by the Clash, the original version of which I had heard for the first time that day back in the Double Down Saloon.
When I saw a Walmart nearby, I decided to inform my parents that their baby boy was walking around Springfield, Missouri at 10 o�clock at night, trying to find a Greyhound Station so that he could get home.
I called collect, and let my dad know what I was up to. He laughed, and wished me the best of luck, after I assured him twenty times that I was okay.
As the landscape changed from spacious, industrial buildings to more side shops and mini malls, my optimism was growing. Maybe I could get to St. Louis tonight.
I stopped by a bus stop, and asked this totally gnarly dude for directions to the Greyhound Station, he said, �Well man, if I�s you, I�d take the city bus, they go by there.�
Mr. Gnarly�s idea was genius, I wanted to give him a token of my gratitude, but I couldn�t spare any money, so I gave him one of my Hooter�s Cowboy Hats.
When the bus arrived, I got more than a few looks as I boarded. I sat across a woman that looked like she was in her 40�s or 50�s. After explaining to her why I was wearing a hockey jersey and a cowboy hat from Hooters, we had a nice conversation about drinking, music, and hard drugs (I had no experience to draw from, but she had enough for both of us). She told me that she used to sing with a disco band at Pop�s, which is a sophisticated bar in Sauget, IL. The Disco Queen kept asking what I was up to that night, and if I needed a place to stay. I assured her that I would not sleep until I was in St. Louis�
�as tempting as it is to spend a night with an over the hill, ex drug using disco queen.
When we arrived at the stop nearest to the Greyhound station, I wished the Disco Queen a good night, and she wished me the best of luck.
I got off of the city bus, and started walking toward the Greyhound station, and as soon as I saw the sign, I felt more excitement than the first time I saw Debbie Does Dallas. And that is a very special feeling.
I entered the Greyhound Station at 11:15 pm, and asked when the last bus to St. Louis departed. I was told, 11 pm, but the bus was running late, and they were expecting it around 1 am.
It�s hard to describe how that news affected me. I have seen people react to news in the same way that I reacted to the Greyhound schedule that night:
Paternity tests on daytime talk shows. When they say, �You�re NOT the father� and the goon in questions face transitions from anguish to complete, pure joy. THAT�S how I felt as I purchased my bus ticket to St. Louis.
I phoned my father collect, and asked if he could pick me up at the St. Louis Greyhound station at 5 am, which was the expected arrival time of the bus. He said that he would, and I told him that I loved him. I feel no shame or embarrassment including the last sentence in this story. If your parents care about you enough to drive to East St. Louis at 5 am, to pick you up because you got so drunk in Las Vegas that you missed your flight, walked 5 miles to the Springfield Greyhound station, and rode a bus home, than you had better fucking say I love you.
I had a few hours to wait until the bus arrived, and I decided to get myself some food. If you�ve been keeping score, the last thing that I had to eat at this point was the pizza that I had ordered at 6:15 am (along with a porno) when I awoke that morning in Las Vegas. Using the extra quarters that the cab driver had given me, I was able to acquire a package of tropical fruit Skittles, and a Mountain Dew. I opened the Skittles, and dropped them on the floor, scattering them across the floor. After cleaning them up, and eating a few, I pounded my Mountain Dew, and awaited the bus.
Around 1 am, a bus arrived that said St. Louis on the front of it. As soon as the passengers got off, I ran onto the bus, and picked up a seat. A few minutes later, a Greyhound employee got on board, and was screaming, �HEY, YOU IN THE COWBOY HAT! GET OFF THE BUS!�
I asked why, and he yelled that the bus was from St. Louis, not going to St. Louis. I thanked him, and awaited to bus GOING to St. Louis, which arrived 5 minutes later.
The bus to St. Louis was motherfucking PACKED. There were a bunch of smelly kids, and everyone seemed to be screaming at each other in Spanish. I couldn�t sleep, and for four hours, I was in a cold sweat, and fighting back the urge to vomit.
The moment I stepped off the hot-sticky bus, and was greeted by the crisp breeze of East St. Louis freedom, I felt so much better. I called my dad from the station to get an update on his position. He told me that he was close, and that he was bringing his new, white truck.
When I saw the truck, and my mom and dad in the front seats, I smiled so hard that it hurt. I threw my shit in the car, and said, �Thanks for the ride�
My mom said, �So, did you have a good time.�
I replied, �And then some.�
On the way home, as the sun was rising, I regaled my parents about my trip to Vegas. From almost leaving my keys, wallet, phone, etc. at the counter of the airport in St. Louis, to the conversation with the Ex-Drug Using Disco Queen, they got a complete debriefing on my trip. I finished telling the story as we pulled into our house.
My mom asked, �Do you want a ride to your car?� I said, �I�ve come this far, might as well get it now.�
I changed out of my jersey, put on some new socks and shoes (which changed my fucking life) and hopped in the car. We drove to Lutz�s house, and we arrived to see him getting into his car, dressed, and ready for work.
�No FUCKING WAY� was his greeting. After getting him up to speed on what happened, I got my car, and drove home.
After eating a 30,000 calorie meal, I sat in the recliner that we have in our living room, and turned on the television.
I saw the video for �Hold me Down� by Motion City Soundtrack. If you get a chance, give it a listen; it was a nice, calming song to welcome me home.
I consider that day to be the hardest of my life (to that point) but I also consider it to be the greatest day of my life (to that point)
In retrospect, the entire experience made me realize that even though there are some shitty, fucked up people in this world; people are still generally nice. Everyone that I met on my journey home, wished me good luck.