FEAR AND LOATHING ON THE WAY TO CHAMONIX

    I HATE TO TRAVEL. The word "vacation' sends shivers down my spine. Still, why have rules if you can't break them. After the 500 Capp Street debacle I needed a break from the woodstove and grind of mid-winter Catskills. I had a standing offer from some friends who have moved to France to do a painting on commission. In return they promised to pick up the cost of the flight and treat me like a king while I was there. How could I say no? The original deal was for Samm to join me. But, after a night of drinking with the Buddys, it was decided that Buddy Buddy and i would fly to the alps and Shewho would join Mrs. Buddy for the same trip at a later date. This could be fun.

    Mrs. Buddy graciously delivered us to JFK last Wed.  afternoon. This was one of the reasons I don't like leaving the country, you have to drive to an airport. I love her, but Mrs. B. drives at roughly 85 mph while teasing her dreds, putting on makeup, texting her friends and carrying on a conversation while looking at me in the mirror, white-knuckled in the backseat. It's not like playing Grand Theft Auto, it's like being in Grand Theft Auto. Somehow we made it in one piece. 

   Once  dropped off and a selfie taken for posterity she tore ass away from the curve. We went through all the checkpoints finally finding the bar. Buddy and I both looked at our tickets. One side said the flight left at 16:30. The other side said it left at 6:30. Using common sense, American reasoning we chose the flight that left at 6:30,  thinking that was U.S. (not military) time and this would give us plenty of time for some drinks and a couple of burgers. Two burgers, two double bourbons and a couple of beers later and Shewho called at 4:14 pm, hoping to catch us before we took off. We laughed, explaining that the flight didn't leave until 6:30. We were gonna have another drink. Shewho did not laugh. "Your flight leaves at 4:30." she said sternly. Buddy looked at the tickets again. She was right. We'd been looking at the wrong side of the ticket that listed the connecting flight from Dublin to Geneva at......6:30 AM. The bourbon and beer was quickly downed and we took off at a good clip for Gate 11. We hit the gate just as they were boarding. Perfect timing. If Shewho hadn't called we'd still be in the bar.

   I not only don't like to travel, when I do I'm very particular about my traveling companions. As much as I love Shewho, we don't always travel well. It's my fault. Buddy and I, on the other hand, are on the same wavelength when it comes to travel. He's got a cell phone and a pocket full of pills, while I'm half blind and helpless. Until the little departure confusion I thought I was in good hands. Praying the mixup was an anomaly, we went forward. We  boarded, found our seats and strapped in. Buddy handed me some mysterious capsules, downed a few and sat back for the ride. I passed on the pills, as Buddy passed out on them. Not knowing how to work the touch screen in front of me (you just touch it) I chose to watch an ad for Aer Lingus for six hours, while Buddy Buddy leaned back, mouth open and snored loudly. He didn't move for hours. Then all went quiet. Was he still breathing? Even when the captain announced our descent, as everyone on the plane stirred and I poked him, he remained motionless. It was only then that I realized I may have to roll him onto a stretcher to make our connection. I poked him again and got a faint groan. Thank God he wasn't dead. We made into Dublin at 4:30 am, intercontinental travel success exiting the plane under our own steam - leg one complete.