Thursday January 6th, 2011 - Belize City, Belize/Houston, TX/Chicago, IL Another fourteen hour mega day of travel at its unpleasant worst. I guess it’s part of the job, but that doesn’t make it fun - and it isn’t. I had to be off ship by 10am so the steward could hose off my room for the next inmate. Once we’re done working, we’re not a factor anymore. All that’s important is the next cruise, and getting ready for that. It‘s business. There was a delay in getting off the ship because apparently someone died on board last night. Everyone was talking about it, and conversation took on an eerie mood. It’s not the first time someone died aboard a ship, and in fact they even have a morgue on board. I’ve seen it on a couple of the ships when I went to do laundry, and I’m sure there’s one on all. The sheer mega girth of these ships still floors me. There are thousands of people living on each one of them, and it’s like a floating town all unto itself. In any town people do die and it has to be addressed. I have no details of who it was or how it happened, but I was at least a little concerned because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to disembark to catch my plane. There were no tender boats available when Hal Spear and I were ready to check out, and we had to wait helplessly until they sent one. They eventually did, and we took the fifteen minute ride into Belize City that took over twenty because this captain took his time. Last time, the guy drove like Evel Knievel’s coked up stunt double and we made it a lot faster. Every little thing happened today to cause a delay. There were people with crutches and in wheelchairs, and it took extra long to get off the tender boat. Then we had to take extra time in customs, because the guy in charge was having his lunch and didn’t want to put us ahead of that. Then, our cab driver had us walk a few blocks to where his cab was parked. Each of those things ate up minutes, and then it became a race against the clock. The last thing I want to do is miss a plane, especially in a foreign country. I haven’t yet, but it’s an ongoing concern. We have to be on our toes and make sure we get to our airports on time. Getting from Belize to Houston wasn’t a big hassle, but the time in Houston grew from a two hour delay to eight and a half hours. Last time I flew in to Houston from Belize, the time spent in U.S. Customs was maybe 15-20 minutes. It was a hassle, but only because I was in line behind some moron with six passports for her family. This time was different. There was a line of people that was a cross between Ellis Island and Disneyland. There were velvet roped areas with several hundred people in line if not a couple thousand. I’ve never seen it close to being that busy, and it took over an hour to wallow through it all. If my connection been sooner, I’d have missed it for sure. This is the stress they pay us for. Then, to make it worse, we had to go through security AGAIN. I could have flipped out but it wouldn’t have avoided it, so I clenched my teeth and let the TSA morons bark their usual orders with their usual air of self importance and got it over with. Then, the time of departure kept getting pushed back from 4:30 to 6:00 to 6:50 to 8:35. We left about 8:55. There had been a screaming infant on the plane from Belize to Houston that drove all of us to the point of casting lots as to who would commit the murder. Of course, Beelzebaby had to sit directly behind me, and had lungs like leather and the stamina of an Olympian. This little water head bastard would NOT shut up, and the mother was oblivious to it all the whole time. The rest of the plane was on edge, and I finally looked back over the seat and said “Just kill me now. ENOUGH already.” I could tell the other passengers were on the same page, but again I’m the only one that would say it out loud. My life in a nutshell. I don’t know what a mother is supposed to do to shut a baby up, but that’s not anyone’s concern on a plane. Take the kid to the bathroom, or walk it up and down the aisle or flip out a boob or cookie or something to shut it up before a bunch of passengers try to kill it. I actually really like kids, but this was out of control. That thing must have wailed for a full half hour. It sure seemed like it, and it was at a pitch that got right in everyone’s craw and stayed there. I never had to be in that situation, and I try to have sympathy for people if I can but this was completely unbearable. After a while longer I said something again. I got up out of my seat and calmly asked, “Do I need to call an exorcist, or an attorney? One of us is not going to live much longer if you don’t SHUT THAT LITTLE MONKEY BASTARD THE HELL UP.” Granted, that wasn’t the Dale Carnegie way of dealing with a problem like that, but it did get the message across. Now I could feel the tension build. A flight attendant came over and asked me to sit down. I said I would when the kid was quiet, and nobody came to my defense. I suggested she walk the kid around or put a sweat sock in it’s mouth or something to make the torture stop, but I turned into the bad guy in a second for mentioning it out loud. I can’t believe the pilot didn’t hear it up in the cockpit. The payoff is a typical Mr. Lucky story. Of course the woman was going to Chicago of all the places on Earth, and of course she was on the flight I was on. About halfway home the kid starts wailing AGAIN, and it pissed off everyone near us on that plane as well. I wasn’t directly in front of them like last time, but I could hear other people getting up in arms about it near me. But again, nobody said anything and the kid kept yodeling like a hurt animal on and off all the way back to Chicago. I’ll give it one thing, it had stamina. These are the kinds of things we deal with on ‘off’ days. I got back to Chicago around 11:20, and then Marc Schultz and his wife Audrey were kind enough to pick me up from the airport. I took Marc out for something to eat as thanks, and by the time I drove all the way back home, it was almost 2am. I was exhausted physically, mentally and socially. I’m sorry I had to get in the woman’s face, but it was a nightmare. My grandpa used to say “Rubbers are cheap - USE them. Often.” If I knew I was going to have a demon seed child like that, I’d put it up for adoption before it was even born. It caught me at the worst time, on the way home from a long drawn out difficult road trip. I need to get some rest.
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