12 September 2005

The Iceland Diaries III -- Preface

Thursday, 11 August 2005

On June 13 I got home early from my computer job and was getting ready to buy my tickets for three well-deserved weeks of stupidityadventure in Iceland. I had an hour to go before I was to tend bar that night.

I didn't make it.

My brother called and I spent the next seven hours putting my life on hold for the upcoming three months. My mother had died unexpectedly and I was the executor of the will. Eighteen hours after the call came I arrived at Washington Dulles International. I couldn't afford not to work during that time, however. My company let me continue working from DC, both from home and out of our office in the area. For a number of reasons I stayed on German time, waking up at 1am, working until between 10 and 12, then spending the rest of the day dealing with the estate. Weekends belonged entirely to the estate.

It was wearing me down and I needed a break. It was my sister who convinced me I really needed to take some time off despite the looming deadlines and I decided to at least put in an appearance back up north. I called Pink who confirmed that I could stay at his place and I found a cheap ticket.

Two weeks later on August 11 I called Pink to make sure I had a place to stay. "No problem, man!

See you tomorrow!"

That wasn't the only thing that didn't work out quite as expected. And so begins my third series, the Iceland Diaries III. I may yet post the brief crap I wrote about my undiarised visit in March (ID 2.5?). The next series -- what this one originally should have been -- will have a lot more travel, adventure, and near-death experiences. It also better feature more women or I'm going to shave my head and put on a robe.

Attention TSA Cocksuckers:
You're bigger fucking idiots than I could ever hope to be! Taking people's lighters and telling them they can only have matches doesn't make the plane safer. In boot camp they take away your matches and only allow you a lighter because with a lighter, you have to be there to make a fire. Didn't any of you see Stalag 17?

"I'm only doing my job, sir."

It sounds better in the original German and we still didn't accept that as an excuse at Nuremburg. You are scum. Kill yourselves. You are helping destroy the country and freedoms you claim to be trying to protect.

Fuckers.

And people wonder why I absolutely loathe travelling to and around the US these days.

That wasn't the end of the fun but it's all I'm going to write about. It's clear you must have had a lobotomy and full Mao or Pol Pot-style re-education to work in a U.S. airport in any capacity.

I'm still favoured by the Æsir: I made the plane despite some last-minute harassment and threats from a couple Maryland State Troopers pissing around the airport on Segways. They have some serious inferiority issues. Or just very tiny penises.

But in the end, I'm the idiot. I dared open my mouth.


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