Hartsfield-Depravity Int’l

Posted: July 6, 2011 in manliness

2011-07-06 07.04.03

I arrive in Atlanta, GA at approximately 0715 EST via Hartsfield-Jackson International and am famished as I neglected to eat breakfast prior to my 0600 departure from Daytona. The hunger pangs had started kicking immediately after take-off, as we glided 800 feet above Daytona International Speedway. Luckily the short flight was just that, short and uneventful aside from friendly banter with the North Carolina woman seated next to me. Upon arriving at Hartsfield for the first time ever I was taken aback by the sheer scale of this airport. I stopped at not 2 but three different electronics stores in hope of finding some replacement headphones, since I apparently damaged my Skull Candy buds over the weekend and now only have sound in the left bud, but was unlucky in my efforts. I finally made my way from Concourse B to Concourse A in just under 30 minutes, and found something that seemed promising, The Heineken Bar & Grill.

2011-07-06 07.34.51

However, I failed to note the small print, “Smoking Lounge”. There are few things more depraved than watching sweaty overweight people anxiously dash into an establishment immediately igniting their cigarettes and sucking them down like so many pints to a ginger on St. Patrick’s day. I am quickly faced with the alarming news that this bar doesn’t take into account Bird Law and they don’t serve alcohol until 0900. Since my layover has me here until 1030, I figured fuck it, I’ll deal with the smoke and lack of booze because I am starving. I decided on the “American Breakfast”, which consists of “two fluffy scrambled (prison) eggs, (floppy, thin) bacon or sausage, (delicious) toast, and breakfast potatoes (with the consistency of a wet rag).” 

Now As I sit here with Gregorio Allegri in my ears ear, I am forced to only semi-enjoy my food whilst staring around the room at the cornucopia of random, black lunged airport warriors from unknown origins sneaking in a quick stogie in between flights to unknown destinations, all while NOT having a drink. One couple (say late 40s) dashed into the bar, the husband dripping with sweat in long sleeves and jeans, eyes filled with  . . . OOOH I’ve happened upon some Tabasco sauce. Be prepared to be improved, prison eggs . . . I digress. Eyes filled with what can only be described as a cancerous lust for that sweet nicotine, mouth filled with three (3) cigarettes and the wife frantically rummaging through her luggage for a cigarette lighter. They smoke one each, share the third, knock back a glass of tea and hoof it without much more than a few words to the waitress. My only solace from these fucking people is the view of the taxing aircraft and the many worker bees milling around below.

2011-07-06 07.39.31

I never thought I would say this, but I am just ready to be back in Memphis. At least I know the assholes there.

 

P.S. This is some faggoty assed bacon.

2011-07-06 08.17.24

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