No, I did not barf up a lung at the airport. I wish I had. This "Salsa" was wayyyyyyy worse.
While "pulling a salsa" or "salsaing it up" normally refers to consuming too much alcohol and making an idiot of yourself in the worst possible way (i.e. at a charity golf tournament to raise funds for breast cancer or at your MBA school's pub crawl), it can also be used to refer to just being a huge dumbass.
Let's say for example, you had a trip planned to... Vegas (yup that works, everyone loves Vegas). But, this wasn't your typical run of the mill lets go to Vegas and wake up with glitter all over our faces and whatever else Katy Perry sings about. No, this Vegas trip you were meeting a friend from... jeez whats the furthest you can get from east coast? Ok, sure California. Again, you were not going for the sole purpose of getting shabammered--there was also a race. Hell the Las Vegas Rock'N'Roll Half Marathon is today... lets just say it was that race.
The plan was to fly out Friday night after work, stay for the weekend, run your 13.1 miles and fly back. Easy peazy, right? Not if you have the salsa gene. No, things are never easy with the salsa gene. But, you know this. You know you are prone to F things up. So you take precautions. You finish packing 4 days before you have to leave. FOUR! WOOOOO! Totally gonna rock this traveling thing!
You check into your flight 24 hours in advance. BAM! Piece of cake! You leave work 1.5 hours early to give yourself PLENTY of time to get to the airport. (FACT or FICTION: You may or may not have brushed your shoulders off... you feel like a traveling P-I-M-P. Yup, you are so cool. FACT.) Who wants to get charged ATM fees in Vegas? No one. You stop at a Wells Fargo ATM. Swoop! Check that off the list! Damn you really are on a roll.
But then things start to go wrong. You get back into your car after taking cash out and set your wallet on top of your purse. You turn your car back on and resume driving, but this trip you aren't sticking with the routine. There will be no park and ride this time. Why? The mustache you are dating offered to take you. How could you turn down the mustache? That's right, you couldn't.
You get to the mustache's house, transfer luggage from your car to his and get on the road. He asks you if you have everything. PSHAW. Obviously! He drops you off at the super secret lower level check in at the airport, you're gonna get checked in SO FAST you don't even know. You walk inside the automatic sliding doors, pull your boarding pass out of your back pocket and check the departures screen to see where the heck you are going. A24. Got it! You fish through your purse to get your ID out and ready.
I repeat: You fish through your purse to get your ID out and ready.
PAUSE.
FISH. PURSE. ID. READY.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!
You pick up your phone. "Mustache!!!!! I don't have my wallet!"
No, my wallet wasn't in his car. It was in my car. Parked at his house 30 minutes away. My plane was boarding in 30 minutes. FML. I walk to the Delta gate agent. I explain the situation: I am an idiot. I forgot my wallet. He checks to see if I can get on the next flight in 3 hours. Oversold. I call Delta to see about getting on the first flight out the next day. $630 (yes, that is with the credit from the flight I will be missing).
PAUSE.
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF.
Face palm face palm face palm. Deep breaths.
I pick up my phone. "Boobs? Are you at the airport yet? I pulled a salsa."
*****
I didn't make it to Vegas. My friend had to take the bus back to Santa Barbara and now I have no hope of ever being salsa caliente... unless I donate an organ, or something of comparable value.
But, really the worst part was my "Salsaness" ruined the weekend not just for me, but for Boobs. The crazy part of it all? Well CRAZIEST. Boobs told me she was only going to hate me for a week and that she still loves me.
I'm not sure how I'll ever convince her to travel with me again.
Over and out. Jildo
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