If you're in my inner circle (#ContemporaryReggae allusion!), then Snapchat told you that I was stuck in the Detroit Metro Airport the other night. Prior to flying from LAX to Detroit, I sat on the runway for 3 hours due to an FAA fuck-up. And uhhhhh, earth to the FAA! I didn't pony up an extra $50 on Delta Economy Plus seating so I could sit around with my dick in my hand (figuratively, not literally) for three hours before taking off while watching episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and sneakily reading the Spanglish texts composed by the fake-nailed Latina girl I was sitting next to. If there's one way to amplify your Post-Vacation Stress Disorder (PVSD, which is totally a thing now), it's by having the FAA butt-fuck your itinerary, because:
- The FAA hardly informs that airlines with what the hell is going on.
- The timetable for fixing said fuck-up is unclear because instead of one flight being delayed, 4,000 people are stationary on the runway at LAX.
- Delta has zero obligation to give you a food/hotel voucher because it's the FAA's fuck-up, not Delta's fuck-up.
Our flight got in right around midnight and I was not about to drop any cash on a murder-y Days Inn stay that would last about 6 hours before I had to head back to the airport (especially after I had just spent a couple stacks on too many rounds of golf in the days leading up to this).
So what'd I do? I got my Viktor Navorski on and channeled The Terminal.
How much do you hate that we live in a world where you can buy Beats by Fucking Dre headphones from a concession machine but you can't buy a goddamn granola bar? I like being bougie as much as the next guy, but come on, give me a little practicality here.
Because it was after midnight and Chili's Too was closed so I couldn't get my fuckin' swerve on, I was forced to eat the a combination of Hershey's nuggets and motherfucking Very Berry Starburts that my friend thankfully had packed for me prior to my flight. Getting a healthy sugar buzz on before trying to sleep in an airport ain't exactly the definition of responsibility.
Weirdly, DTW offers very little late-night entertainment. I figured there'd be strip clubs and shit. Most of the TVs are turned off, and the power buttons are out of reach despite the TV audio still BLASTING through the speaker next to it. Luckily, I found one TV where I could reach the power button and decided to get balls deep in the Rockets/Blazers game. Right before a DTW employee turned the game off, a custodian said, "Oh man, someone finally fixed this TV!" Yeah, bro, I pressed the power button. I'm a regular Doc Brown.
Huh, weird, my candy binge didn't fill me up. Maybe I should go get some water to hold me over til morning? Oh, the only drinking fountain in this terminal is missing it's fucking button? Cool, I'll just wither away until Einstein bagels opens in the morning where I can buy a $6 Dasani.
Without a friend's intel, I would have posted up on the floor somewhere and slept with my back against the wall. Instead, I went through the heady tunnel, took an immediate left, headed down the escalator, pushed two cush-ass leather chairs together, and created a theater of dreams. Was it too short for my six-foot frame (#humblebrag)? Yeah. Was it directly under a bunch of fluorescent lights? Of course. Did I sleep with my iPhone in my hand to not get it stolen? 100%. Did I crush a solid 7 hours of sleep? You betcha.
Sneaky best part of the Detroit airport? When the Molly kicks in while you're on the escalator through the tunnel. Better than an opium den at an outdoor Phish show.