Jan 13 2005
I’m almost afraid to tell you how early I had to get up to catch my flight home, which left at 6:30 am. That’s in the morning, you know. So the alarm went off at the unSuzy hour of 3:30 am. That’s hardly even morning. You should only be up at that hour if you’re still up from having fun the night before, and for no other reason. As I groped for the off switch on the hotel’s clock radio, I heard a guy on the street below bellowing, “Fuuuuuck youuuuuu!”
That pretty much summed up my feelings.
I had that feeling again when I was on the plane, sitting beside a guy who demonstrated burping skills which Ashlee Simpson would have envied. It was astounding. And gross.
He also ordered coffee black, with six sugars. Now, as you know, I have no problem with black coffee – I drink it that way myself. I don’t want anything to get between me & the caffeine. But all that sugar? I was irresistibly reminded of the scene in the late great series, My So-Called Life, where Angela’s father asks her if she wants milk in her coffee, and she says, “No, I take it black, with three or four sugars”, because that’s how her dream guy takes his coffee.
My grandmother used to give me a spoonful of sugar to cure hiccups, but I never thought it would cause very loud public burping. Of course, it might not have been the sugar. And this guy ain’t anyone’s dream guy.