The Word Show

Last week, on a whim, two friends, Guy and Evan, and I, decided to randomly fly to Texas for 5 days. Evan is a commercial airline pilot, and he was able to offer us a great deal on tickets to fly virtually anywhere. We decided on Texas, as none of us had really spent any time there, and we all felt we were in need of a “Manly Man” trip, and Texas seemed like the ideal place for it, where we might shoot guns, beat our chests loudly, and eat seriously unhealthy amounts of red meat.

The trip hit a snag before we even left Montreal, as Guy realized, the night before we were supposed to leave, that his passport had expired 2 days earlier. This was not atypical Guy behaviour (and I must admit not atypical Dan behaviour, either), but it seemed like it would be damning news for our trip.

Luckily, Guy was able to get an emergency passport renewal by 9am the next morning. The trip was on. The only catch was that Guy’s friends, whom he had put down as references on his passport application, had to stand by the phone and answer when the passport official would call, sometime before 9am. Sure enough, I got the call, and so I tried to adopt as professional-sounding a voice as my hungover self could muster. Here is the conversation, verbatim:

“Good morning, I’m calling from Passport Canada to confirm you know Guy Georgeson.”

“Yes, we’re friends.”

“And for how long have you known him?”

“I’d say 8 years”

“And what is Guy’s profession?”

“He’s a film and television editor”

“And what does Guy look like?”

PAUSE

“um, I guess he’s about 6 feet tall. Brown hair. Kind of bushy, brown hair. Brown eyes, I think?”

“any other description you can offer?”

At this point, I’m panicking, thinking he’s not convinced that I know Guy. I’m thinking I’ve derailed our Texas adventure, and I’m just not thinking clearly, so I say this:

“Uhhh, I dunno, I guess he just looks like a typical white guy, you know?”

-LONG, 5-SECOND PAUSE-

“Ok, thanks very much.”

CLICK!

I couldn’t imagine a more idiotic description – maybe the one the prostitutes in the movie, “Fargo,” give to the police when they’re asked to ID a suspect (“Oh ya know, he was just funny-lookin.”). But this wasn’t a movie. We wanted to go to Texas, damnit.

As it turns out, there was nothing to fear, as 20 minutes later Guy called to confirm his passport was ready. Yeee-haawwww.

The only thing worth mentioning about the flight into Houston was how we got bumped up to 1st class, and how I almost screwed this up. It turned out Evan’s colleague was piloting the Houston flight, and he told us that since 1st class was half-empty, we could sit there, so long as we didn’t draw attention to ourselves or our otherwise-marked tickets. I did not get this memo. All I heard was Guy whisper quickly to me as we entered the cabin, “Dude, remember, you’re seat 3D.” I was confused.

I parked myself in 3D, and in a fairly loud voice, announced “Hey, I think you’re wrong, my ticket reads ‘18F,’ not ‘3D‘. Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?“ As the rest of the 1st class cabin heard this, Guy and Evan turned and looked over, with a mixture of incredulity and pure rage in their eyes…it was then that I caught on to the plan. Guy then said, in a strained voice, “NO, DAN, CHECK YOUR TICKET AND YOU’LL SEE.” Finally, I‘d caught on.

Anyhow, it worked out well. We stayed in 1st class, and I made sure I asked for extra peanuts with my Bloody Mary, and that I flirted with the stewardess, all to convince my neighbouring passengers that I knew how to handle myself up front in the fancy seats, and belonged there with them.

We got into Houston in the evening and headed straight for a proper steak dinner at 3 Forks Steakhouse. The steaks were fantastic. The service was even better: one of our waiters was an older gentleman who was solely in charge of our bread supply, and he was extremely entertaining. Every time we asked for more bread, he’d chuckle and wink at us, and say something like “I hear that, my brother! More bread is on the way – you keep eatin’ it, I’ll keep bringin’ it!!” It was as if we were involved in a hushed,  illegal transaction, every time the roll basket ran empty – like “bread” was code for something. To be fair, the bread was very good. Maybe there was something in it?

After dinner, we hit a few of the bars in town: The Flying Saucer and then Notsuoh (‘Houston’ backwards). The Saucer was a typical, enormous college bar. There was a ridiculous amount of “collectible” crap on the walls, and they had a lot of interesting beers on tap. A few minutes in there confirmed my theory that the more crap a bar had on its walls, the duller the bar’s atmosphere. So after a quick pint we walked over to Notsuoh, which seemed to beHouston’s hipster dive. It was very cool. There was some good live funk/soul music playing, but we didn’t last long. Guy stopped to chat with the DJ – a nice black guy from New Orleans. As we said goodnight to him, I attempted to give him a fist bump, but he just looked at it and chuckled. Clearly, I was even whiter than I thought I was. He offered me a handshake and I gratefully accepted. All in all, it was an excellent 1st night in Texas.

Stay tuned to Vol. II for tales of spaceships, laser shows, flying dogs, BBQ, and more…