How To Be Tortured, And How To Stop It

A 45-minute fly should be no big deal.

Board, taxi, ascend, drink quick cup of tomato juice, descend, de-board, move on with life.

Unless, you miss your flight. At LAX.

After navigating through the throngs, after a rebuke from the ticketing agent for cutting it close to the bone, time-wise, after despondently paying $15 just to check my bag, after channeling my inner snake charmer to cut the serpentine security line to get to the front of it, after making a wrong turn on the wild-eyed sprint to the gate and ending up - inexplicably - right back at the departure curb, I found myself unceremoniously slated for the next San Jose bound flight. In four hours. On standby.

And so I went through the security line again, new boarding pass in tow, with a composure only possible after losing your shit. Relegated to the AA ghetto terminals, via shuttle, I imagined, with all the theatricality possible on mere milligrams of caffeine, that I was like Napoleon on Elba. No free wifi, plastic wrapped food that would make even my sister's non-discriminating dog shudder, and disappointing people-watching (mostly businessmen flying to Monterey and Santa Barbara ).

But all that changed. After listening to a song a friend recommended, I experienced GLOOM-LIFTING TUNE SALVATION. Ever felt like busting a groove in an inappropriate space? Like at a shitty gate in a shitty terminal in front of self-important khaki slacked, bespectacled men, as they drone in deep tones on their Blackberries?

Cause this one just might do it for you.

Show Me - Pos from De La Soul,...

Thanks, B.C.