Can Open, Whoop Ass Everywhere!

Where: Samuel Adams Bar in the Birmingham Airport.


When: 5PM on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.


Why: I am traveling with SLAPP (short for Sweet Little Angel Puddin' Pie, my 15-month-old son ). We landed an hour before the husband would be there to pick us up so we had some time to kill. I was in dire need of a glass of wine and something to eat and SLAPP's situation was even more dire. He needed sleep before his little puddin' head exploded.

What: I roll his stroller in the farthest corner of the bar behind a little partition wall. Hell is about to break loose and I am trying to reduce the collateral damage to the nearby patrons of this fine establishment.

BTW, SLAPP has been sleeping through the night since he was 9-weeks old and to this day he hits the bag every night by 7pm and slumbers for 11-12 hours. There are two things critical to his healthy sleep regime: 1) I am like the Fuhrer of the Nazi Sleep Party. I even wear an arm band with little sheep jumping over a fence. I also make the whole family salute my Second and Third in Command: Commander Turtle Night Light and General Sleep Sheep. 2) The 1pm Nap... critically important! But, he missed his nap this day on account of our travel schedule. Very few things trump the "Sleep Schedule", but since I have no suction with the Southwest Airlines Operations folks, I am at the mercy of their flight schedules. So inconvenient!

We were currently at Defcon 2... Puddin' head explosion imminent. My only line of defense, short of getting Gen. Sleep Sheep on the Red Phone was to lay a blanket over his stroller, tune my I-Phone to the soothing sounds of "The Essential Kris Kristofferson", and use my foot to rock the stroller back and forth. This tactic works every time. Unfortunately, it takes about approximately 2 minutes and 42 seconds, which may not seem like a long time, but when your baby is screaming like a high-value U.S. military target undergoing enhanced interrogation techniques, it is an eternity.

I try to muffle the noise best I can with the blanket and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" but with lungs like SLAPP has, he is going to be heard. I would apologize to those offended but... uh... no... I am not going to. Ya wanna know why? Because I am in an airport bar. Anyone who steps foot in an airport already knows that they are in for some type of annoyance; whether it be a cancelled flight, a group of 6 Muslim men praying on the floor in an Eastwardly direction right before they board your same flight, or a crying baby. So, I am traveling with a baby.... shit happens... they get over-tired, so deal... or get the FAA to ban children and Muslims from all domestic flights like they banned smoking in 1998 (good luck with that).

What (The Fuck?): I settled in with a glass of wine and the latest copy of House Beautiful and began rocking the stroller. SLAPP sounds like he is being water boarded, but I what can I do? The whole thing will last less than 3 minutes so I just relax and wait for the magic to happen. But, in less than the 3 minutes that is takes for Mr. Sand Man to visit sleepy SLAPP, the fifty-something year-old bartender leaves her post behind the bar and approaches my table. So, instead of slingin' drinks to all the weary travelers, which is her job,  she asks me in a very sassy tone, " Is your baby alright?"

I look up from my magazine and I have to stifle a laugh when I see her hair. She has one of those duck fart hair-cuts... but worse --- it is two-toned. The part that looks like the duck's farting ass was bleached blond. The top that would be the duck's back feathers was dark brown. I was able to politely reply, "No, he is fine." I look back to my magazine so that I don't start laughing at the duck fart. Then she went too far. She asked, "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" And this time she was even more sassy and she rolled her neck. No she di'int!

FHB took over and was starting to shake as she prepared a nice wad of spit ready to launch in duck fart's eyes... and she is a good shot in both distance and accuracy. But then I looked down at the copy of House Beautiful and glanced at my $12 glass of La Crema and remembered that I am a civilized Badger and spitting in this woman's face would cross a line. So, I thought about punching her face and again I saw that damn line. So, instead I raised my shaking hand that was clutching my wine glass and took a sip, looked up from my fancy magazine, and looked her square in the eyes (hard to do with out laughing at that hair) and replied in my sweetest, southern belle voice that really connotes "Go to Hell and Die Bitch, but I am too sweet and Southern to say such a thang", "He is fine. Thanks for asking." Then I went back to my magazine. Duck fart was furious because now she was shaking like someone with Parkinson's. She huffed and then stormed off.

Immediately following her departure SLAPP fell silent... totally asleep. 2 minutes and 36 seconds... a record. Damn, child!... couldn't you have been a few seconds earlier with that? It would have been the perfect proverbial middle finger that I needed to flip to this hose bag.

With SLAPP asleep I consider how to deal with that woman. I can't go up to the bar and confront her because FHB is still holding that wad of spit in the back of her throat. So, I take my credit card to my waitress and told her to cash me out. Then I give the young lady some hell that she didn't deserve, but I risked a night in the clank if I attempted to speak to Duck Fart personally. "Oh and by the way..." I said as I held my credit card just out of her reach, "You can tell your bartender that if she feels my parenting is not up to her standards she can call CPS... but while she is on the phone she should ask for Adult Protective Services, too, because if she ever speaks to me like that again regarding the care that I provide my child she is the one that will need protection from a social services agency, not my boy." And then I did it, too... the neck roll. I was totally embarrassed by my involuntary muscle reaction, but dude!, Duck Fart had awakened the Mama Honey Badger and she is lucky that all I did was roll my neck.

Turns out that the bartender doesn't even have children! Unfortunately for her, I pass through that airport a lot and I intend to be the bane of her existence. From now on I am not going to hide behind a partition and sooth SLAPP to sleep. No sir! I am going to belly up to that bar with SLAPP and just watch as he makes it snow cocktail napkins and then I will innocently apologize every time he spills someone's drink. And when I leave a tip it is going to be a big fat goose egg with a note that says, "Here is your tip --- see someone about that hair, Bitch."

I feel better now that I blogged that out. Thanks for reading.