Flight Risk Meets Fight Risk

CONTENT WARNING: Alcoholism

My uncle tells this story at family gatherings. My dad and my uncle went on a trip and hopped on a quick flight from a rural airport to a nearby airport closer to home.

The thing with my dad is that he’s an alcoholic. At that moment, he was coming off a three-day bender fueled by some seriously potent rotgut that could easily pass for jet fuel or paint thinner. By the time the trip wrapped up and they were getting ready to head home, my dad was caught somewhere between being still drunk and feeling incredibly hungover; so he was angry-drunk, in a world of self-inflicted hurt, and his brain was not functioning on… any cylinders, honestly.

As my dad boarded the plane, he noticed a random guy in a suit who was getting comfortable a few rows ahead of where he and Uncle were seated. In his not-so-bright state of mind, my dad mistakenly thought he was a flight attendant.

Dad: “Hey! You! Stop flirting with the chick, do your job, and help me with my luggage!”

Honestly, the guy might have been willing to help if my dad had just asked politely, but getting blasted with fumes from an aggressive, still-drunk stranger was definitely not the best approach.

Suited Man: “I don’t work here, man. I’m a passenger just like you.”

Then he turned away and continued helping his seat-partner.

Uncle: “[Dad’s Name], don’t harass other passengers. The guy doesn’t work for the airline.”

My dad got offended and started to wind up for an argument, but my uncle took my dad’s suitcase from him and placed it in the bin himself, effectively countering Dad’s “it’s your job” argument.

Uncle: “[Dad’s Name], sit down, shut up, and sober the f*** up.”

Sadly, the flight was just long enough for my dad to work himself into a rage. By the time we landed, everyone was busy retrieving their bags from the overhead compartments.

Dad: “So a*******, are you going to do your job and help with my luggage, or not?”

Suited Man: “Not. Obviously. Since I still don’t work here.”

The guy just got off the plane, likely thinking that the best way to calm things down was to stay out of Dad’s sight.

This was not the case. Dad found the man at the luggage claim and was still riled up.

Dad stormed over to the guy and got in his face, being belligerent, and gave the guy a shove.

Dad: “What are you gonna do about it, huh?! Can’t do your f****** job?! Come on [anatomical slur], tell me what you’re going to do about me being in your face!”

Then, he tacked on a few more anatomical slurs I won’t detail here. The guy told him in very succinct terms what he was going to do about it; he introduced my dad to a mean right hook to the kidney.

My dad hit the deck and stayed there, wheezing, until my uncle collected him and took him home.

My uncle always ends the story with:

Uncle: “Ah, back in the old days when they punched your ticket to collect baggage.”

My dad is still an alcoholic, but he drinks with much more moderation and at a much lower proof.