boosted1jz
08-13-2005, 05:08 PM
http://www.tuckermax.com/nantucketsucks.html
My buddy Chevy had invited me to his house in Nantucket for the weekend. As I was in line at the airport to board the flight, I found myself behind an obnoxious slob. Watching him spill grease all over his shirt as he stuffed nasty Sbarros pizza in his face and yell at his dopey, ill-disciplined children, I decided that I was not going to sit in coach. I decided that I was better than him and deserved better accomodations.
Once I decided I was going to sit in first class, I ran into a series of problems:
1. I didn’t have an upgrade voucher.
2. I didn’t know anyone who works for this airline.
3. I am not a member of any sort of Elite Club Gold Ultra Miles Club.
4. I didn’t have $800 to pay for an upgrade (it was this expensive because I was flying from LA to Newark).
Still unsure what to do, I took my assigned seat in coach, next to a guy who looked like Bill Bixby but smelled more like The Incredible Vagrant. At this point most people would probably quit and just stay in coach. I was about to do this, then I remembered that I am not most people, I am Tucker Max. If there is a way, I can find it, I have to find it damn it, or I am no better than the slob…then it hit me. The most obvious solution in the world, I cannot believe I’ve never thought of it before: Me.
I waited until most of the plane filled up, saw that there were three empty seats in first class, summoned the Tucker Max A-game charm, and approached a young female flight attendant in the back cabin:
Tucker Hey, how are you?”
FA “Hi, good.”
Tucker “I really hate to bother you about this, but can you possibly help me out?”
FA “Yeah, what can I do for you?”
Tucker “Well, when my people booked my flight, they made a mistake and put me in coach. I hate to make an issue about this, but is there any way you can put me in first class? Normally I would just live with it, but I’ve already had a few people pestering me for autographs and what not…and I just can’t get anything done back here with everyone trying to get a piece of me. I’m sure you know how it is. I can’t be the first famous person you’ve had this happen to.”
FA “Oh my gosh, yeah, no problem. Hold on, let me just make sure we have room, I’ll upgrade you right away. Stay right here.”
Three minutes later I was in first class, throwing back free beer and putting complimentary slippers on my feet. No one “bothered” me the rest of the flight, and none of the flight attendants even asked who I “was.”
I keep trying to tell you people: Take command of your destiny, and karma will conspire to help you along the way.
After a few beers, I notice the guy sitting next to me. He is a few years older than me, mid-thirties, clean cut, wearing normal clothes…and has a huge bulge on his hip. Well, he’s not black so it can’t be his dick--this motherfucker is packing a gun.
Tucker “I hope to god you are an Air Marshal, because if you aren’t, [motioning to his piece] this is going to be quite a flight.”
Guy “I’m not an Air Marshal.”
Tucker [long pause] “Uhhhh…”
Guy [he kinda laughs at me] “Don’t worry, I’m in the FBI. I’m off duty but we are required to carry our sidearm with us on planes whenever we fly.”
He showed me his creds and lo and behold, he is indeed in the FBI. We get to talking and drinking [note: I drank, he didn’t] and trading stories. I told him The Buttsex Story, which he thought was hilarious, so he tells me an FBI story in exchange:
“At the FBI Academy, there is this simulation thing where you shoot at a huge screen. They throw scenarios at you to teach you how to react to them. Kinda like a video game, but life size. You even get a pneumatic gun that feels just like a regular gun when you shoot it, with a recoil and everything, but it only shoots a laser obviously.
Well, in one of the scenarios you are in a hallway trying to clear a house and a 12 year-old kid comes around the corner with a gun at his side. He walks around in a daze, and you are supposed to react to what he does.
When I did the scenario, as soon as he came around the corner I told him to drop the gun, he didn’t, so I started lighting him up. But strangely, he wouldn’t go down. It was so frustrating; I knew I was hitting him, because the little red dots were hitting him center mass, but he wouldn’t go down. I emptied the first clip, slapped another one, and kept firing.
It took me 19 rounds, but I finally dropped that damn kid. By the time he went down, I had advanced right up onto the screen, and was about to start pistol whipping the canvas. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. He finally dropped on the 17th and 18th shots, but I added the 19th when he was down, just for good measure. I wasn’t taking chances with the Bionic Twelve Year Old.
The lights come on and the instructor was in total shock,
‘Do you know why you had to shoot 19 rounds? The simulation ISN’T EVEN SET UP TO REGISTER SHOTS THAT EARLY. I’ve NEVER seen anyone RELOAD in that scenario before!’
Apparently, since the weapon was only at his side and not raised, we were supposed to yell some jibberish about “this is the FBI,” and something else along the lines of “put down the weapon,” and then give him time to comply before we fired. I wasn’t having it. You don’t brandish a weapon at Agent [Jones] and live to tell about it.
Then I got into a 30 minute argument with the instructor about how to write it up cleanly. I won, and he passed me.”
Tucker “You can’t just plug kids like that. Dude, I went to law school and I know there is no way a cop could do that and get away with it.”
Agent Jones “Oh no, of course not. Cops are different. They have very different force continuum rules than we do.”
Tucker “Force continuum?
Agent Jones “Basically, it means when you are allowed to initiate force on a criminal. Cops have a whole ordeal they have to go through, warning the criminal, giving him time to stop, etc. For the FBI, its not like that. If there is an immediate threat, we don’t have to say a thing, we can just shoot.”
Tucker “So if we were in a bank and some guy came in with a gun and held up the teller, you could just walk up behind him and do a contact shot to the base of his skull, no warning? Just fucking smoke him?”
Agent Jones “Oh yeah. As long as we don’t endanger the civilian, sure.”
Tucker “Have you ever done this?”
Agent Jones “No, never shot anyone. I mostly do white collar stuff.”
Tucker “Does this ever cross your mind, that at any moment someone could commit a violent crime in front of you, and you could kill them?”
Agent Jones “You think I don’t wish for that every day?”
Yeah…this guy is fucking cool. THIS is the type of person that deserves to sit next to me. I decide to tell him Embassu Suites part of The Austin Road Trip Story, and he loves it. He comes back with this one about his exploits with the US Border Patrol:
Agent Jones “I thought I was bad ass until I hung out with those guys. They are unbelievable. One time I was out with them right at to the border. There is a big fence with concertina wire and what not all along this stretch, but the Coyotes had cut a hole in it--”
I interrupted him.
Tucker “What is a Coyote?”
Agent Jones “They are the guys who smuggle illegals back and forth over the border. Anyway, the Coyote was smuggling about a hundred Tonks through the hole, and--”
I interrupted him again.
Tucker “What is a Tonk?”
Agent Jones “Oh--that’s what Border Patrol calls illegal immigrants who have made it into the US. They can’t call them ‘wetbacks’ or ‘spicks’ because obviously those are racially charged names, and ‘Mexican’ isn’t accurate since a lot of illegals are not from Mexico, so they say ‘Tonk.’ They call them that because it’s the sound made when you hit them on the head with a Mag-Lite.”
Tucker “HOE-LEE-SHIT.”
Agent Jones “I told you those guys were nuts. Anyway, so there we are, four trucks on this hill like 200 yards from the hole in the fence. We are totally blacked out, wearing night vision goggles and we can clearly see the Coyote hustling about a hundred Tonks through the fence. The Border Patrol guys wait until all of them are through the hole and about 50 yards into our side, when all four trucks simultaneously turn on all their spot lights and sirens. Of course, the illegals shit themselves and bust ass back to the border…and in the darkness, they all run right into the concertina wire. It was a fucking mess. Some of them did not make it.”
Tucker “You have to be kidding me.”
Agent Jones “Nope. You think our force continuum is loose? These guys shoot anything they want. You should see their situation reports for deaths. They’ll take out guys with rifles at 100 yards and write in the report, ‘Subject was threatening agent with a rock.’ It’s a joke.”
I get off the plane and part ways with Agent Jones, who is officially in my Awesome Guy Hall of Fame. Riding a great buzz, basking in genius slick maneuver that got me into first class, and having just heard some hilarious stories, I head to the gate for my Newark to Nantucket connection in a great fucking mood.
My buddy Chevy had invited me to his house in Nantucket for the weekend. As I was in line at the airport to board the flight, I found myself behind an obnoxious slob. Watching him spill grease all over his shirt as he stuffed nasty Sbarros pizza in his face and yell at his dopey, ill-disciplined children, I decided that I was not going to sit in coach. I decided that I was better than him and deserved better accomodations.
Once I decided I was going to sit in first class, I ran into a series of problems:
1. I didn’t have an upgrade voucher.
2. I didn’t know anyone who works for this airline.
3. I am not a member of any sort of Elite Club Gold Ultra Miles Club.
4. I didn’t have $800 to pay for an upgrade (it was this expensive because I was flying from LA to Newark).
Still unsure what to do, I took my assigned seat in coach, next to a guy who looked like Bill Bixby but smelled more like The Incredible Vagrant. At this point most people would probably quit and just stay in coach. I was about to do this, then I remembered that I am not most people, I am Tucker Max. If there is a way, I can find it, I have to find it damn it, or I am no better than the slob…then it hit me. The most obvious solution in the world, I cannot believe I’ve never thought of it before: Me.
I waited until most of the plane filled up, saw that there were three empty seats in first class, summoned the Tucker Max A-game charm, and approached a young female flight attendant in the back cabin:
Tucker Hey, how are you?”
FA “Hi, good.”
Tucker “I really hate to bother you about this, but can you possibly help me out?”
FA “Yeah, what can I do for you?”
Tucker “Well, when my people booked my flight, they made a mistake and put me in coach. I hate to make an issue about this, but is there any way you can put me in first class? Normally I would just live with it, but I’ve already had a few people pestering me for autographs and what not…and I just can’t get anything done back here with everyone trying to get a piece of me. I’m sure you know how it is. I can’t be the first famous person you’ve had this happen to.”
FA “Oh my gosh, yeah, no problem. Hold on, let me just make sure we have room, I’ll upgrade you right away. Stay right here.”
Three minutes later I was in first class, throwing back free beer and putting complimentary slippers on my feet. No one “bothered” me the rest of the flight, and none of the flight attendants even asked who I “was.”
I keep trying to tell you people: Take command of your destiny, and karma will conspire to help you along the way.
After a few beers, I notice the guy sitting next to me. He is a few years older than me, mid-thirties, clean cut, wearing normal clothes…and has a huge bulge on his hip. Well, he’s not black so it can’t be his dick--this motherfucker is packing a gun.
Tucker “I hope to god you are an Air Marshal, because if you aren’t, [motioning to his piece] this is going to be quite a flight.”
Guy “I’m not an Air Marshal.”
Tucker [long pause] “Uhhhh…”
Guy [he kinda laughs at me] “Don’t worry, I’m in the FBI. I’m off duty but we are required to carry our sidearm with us on planes whenever we fly.”
He showed me his creds and lo and behold, he is indeed in the FBI. We get to talking and drinking [note: I drank, he didn’t] and trading stories. I told him The Buttsex Story, which he thought was hilarious, so he tells me an FBI story in exchange:
“At the FBI Academy, there is this simulation thing where you shoot at a huge screen. They throw scenarios at you to teach you how to react to them. Kinda like a video game, but life size. You even get a pneumatic gun that feels just like a regular gun when you shoot it, with a recoil and everything, but it only shoots a laser obviously.
Well, in one of the scenarios you are in a hallway trying to clear a house and a 12 year-old kid comes around the corner with a gun at his side. He walks around in a daze, and you are supposed to react to what he does.
When I did the scenario, as soon as he came around the corner I told him to drop the gun, he didn’t, so I started lighting him up. But strangely, he wouldn’t go down. It was so frustrating; I knew I was hitting him, because the little red dots were hitting him center mass, but he wouldn’t go down. I emptied the first clip, slapped another one, and kept firing.
It took me 19 rounds, but I finally dropped that damn kid. By the time he went down, I had advanced right up onto the screen, and was about to start pistol whipping the canvas. I couldn’t figure out what was going on. He finally dropped on the 17th and 18th shots, but I added the 19th when he was down, just for good measure. I wasn’t taking chances with the Bionic Twelve Year Old.
The lights come on and the instructor was in total shock,
‘Do you know why you had to shoot 19 rounds? The simulation ISN’T EVEN SET UP TO REGISTER SHOTS THAT EARLY. I’ve NEVER seen anyone RELOAD in that scenario before!’
Apparently, since the weapon was only at his side and not raised, we were supposed to yell some jibberish about “this is the FBI,” and something else along the lines of “put down the weapon,” and then give him time to comply before we fired. I wasn’t having it. You don’t brandish a weapon at Agent [Jones] and live to tell about it.
Then I got into a 30 minute argument with the instructor about how to write it up cleanly. I won, and he passed me.”
Tucker “You can’t just plug kids like that. Dude, I went to law school and I know there is no way a cop could do that and get away with it.”
Agent Jones “Oh no, of course not. Cops are different. They have very different force continuum rules than we do.”
Tucker “Force continuum?
Agent Jones “Basically, it means when you are allowed to initiate force on a criminal. Cops have a whole ordeal they have to go through, warning the criminal, giving him time to stop, etc. For the FBI, its not like that. If there is an immediate threat, we don’t have to say a thing, we can just shoot.”
Tucker “So if we were in a bank and some guy came in with a gun and held up the teller, you could just walk up behind him and do a contact shot to the base of his skull, no warning? Just fucking smoke him?”
Agent Jones “Oh yeah. As long as we don’t endanger the civilian, sure.”
Tucker “Have you ever done this?”
Agent Jones “No, never shot anyone. I mostly do white collar stuff.”
Tucker “Does this ever cross your mind, that at any moment someone could commit a violent crime in front of you, and you could kill them?”
Agent Jones “You think I don’t wish for that every day?”
Yeah…this guy is fucking cool. THIS is the type of person that deserves to sit next to me. I decide to tell him Embassu Suites part of The Austin Road Trip Story, and he loves it. He comes back with this one about his exploits with the US Border Patrol:
Agent Jones “I thought I was bad ass until I hung out with those guys. They are unbelievable. One time I was out with them right at to the border. There is a big fence with concertina wire and what not all along this stretch, but the Coyotes had cut a hole in it--”
I interrupted him.
Tucker “What is a Coyote?”
Agent Jones “They are the guys who smuggle illegals back and forth over the border. Anyway, the Coyote was smuggling about a hundred Tonks through the hole, and--”
I interrupted him again.
Tucker “What is a Tonk?”
Agent Jones “Oh--that’s what Border Patrol calls illegal immigrants who have made it into the US. They can’t call them ‘wetbacks’ or ‘spicks’ because obviously those are racially charged names, and ‘Mexican’ isn’t accurate since a lot of illegals are not from Mexico, so they say ‘Tonk.’ They call them that because it’s the sound made when you hit them on the head with a Mag-Lite.”
Tucker “HOE-LEE-SHIT.”
Agent Jones “I told you those guys were nuts. Anyway, so there we are, four trucks on this hill like 200 yards from the hole in the fence. We are totally blacked out, wearing night vision goggles and we can clearly see the Coyote hustling about a hundred Tonks through the fence. The Border Patrol guys wait until all of them are through the hole and about 50 yards into our side, when all four trucks simultaneously turn on all their spot lights and sirens. Of course, the illegals shit themselves and bust ass back to the border…and in the darkness, they all run right into the concertina wire. It was a fucking mess. Some of them did not make it.”
Tucker “You have to be kidding me.”
Agent Jones “Nope. You think our force continuum is loose? These guys shoot anything they want. You should see their situation reports for deaths. They’ll take out guys with rifles at 100 yards and write in the report, ‘Subject was threatening agent with a rock.’ It’s a joke.”
I get off the plane and part ways with Agent Jones, who is officially in my Awesome Guy Hall of Fame. Riding a great buzz, basking in genius slick maneuver that got me into first class, and having just heard some hilarious stories, I head to the gate for my Newark to Nantucket connection in a great fucking mood.