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thnxforknowingme · 2 years

Text

Miles To Go (2/12)

Written for the Klaine 3-2-1 Prompt Bang 2022, art by @datshitrandom

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson

Rating: Mature

Notes: More info about the fic here.

All Chapters | Read on AO3

Chapter 2: Midwest

For the first hour of the drive, Kurt didn’t play anything on the stereo. He felt like this journey should be a sort of pilgrimage, deliberate and meditative - it shouldn’t be like any other road trip where he’d crank up the radio.

But there was nothing sacred about an interstate highway. Driving was still driving, mundane and mildly frustrating, dealing with traffic and slow trucks and assholes in sports cars. After a while, he got bored with the silence.

Finn would want me to have fun, he reasoned as he pulled off on an exit to plug his phone into the aux cord. He scrolled through his music and found a playlist he’d made in high school. He figured that would be fitting, and pressed the shuffle button.

The opening notes of ‘I Can’t Go For That’ started playing, and immediately Kurt’s heart was in his throat, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He could remember helping Finn pick out the goofy 80’s-inspired outfits for the mash-up competition, rehearsing in the auditorium, practicing choreography over and over.

God, how many songs would be forever painful to listen to, now? He couldn’t drive safely if he was crying. He put on the Hairspray soundtrack instead, which seemed like an innocuous enough choice, and got back on the freeway.

The drive to Indianapolis was familiar and unremarkable. The city itself was surrounded by a loose ring of freeways, a lopsided roundabout that allowed people passing through to avoid the metropolitan area entirely, if they wanted to.

The city center also contained a circle: a round plaza featuring a massive commemorative monument. The limestone column thrust into the sky, taller than the buildings surrounding it, topped with a bronze statue of Lady Victory holding a torch and a sword.

It was a little over-the-top, for Kurt’s taste. He’d never been particularly moved by war memorials, anyway. He wasn’t a patriotic person, and it rubbed him the wrong way that anyone who died in combat was a hero, while people who died any other way rarely got elaborate bronze statues erected in their honor.

His campground for the first night was on the far side of Indianapolis, next to a lake that seemed more like a pond to Kurt. He set up his tent, feeling a bit proud of his ability to do it without any mistakes, and settled in for the night.

Kurt was in Manhattan, trying to hail a cab. He watched the traffic carefully, throwing his arm out whenever a yellow car passed by. None of them slowed down, though. He was starting to panic - he had to be somewhere, he was going to be late.

“You think it’d be easier to get a taxi,” said a voice next to him, and he turned to see Finn standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing one of his puffy vests over a plaid shirt, the kind of aggressively small-town Ohio outfit that defined his wardrobe.

Right, Finn was here, of course. They were in New York for Nationals, and Finn would be singing lead with Rachel. He was their leader. He would get them through the competition, win or lose. And they needed to hurry, or they would miss it.

Finn smiled at him, his eyes squinting slightly against the sunlight. Something in the back of Kurt’s mind tried to get his attention, to insist that something was wrong. He ignored this. “I don’t know what to do,” he told Finn.

“Let’s just take the subway,” Finn suggested, pointing behind Kurt.

Kurt turned around to see an entrance to the 6 train. “Oh,” he said. “Good idea.”

He and Finn walked down the metal stairs. The inside of the train station seemed especially dark after the bright street above them. They approached the turnstiles and Kurt took out his MetroCard. He tried to slide it through the card reader, but he missed. He tried again, but the machine beeped angrily. Try again, said the greenish screen above the reader.

“Come on, man,” Finn said. He was already on the train platform, looking at Kurt expectantly.

He shouldn’t be here, the voice in Kurt’s head told him. He’s not here anymore.

Kurt told the voice to shut up. He knew that it was right, but acknowledging it might make Finn go away. If he just pretended this was normal, Finn would stay.

He tried his MetroCard again, but it got stuck - the magnetic stripe had been bent. He tried to smooth it out with his nail so it would work. Insufficient funds, the screen told him.

“Kurt,” Finn said. He was right in from of him now. The train was pulling up on the track behind him, the high-pitched screech of its brakes echoing through the station. “Here.”

Finn held out his hand, and Kurt took it. Finn pulled him forward, and Kurt tripped into the turnstile. The metal arms started to spin forward, pulling his body with them. He spun around and around, like he was rolling down a hill. Everything was dark. The ground was damp and soft beneath him. Finally he slowed and stopped, landing on his back at the foot of a grassy slope. He could see the stars above him, and he shivered. He sat up and looked around. Finn was gone. He was alone.

Kurt rose slowly into consciousness, his eyes blinking open to see the blue polyester of the tent above him. He could hear birdsong outside. He was hot, so he unzipped his sleeping bag from the inside, letting air flow over him and cool his sticky skin.

Another Finn dream. It had been a while.

He didn’t remember this happening when his mother died, but maybe he’d just blocked it out. After Finn died, he started having dreams about him all the time. Mostly it was just normal things, Finn popping up as a character in typical dream scenarios. For the first month or so, Kurt would wake up from these dreams and not be entirely sure what the reality was - whether it was actually Finn’s death that had been the dream. Sometimes his dream self became convinced that they’d just thought Finn was dead, but it had been a misunderstanding, that he was back now and everything was okay. Other times, he’d become aware in the dream that Finn wasn’t alive anymore, but he was so grateful for more time with him that he didn’t want to bring attention to that fact. Sometimes dream Finn would give him a sort of sly smile, as if to say, I know I’m not supposed to be here, but it’s our little secret, okay?

Kurt knew it was just his brain traveling down familiar pathways, his obsessive waking thoughts about Finn bleeding into his subconscious. But he also understood how someone more inclined to believe in ghosts or souls or afterlives could interpret the dreams as a message from Finn, proof that he still existed somehow. They felt so real sometimes.

But he was awake now, haunted only by his thoughts. He sat up to begin the day, to pack up and set off for his next destination.

Kurt had never been outdoorsy. As a child he’d balked at the idea of joining Cub Scouts or accompanying his father on fishing trips. As he grew older and began to care more about his hair and skin and clothes, he was even less inclined to be exposed to sun, wind, or dirt.

Now, as he panted heavily and felt his shirt stick to his sweaty back, he felt entirely justified in his distaste for being in the wilderness. Pain shot through his feet with every step along the hiking path. There were bugs, which he was not particularly a fan of. Also, he wasn’t sure if he should be worried about snakes or wolves or any other dangerous animals in the woods of Missouri.

But it seemed like a Finn-esque thing to do. Finn liked to be outdoors, to go camping in the summer, to swim and hike and mountain bike. As long as Kurt was driving across the country, he figured he should see the sights, even if they weren’t always to his taste. Finn had never gotten the chance to travel much, so Kurt would do it for him.

The Mark Twain National Forest was spread over southern and central Missouri, and it was where Kurt headed to explore some hiking trails after he spent a day and night in St Louis. St Louis had been much more his style. He’d enjoyed taking a disorienting elevator ride up the Gateway Arch and looking out over the city, watching the Mississippi flow on into the distance. He'd had fun exploring the whimsical City Museum, wandering through manicured parks, admiring galleries of contemporary art, and hearing blues music spill out of bars and restaurants at night.

Hiking through a remote forest was much further from Kurt’s idea of a good time. He’d known this was part of his general plan, and packed accordingly - he’d brought boots, sunscreen and bug repellent, a backpack and water bottle, one of his dad’s baseball caps.

But apparently these were the wrong kind of boots, or hadn’t been broken in enough, because his feet were killing him. The bug repellent didn’t seem to be doing much, since he was being swarmed by mosquitos, already feeling itching welts rising on his arms.

As he trudged along, he wondered what the point of this was. It had seemed a nice idea when he was in his comfortable, air-conditioned car. But who was this actually serving? Kurt was hot and tired and miserable, and Finn was gone. Going through this wasn’t going to bring Finn back, or provide comfort to his eternal soul - Kurt didn’t believe that Finn still existed in any metaphysical way.

The slope of the path evened out, offering some relief to Kurt’s burning calves and heaving lungs. The trees looked nice, he supposed, but he could have appreciated them from afar. The background noise of birds twittering and cicadas buzzing was pleasant, but would have been more enjoyable while sitting down in the shade, maybe with a cool lemonade in his hand. The whole endeavor seemed pointless and wasteful.

Maybe this entire trip was meaningless - Finn was just as dead whether his ashes were in Ohio or California. Maybe Kurt should just cut his losses and turn around, go home to figure out what the hell he was doing about school and the rest of his life.

Then he followed the path around a curve, and the forest opened up in front of him. Trees gave way to huge lichen-spattered rocks, beyond which the ground dropped off to reveal an incredible view: a river winding through hills blanketed in vivid, lush trees, all under an endless blue sky.

Kurt’s breath caught, not from physical exertion now but from awe and surprise.

Oh, he thought. So this is why people go hiking.

He staggered forward to a boulder where he could sit down. He stared over the vista, his mind blank for a few moments as he took it all in.

Kurt didn’t believe in any god or spiritual higher power. He didn’t think that the Earth or the universe had been deliberately created or intentionally planned. Everything that existed was a result of randomness, of infinite chain reactions and atoms carelessly bouncing against each other. And yet, the fact that somehow every chaotic, unplanned event had still led to this beautiful sight was nothing short of remarkable.

Finn was gone, and nothing would change that. But Kurt was still alive. He still had the chance to experience new things and see new places. And if it weren’t for Finn’s existence, for Finn’s impact on his life, he never would have arrived here, alone and awed by the natural beauty of this view. All the unlikely events that had to happen for Finn to be born, and to affect all the people that he did, had led to this miraculous moment. That had meaning. That had value.

If Kurt had given up halfway along the hiking trail, he never would have seen this gorgeous sight. And he couldn’t know what other incredible things he might experience down the road, motivated by his desire to give Finn some form of closure, to fulfill a plan Finn never got to see through.

It might be hard and lonely and confusing, but Kurt promised himself that he wasn’t going to quit.

#fic: miles to go #mtg chapter #my fic

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meat-husband · 4 years

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Do you think you'd write a part two to that yandere!vincent piece you wrote? :0 I haven't stopped thinking about it, it was soo good!

Well, this is like the third or fourth one now lol but here’s a lil origin story for how reader came to be in the basement.

I am boo boo the fool and completely forgot to q this, so it’s a day late lol

The shop you worked at was dirty, a grimey place that stayed open 24/7 to cater to the main clientele, the long haul truckers that came in off the interstate. It provided quick food and as many cups of coffee as you could drink, so long as you didn’t mind the rundown environment, but it wasn’t the kind of place that anyone expected five star meals from.

Opposite to most places, the peak hours were almost exclusively late at night, when most drivers needed to stop off for something to keep them going overnight. The daytime shift was slow, a trickle of people that dried up into nothing as the afternoon went on, with only the occasional customer. The food you sold was all premade convenience store fare, hotdogs and chicken left in a spinning rotisserie until someone was desperate enough to buy one, so you usually spent the downtime reading, tucked into a chair behind the counter. You barely looked up when the bell rang, signaling the arrival of another customer. In any other store it might have been rude not to offer some sort of hello, but the people that came through here were blunt and rough edged, getting in and out with little to no small talk.

“Hey, there.”

You drop your book, standing to ring up whatever has been laid on the counter, but you find it empty. You look up, meeting the eyes of the man across from you, but he has nothing in his hands and judging by the way he approached the counter, he wasn’t interested in looking around.

“Smokes?” You ask, already turning to flip open the display case.

“No, thanks,” he replies with an easy smile, leaning an elbow on the counter between you. “Not lookin’ to buy anything today.”

You frown at him. He was handsome, dark hair and sharp brown eyes, and the twitch of his lips as you looked him over told you that he knew it. His clothes were plain and worn, dirty from work, and he didn’t necessarily look out of place, but he didn’t look like a trucker either.

“Well, this is a store,” you tell him, sliding the display door closed. “If you’re not gonna buy anything, ain’t no point comin’ in.”

That gets a laugh out of him, smile widening, but his good humor only irritates you. You might not have been busy, but that wasn’t an invitation for him to come wandering around looking for conversation.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded genuine, tamping down his amused tone to something more charming. “I don’t mean to bother you, I just came in because of my brother.”

He gestures vaguely over his shoulder and you lean to the side to look out the dingy window. The parking lot is big, a shared space with the weigh station next door. A few trailers are parked across the way, but the spots closest to your shop are empty, except for one. A beat up old thing, streaked with mud and trailing a bumper that was tenuously held in place, stood a few rows back. Someone may have been in the cab of the old truck, but it was too far away to see.

You turn your eyes back to the man in front of you, frowning again. “Okay, then what’s he want? You said you weren’t buying anything.”

“Well, we’ve been by a few times before. Just stopping in from time to time, you know.”

You supposed this might be true, even though you don’t recognize him, but there weren’t really any regulars out here, so you didn’t bother to remember names or faces. He stops to give you a look that you think is supposed to be charming, but you’re at the edge of your patience already. He’s not spending money, so you’re not getting paid to stand here and listen while he tries to talk you up.

“My brother, now, he’s pretty shy -”

Here we go, you think, crossing your arms and glaring. Of course it’s all an elaborate set up, probably to ask for your number. It’s not the worst excuse you’ve heard, and it’s a good deal more polite than you’re used to, but there’s no way you’re sending this guy away with anything but a firm no.

“- so he didn’t want to come in himself, but he’s got quite a crush on you, and -”

“No.”

He stops, tilting his head to the side and looking at you with a confused smile that borders on annoyed. “‘No’ what?”

“You can’t have my number, or know when my shift ends, and I don’t want your number - or your ‘brother’s’.”

The smile slides from his face, straight into a nasty glare, face twisting with anger. It makes you pause for a moment, a trickle of fear running through the back of your mind, but there is a little bit of satisfaction at seeing the arrogant look wiped off his face.

He stands up, taking his elbow off the counter.

“Alright, fine.” He spits the words at you, turning back towards the door.

You watch him stalk away, a little bit of relief flooding you, but it doesn’t last for long. Halfway to the door, he stops, raising both hands as if in surrender, and slowly turns back to face you. He gives you a forced smile, taking a few steps towards the counter.

“Alright, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” he starts, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Why don’t we start over, huh?”

“Sure.” Your voice is sour, arms crossed over your chest and eyes glaring, but he continues despite your obvious frustration.

“My name is Bo,” he says, putting obvious effort into keeping his tone friendly. “Nice to meet you.”

You bite out your first name in return, quick and short, hoping to get this over with and send the creep on his way. His forced smile doesn’t waver, plastered over his face like a mask.

“Now, like I was saying, my brother is a little shy,” Bo repeats, his demeanor slowly becoming more calm as he speaks. “But I noticed Vincent makin’ eyes at you whenever we came by, so I thought I’d come in and put in a good word for him.”

You stare at him for a moment, letting the silence linger between you to make sure that he’s done with his pitch. Bo returns your stare, tensed shoulders betraying the irritation that lurked under the friendly veneer he had put up.

“Alright. Good word duly noted,” you reply, voice even. “That all?”

He stares at you, face slack with confusion at first, but you see the spark of anger light up his eyes when your words finally hit him. When he turns around, throwing the shop door open on his way out, it’s not the reaction you had expected. It was an abrupt end to the unpleasant conversation, but you couldn’t say that you weren’t happy to finally have the man out of the store.

Working the morning shift means you’re not out of the store until late afternoon, the cool fall sky already going dark, and by then all thoughts of the encounter were out of your mind. You hadn’t been fortunate enough to snag a ride home, so no car waits for you in the parking lot, and the walk home is the only thing you’re thinking of when you leave. It wasn’t a dangerous area, exactly, but a cheap convenience store just off the interstate wasn’t a good place to be caught off guard, either.

The parking lot exits onto a small paved road, more of an alley that branches off from the main street. On the far side there is a larger path closer to the interstate, usually lined with parked trailers, and the weigh station in the distance is the only source of light once you leave the first row of spots outside the shop. You head towards the little road, eyes on the ground as you walk the familiar path, and you wouldn’t have noticed him at all if it weren’t for the sudden spark of headlights ahead of you.

An old truck is parked at the edge of the lot, lurking in the darkness just outside the exit onto the road. The engine rumbles loudly when it’s started, headlights burning white in the shadows and your attention is immediately pulled towards it. The door jerks open, a figure leaning half out of the truck, and you frown when you recognize who it is.

You need to walk past the vehicle to get to the road, so you firmly plant your eyes on the ground, hoping to slide around it and stay out of the headlights. Even if he does spot you, you reason, the jacket and hood you’ve slung over your work clothes might be enough to keep him from recognizing you.

The truck is leaking exhaust and your eyes water as you approach, raising a hand to rub at them. Your gaze leaves the ground for only a moment, but they land on the figure now coming around the front of the truck. He lifts a hand in greeting and you huff, annoyed to see that he had, indeed, noticed you. You look at him from the corner of your eyes as you pass, trying to avoid meeting his eyes. Had he been waiting for you? It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he was lingering outside as you left, but you didn’t recall seeing him after that morning.

“Hey!”

The sudden shout startles you and, against your better judgement, you look up at him in surprise. There is a smile on his face, friendly and charming, just as he had been when he had introduced himself.

You give him a half nod, feeling awkward that your attempt to ignore him hadn’t worked out, and turn to leave, picking up the pace as you walk away. The feeling of eyes on your back makes your skin crawl, but you don’t turn around.

Footsteps, loud and fast, follow you along the cracked pavement. The sound makes your muscles tense, a spot on the back of your head tingling where you imagine his eyes are focused, and your heart beats faster the closer they get.

You turn at the last second, facing him with a scowl on your face.

“Are you following me?”

He smiles. It probably should make you scared, but through the adrenaline you’re just irritated, seeing the annoyingly smug look he’s fixing you with.

“Sorry, just tryin’ to get your attention,” he replies, stopping a few feet away and putting his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to apologize, you know, for earlier.”

You find your frustration with this man growing by the second. The brief encounter you had had this morning was hardly on your mind hours later, so you couldn’t see why he was so determined to not only bother you even more, but to keep bringing up his past rudeness.

“Yeah, alright,” you agree with a sigh, already starting to turn away. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, that’s kind of you,” he says, stepping to the side and keeping himself in front of you. “But I feel real bad about it, and I’d like to make it up to you.”

Your eyes narrow and you feel yourself go from irritated to pissed before he’s even finished saying the words. How persistent could one man be when you were very obviously not interested?

“Can you please fuck off?” You can see that the sudden venom in your voice catches him off guard. “How creepy is it to follow someone around a dark parking lot trying to hit on them after they’ve already said no?”

It takes him a moment to think up a reply, but you can see the outrage on his face.

“Hey,” he snaps back, all the friendliness gone from his voice and his face red from anger. “Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, I already told you it’s my brother -”

You cut him off with a mocking laugh, watching as his face reddened further. Maybe he was angry or maybe he was embarrassed at being called out, but you don’t want to spend anymore of your day talking to him.

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

The parking lot is big and dark, but somehow you feel safer walking into its shadows than trying to pass by the old truck parked next to the exit. You’ll take the long way around to avoid him, you decide, mentally mapping out your path. The median between the pavement and the road was uneven and overgrown, but you would risk slipping in the underbrush if it meant you could go in the opposite direction from him.

The familiar sound of footsteps, heavy, angry breathing and the metallic pop of a car door all reach your ears at once. You’re grabbed by the arm, too fast for you to even think of resisting, too fast for you to even turn and face the man behind you. He has you overwhelmed in a fraction of a second, taking control of your body’s movements and wrenching your arms behind your back with a practiced ease.

You cry out, a confused noise that you don’t mean to let out, trying to spin your head around far enough to see him over your shoulder. A rough shove forces your arm further into an awkward position, a sharp white pain seizing up your shoulder, but you can’t wiggle away.

“You should have been nice,” the man snarls into your ear, hot breath on the side of your face. “Would have turned out better for you that way.”

He sounds almost excited.

You hear him, but the words don’t sink in fully. The pain in your arm is too much to comprehend anything else, but your mind still recognizes the threat.

“Lot of fucking help you were!”

The words are shouted into your ear and you’re confused for a moment, before you realize that they weren’t directed at you. He turns and you’re forced to shuffle around in front of him, the pressure on your shoulder searing down your side.

The passenger door of the old truck has been thrown open, but you hardly have time to realize that before someone is in front of you. A large, cold hand is pressed to your face, palm against your cheek, fingers curling around the messy bits of hair that now stick to your sweaty face. You try to jerk back, but there’s nowhere to go with your arm still held in a vice grip behind you.

Your face is level with their chest, lanky black hair and a worn jacket all that you can see of them. The hand on your face cups your cheek in a too familiar way and you can sense that they are leaning over you, shoulders hunched to keep you blocked in.

“Hurry up and get ‘em in the truck, Vincent.” The other man hisses, pushing you forward and into the chest of the one in front of you.

The push jolts you forward, the arm behind you numb with pain. A cold, heavy spark of panic lands in your stomach. You do not want to get into that truck, but two sets of hands are forcing you towards it. With a gasp you suck in a quick breath, letting it out as a piercing scream. You twist between them, as much as you can with your arm locked in place. They’re startled for just a second, but it’s all the time you need.

You kick backwards with one foot, missing the first time but connecting with something on the next try, a harsh grunt of pain echoing in your ear. You can feel him buckle slightly, the grip on your arm going slack, the relief from the pressure building in your shoulder almost makes you dizzy. Hands grab at your clothing, trying to keep you under control, but you fight against their hold, letting out another breathless scream. Swaying on your feet, you lunge to the side, towards the dark, open expanse of pavement, knowing that all it would take is a few seconds to make it back into sight of the store.

When you find yourself on your back, blinking up at the sky and a worried, uncannily lifeless face hovering over you, it doesn’t register at first how you got there. Your vision spins and slowly a throbbing pain starts up in your head. The man above you pats your face, making low whines under his breath, and you weakly bat his hands away.

“All this fuckin’ trouble,” you hear the other man spit out, a deep anger in his voice. “I shoulda made you do this shit yourself, Vincent.”

#slashers #vincent sinclair #slasher x reader #gender neutral reader #mmmmmmmm its so long im sorry #like 2/3 is just bo being a dick and thats an endless well so it just keeps going lol #not much vincent but tbh you know he isnt going to be allowed to bring someone home without bo saying yes

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carolina-bleus · 6 years

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Passing the Test (Richonne Date Night-July)

Michonne was almost to the entrance when she heard the dreaded question.

“So, how do you think you did?”

Michonne had been asked that question way too many times in the last couple of days. She knew the people asking didn’t really care about how she did, they just somehow wanted reassurance about their own performances.

Though she internally grimaced, Michonne turned and offered her law school classmate a shrug and a smile. “I don’t know, Sara. I guess we’ll all find out in about three months.”

“Well, fingers crossed for us all,” Sara said as she held up both hands with her middle and index fingers crossed.

“Yeah, fingers crossed.”

“Are you coming to the little get together tonight? I think we are all ready to blow off some steam.”

Some of Michonne’s classmates who were local to the area had planned to meet up at a bar to celebrate making it through the end of the bar exam. However, the last thing Michonne wanted to do was spend even more time with folks she’d been cooped up in a roomed with for two tense and stressful days. She needed some breathing room. She needed some quiet time. She needed Rick.

Michonne’s thoughts were interrupted by the vibrating of her phone. She glanced at the screen and smiled before looking at Sara. “Sorry. I can’t make it. My ride’s here. But tell everyone I said ‘hello.’ I’ll see you later.”

With a quick wave to Sara, Michonne rushed out of the door. She paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the bright July sun before looking around for Rick. She didn’t have to look far as he was parked right in front of the building. She walked down the steps and right into his arms.

The couple didn’t say a word. Michonne just wanted a moment to decompress. And Rick, always aware of what his partner needed, held Michonne tight and rubbed her back until he felt some of the tightness start to leave her body.

Feeling better, Michonne pulled back and looked up at Rick. “Hey.”

Rick leaned down to give Michonne a soft kiss. “Hey.”

“Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“I take it you’re ready to get out of here?”

“Been ready.”

“Well, let’s go. I have a surprise waiting for you in the car.”

Michonne found a king-sized Big Cat bar in the passenger seat. Rick found himself smiling when his wife clutched her favorite candy to her chest. His smile melted into a look of concern when Michonne’s eyes started tearing up.

“Babe?”

“I’m sorry,” Michonne sniffled. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“You’re just out of sorts. It’s understandable. Let’s just get in the car and head back to the hotel,” Rick suggested.

A sniffling and embarrassed Michonne nodded and got into the passenger seat still clutching her Big Cat.

After they were settled in the car and headed out of the parking lot, Michonne got her emotions under control and braced herself for the question. When they were close to their hotel and Rick still hadn’t asked, Michonne decided to take matters into her own hands.

“Well?”

Rick glanced over at Michonne. “Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask you what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I did on the exam?”

Rick shook his head while looking forward. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I figured it was the last thing you wanted to talk about right now. Besides, I already know how you did...you passed with flying colors.”

“Babe, I appreciate your confidence in me, but not everyone passes the bar on their first try.”

“Well, not everyone is fortunate enough to be Michonne Grimes, the smartest person in the world.”

Michonne smiled at Rick’s words. “I am definitely not the smartest person in the world.”

“Well, you’re my world and you are definitely the smartest person in it.” Rick reached over and grabbed Michonne’s hand. “I don’t have any doubt that you passed the exam and you shouldn’t either.”

Michonne entwined her fingers with Rick and relaxed into her seat with a smile. Rick always knew just what to say to make her feel better. She felt the tension of the last two days start to ease from her body.

Michonne was just about to ask Rick about their plans for the evening when her phone began buzzing and didn’t stop. She picked up her phone and sighed. The tension was back. She pulled her hand from Rick’s and began going through the messages that were streaming in from family and friends.

“I guess they realize the exam is over. Everyone is asking me some form of the same question about how it went or how I think I did. Noah even asked me if I passed as if I know that right now!” Michonne blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m just sick of questions. I have been doing nothing but answering questions for the past two days, hell, for the past three years, and I’m sick of it. I just need a day without anyone asking me anything.”

Rick pulled into the hotel parking lot and stopped the car. He turned to Michonne and smiled.

“What are you smiling about right now? I’m obviously having some sort of stress induced breakdown and you’re smiling about it.”

“You know I’m not smiling about that. But you are obviously stressed out, so here’s the plan. Text your parents and Andrea and let them know that things went well and that you’ll see them when we get back home. Ask them to pass that message along to everyone else. Then cut your phone off and forget about it for the next few days.”

“What are we going to be doing for the next few days? I thought we were headed back to Atlanta right now?”

Rick and Michonne had traveled up from Atlanta so that she could sit for the DC bar exam. The exam was on Monday and Tuesday and the plan was to fly back to Georgia on Wednesday.

“We’re taking a bit of a detour.”

“What kind of detour are we taking? Don’t you have to get back to work? Rick, you already took time off to come up here with me. I don’t want you to miss any more.”

Rick was an officer for Atlanta PD and had taken vacation time so he could be in DC to support Michonne.

“Don’t worry about it. I have it all handled. I’m off for the rest of the week. So, it’s just me and you for the next few days.” Rick shrugged bashfully. “If that’s what you want.”

Michonne caressed Rick’s cheek. “Of course, that’s what I want. I want to spend as much time with you as possible before everything gets crazy next month.”

“Me, too.”

Michonne had accepted a position with a DC firm and was scheduled to start work in August. She had applied for the position on a whim and had been floored when she got an interview and ultimately a job offer a few months ago. Michonne had been hesitant at first because she knew taking the job would impact Rick more than it would her. While they’d both have to move away from family and friends, Rick would have to leave a job that he loved with the Atlanta Police Department. But working in DC had always been Michonne’s dream and Rick was not about to let her give that up. After many long discussions and with Rick’s unwavering support, Michonne had decided to accept the position at one of DC’s oldest and most powerful law firms.

Michonne was starting to get excited. “Okay. Are we staying here for the rest of the week or...?”

“No, we’re checking out today and taking a drive.”

When Rick didn’t elaborate, Michonne asked, “Taking a drive where?”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Rick said lightly. “Let’s check out and head out. And for the next couple of days you don’t have to worry about answering any questions from anyone. Just tell me what you want and your wish is my command.”

Michonne looked her husband up and down. “I can have anything I want?”

“Anything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

The couple checked out of their hotel and began the drive to parts unknown...well unknown to Michonne at least. Rick knew but would not give Michonne any clues during their hours long drive. By the time they arrived at their destination later that evening, Michonne, exhausted from the last couple of days, was fast asleep in the passenger seat. Rick carefully unbuckled Michonne’s seatbelt and gently eased her out of the car and into his arms so as not to wake her.

Rick knew that Michonne hadn’t been sleeping well for the last few days. He’d felt her tossing and turning beside him in bed since they’d arrived in DC. He hoped the next couple of days would give her the time she needed to relax and get back to herself.

The next morning, bright sunlight intruded on Michonne’s peaceful slumber. Sitting up with a yawn, she looked around the room before turning and smiling at Rick beside her.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

“I feel like that’s the first peaceful night’s rest I’ve gotten in weeks.” Sighing happily, Michonne leaned over to give Rick a kiss. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Umm...where are we exactly?” The last thing Michonne remembered was riding on the interstate listening to some of Rick’s questionable music selections.

“Can’t you hear it and smell it? We’re at the beach.”

“I got that, but exactly what beach...and what state?”

Rick chuckled. “That’s right. You fell asleep before we were even out of Virginia.”

“Hey, don’t laugh. I’ve been going through it.”

“You don’t have to worry about that now. You made it. But, to answer your question, we are in Wrightsville Beach.”

“North Carolina?”

“That’s right. You know Shane’s parents have a little beach house here. They let us borrow it for the rest of the week.”

“That was so nice of them! We’ll have to pick up something for them while we’re here.”

“Yeah, but we’ll do that later. Right now is the time for you to relax and do exactly what you want.”

“We can do exactly what I want while we’re here?”

“Yup. You have any idea what you want to do?”

“Yup.” Michonne tossed back the covers and pulled her nightshirt over her head and her panties down her legs.

Rick raised his brows as his eyes darkened. “Oh. I guess I’m first on your ‘to-do’ list.”

“You sure are.”

Rick leaned back as Michonne eased his boxer briefs down his body. “Lucky me.”

As promised, for the next two days, Rick made sure Michonne got to do whatever her heart desired. Fortunately for Rick, what Michonne’s heart desired most was him. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him and Rick was not complaining. The couple spent Wednesday and Thursday making love, eating from the well-stocked fridge and pantry, and walking along the beach.

Though the mini-vacation was mostly doing its to job to help Michonne relax, there were still moments when Rick caught her looking preoccupied. He let the moments go without mention, knowing that his wife would confide in him when she was ready.

The couple started Friday with an early morning walk along the beach. They decided to head out before breakfast to avoid the crowds that would populate the beach as the day progressed.

There were a few other people out...surfers trying to catch a few waves before work, an elderly couple looking for seashells, and a younger couple taking a walk with their kids.

Rick breathed in the sea air and listened to the waves lap against the shore. “This is nice.”

When he didn’t get a response from Michonne, Rick looked over at his wife and saw her watching the older couple talking to the young family with a thoughtful expression on her face.

Rick gently squeezed her hand that was entwined with his. “I think that will be us one day.”

Michonne started at Rick’s voice. “Huh?”

Rick nodded over to the small group. “That will be you and me one day.”

“The couple with kids?”

“I was actually talking about the old couple looking for seashells. That’ll be the perfect way to spend our golden years. Just combing the beach looking for that perfect shell. And I know I could rock the hell out of that sandal and sock combination the husband has going on.”

“It might be a good look for you. I have to see those toes every night...and it is not always pretty.”

“Hey!”

Michonne laughed. “You know I’m kidding. I love everything about you.”

Rick blushed at Michonne’s words. “You know I feel the same way about you.”

“I do,” she replied before giving her husband a kiss.

“You good?” Rick whispered in his wife’s ear.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Alright, let’s start heading back so I can make us some breakfast.”

“Great! I’m starving. I really want some bacon.”

“Are you frying bacon?”

Rick glanced back from the stove to see Michonne standing in the kitchen doorway. “Yeah. I thought I’d make your favorite bacon and cheese omelet.”

Michonne grimaced.

“You asked for bacon ten minutes ago.”

“I know, but I’m not really feeling bacon or eggs right now. Would it be too much trouble for you to make some of your chocolate pancakes?”

Rick raised his brows. “So no to bacon and yes to chocolate pancakes? The last time I made the pancakes, you said you gained five pounds from the smell alone.”

“I just have a taste for them right now. But if it’s too much...I can eat the omelet.”

“Babe, you barely got that sentence out with a straight face. I think I actually saw a wince.” Rick laughed. “If you want pancakes, I’m making you all the pancakes you can eat.”

Michonne’s face lit up. “Thank you! I’ll see if we have all of the ingredients.”

Once breakfast was ready, Michonne practically inhaled the pancakes that she’d topped with whipped cream and syrup. When she finally ate her fill, she noticed Rick staring at her with a bemused expression on his face.

“What?”

“You have some whipped cream on your face right here.” Rick leaned over and wiped the foamy streak from the side of his wife’s face.

Michonne could see the amusement in his eyes. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

Rick held up his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You know I’m stressed at the moment.”

“Well, I’ve got the perfect way to de-stress you.”

Michonne perked up. “Really? This morning before our walk, you said we needed to take a break for a few hours before we made love again.”

“We do need to take a break. I never thought I’d say this, but you’ve been wearing me out.”

Michonne shrugged. “I can’t get enough of you right now.”

“That makes me incredibly happy to hear, but I’m afraid that one or both of us is going to sprain a hip if we don’t take a little break.”

Michonne sighed. “Okay, so what else did you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s Friday, our date night, so I booked us a boat. We are going to sail around the island this afternoon and then have a nice seafood dinner at sunset.”

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, Rick, but you didn’t have to go out of your way to plan something for our date night. The past couple of days have already been amazing. You’ve done more than enough.”

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

Michonne teared up.

“Hey, I didn’t say that to make you cry.”

“I know.” Michonne let out a shaky breath. “I just thought about what you are doing now to make me happy and what you’re about to do. You are giving up everything you’ve built with the APD for me and my career. What if we are uprooting our lives in Georgia to move to DC for nothing? What if I don’t pass the bar? You’ll have transferred to a new department for nothing. We’ll have spent all the money on the move and a new apartment for nothing. My parents will have wasted money on me for college and law school. And on top of all that I might—” Michonne started breathing heavily. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Rick got up and squatted down in front of his wife. It wasn’t like her to get worked up like this. “Hey...hey. You are going to start hyperventilating. I need you to take some slow, deep breaths and try to calm down. Yeah, that’s it...in and out. In and out.” Rick kept repeating the words the directions until he felt Michonne start to calm. “You okay?”

Michonne nodded and gave a weak smile. “What time is that boat ride? Looks like I need it,” Michonne caressed Rick’s cheek, “and you.”

The boat ride worked wonders in relaxing Michonne...until she got so dizzy and sick that they had to dock early and return home. Rick worried that his wife was literally worrying herself sick.

That evening, Michonne had recovered and still wanted to go out to dinner. Rick had misgivings about resuming their plans.

“Are you up to it? Maybe we just need to do what we’ve done for the past couple of nights and stay in and relax.”

“Rick, I’m fine. It would be a shame for us to be at the beach and not enjoy some local seafood.”

“You sure you’re not coming down with something? You know stress impacts your immune system and could make you susceptible to certain autoimmune diseases like Lupus. It disproportionally impacts Black women in their childbearing years. Toni Braxton has it.”

When Michonne just stared at her husband, he grinned sheepishly. “I saw that on a talk show I watched while you were taking a nap this afternoon. I’m just worried about you, Michonne. I don’t want your stress to start impacting your health.”

“It won’t. I know I’ll be fine once I get the test results.” Michonne shook her head. “But, I don’t want to think about them right now. I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”

“Okay, but if you get sick again, we’re going to the nearest hospital to see what’s going on with you.”

Thankfully, Michonne didn’t have any problems at dinner. Rick made sure to keep a close eye on her. And other than her food choices, she seemed fine.

“Babe, you love salmon. I can’t believe you turned it down because it wasn’t wild Alaskan salmon.”

Michonne swallowed a bite of the spicy shrimp quesadillas she’d ordered. “Wild salmon is better for you than farm raised. It’s less fatty and has fewer contaminants.”

“Why do you know all of this?”

“Oh, I did some research during my bar exam study breaks,” Michonne explained quickly. “And I’m glad I didn’t get the salmon. These quesadillas are delicious. I might get an order to take home tonight.”

“They smell awfully spicy.”

Michonne grinned. “They are.”

“But you don’t like spicy foods.”

Michonne shrugged. “I do tonight,” she said before taking another huge bite of food.

After dinner, the couple decided to take a stroll through town. They visited quaint little stores and bought some souvenirs and a thank you gift for the Walshes. They came across an old fashioned drugstore that still had the original soda fountain from long ago. It wasn’t in use today, but the shop still sold homemade frozen custard and Michonne couldn’t resist going in to get a taste. Though Rick was stuffed from dinner, he followed Michonne in and walked around the store as she sampled several flavors before deciding on a cone with two huge scoops of rich French vanilla custard that had chocolate covered potato chips and caramel pretzel pieces swirled in it. Under the astonished gaze of her husband, Michonne finished the treat in record time.

Once they were back at the cottage, freshly showered and in bed, Rick decided to ask Michonne a question that had started forming in his mind earlier in the day.

“Babe, I know I promised that you wouldn’t have to answer any serious questions during this trip but...”

“What is it?”

“Are your bar exam results the only test results you’re worried about?”

Michonne’s eyes grew before she let out a sigh. “When did you figure it out?”

“I didn’t really start suspecting it as a possibility until today. I was doing some research about your symptoms this afternoon, the cravings, being more emotional than normal, the nausea, the increased sex drive, and pregnancy popped up as a possible reason. But I know you wouldn’t suspect you were pregnant and not tell me...right?”

“I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t want to worry you. You already had so much on your plate with changing jobs and moving and worrying about me with the bar. I didn’t want to add one more thing for you to worry about, especially if it was all a false alarm.”

“So you decided to take all of this on alone? Michonne, you are dealing with just as much, if not more, than I am right now.”

“Well, I guess I also didn’t want to deal with the possibility of being pregnant right now. There is no way I would have been able to study and make it through the bar exam if I really focused on possibly being pregnant. But I’m sorry for keeping this from you.”

Rick embraced Michonne. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this on your own.”

“I’m just glad it’s out in the open now.”

Rick pulled away and stared into his wife’s eyes. “Do you really think you might be pregnant?”

“Yeah. Despite being somewhat in denial, I did some research of my own, you know, just in case.”

“Is that why you didn’t get the salmon tonight?”

Michonne nodded. “If I am pregnant, I’m not giving our baby farm raised salmon.”

Rick loved the words “our baby” coming out of Michonne’s mouth.

Unaware of her husband’s thoughts, Michonne was nervous before she next spoke. “How do you feel about me maybe being pregnant?”

A huge smile broke out on Rick’s face. “Honestly? It’s taking everything in me not to run outside and run up and down the beach yelling out that you’re pregnant. I’m beyond happy about the possibility. The question is, how do you feel about it?”

Michonne’s smile mirrored Rick’s. “I’m scared and excited all at once. There are so many changes happening in our lives right now, but this just feels right.”

“It does,” Rick agreed. “So, when are you going to take the test?”

“I planned on taking one right after the exam, but we ended up here so I put it off.”

“You want to wait until we get home?” Rick was dying to know, but he would let Michonne take the lead.

Michonne shook her head. “Now that you know, I don’t want to wait any longer to find out.”

“You want me to go out and get a test? I can go right now.”

Michonne stopped Rick from getting out of bed. “I actually already have one. I bought it at the drugstore tonight while you were looking around.”

“Okay. So, are you ready to take one more test?”

“Yeah.” Michonne got out of bed and went over to her purse. She pulled the test out and faced Rick. “Why am I so nervous about peeing on a stick?”

“I’d pee on it for you if I could.”

The joke had its desired effect when Michonne burst out laughing. “I appreciate the thought.” After settling down, Michonne she took a deep breath. “Well, here goes noth--. No. Here goes everything.”

After taking the test, Rick and Michonne endured the three longest minutes of their lives. When the alarm on Rick’s phone chimed, the couple looked at each other before standing. Hand in hand, they walked into the bathroom and read the results.

Epilogue...Three months later...

“Michonne, it’s here!” Rick came into their apartment holding a white envelope.

“I know we’ve waited this long to find out, but now it feels like it’s too soon to know.”

“We don’t have to read it right now if you need more time.”

Michonne shook her head. “No, I’m ready. Come sit down and we’ll open it together.”

“You don’t want to do it by yourself?”

“No, we share everything, remember?”

“Okay.” Rick sat down beside Michonne on the couch and handed her the results.

Michonne opened the envelope slowly as her hands were shaking. She pulled out the letter and held it so that she and Rick could read it at the same time.

After a few moments of silence, Rick wrapped his arms around Michonne and pulled her back against him. “Well, I guess that makes you two for two in passing tests lately, Counselor,” he said happily.

“I guess so.” Michonne chuckled before sighing in wonder. “I’m a licensed attorney!”

“Congratulations, babe. You did it.”

Michonne placed her hands atop Rick’s where they rested on her growing baby bump. “No, we did.”

#Richonne #date night series #rendezvous #richonnefics

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the-record-newspaper · 5 years

Text

The killing of Rhonda Hinson: Part 21

The Hinson family: Rhonda’s mother, Judy; brother, Robbie; and father, Bobby. This photo was taken by a photographer from the News Herald in Morganton about a month after Rhonda was killed in December of 1981.

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

For The Record

It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.—Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

Marguerite Fletcher lived in Holly Hills located approximately one-half mile from the Mineral Springs Mountain exit ramp off Interstate 40 West. In fact, she lived in proximity to Rhonda Hinson’s best friend, Jill Turner-Mull. And on Dec. 23, 1981—unbeknownst to her—Ms. Fletcher would become one of the two most credible, oft-quoted witnesses to an impending crime: the killing of Rhonda Hinson.

At the time, Ms. Fletcher was employed at Curley’s Fish Camp in Hildebran and was driving home subsequent to her evening shift and likely a visit to a friend’s house. It was approaching 12:30 a.m., when she turned off the exit and paused at the stop sign at the end of the ramp before routinely turning left toward her Hazel Street residence.

According to earlier reportage, Ms. Fletcher purportedly told law enforcement that she observed a blue General Motors Chevy parked under the bridge at the Mineral Springs Mountain overpass and two white males sitting inside it. The vehicle was facing in a northerly direction [toward Valdese] and parked near the I-40 Westbound off ramp that Rhonda Hinson would subsequently travel.

But in an April 9, 1987, recorded conversation with Judy Hinson—over five years after Rhonda’s shooting death, and heard by this writer over the weekend past—Marguerite recounted that which she could recall of the fateful evening, adding one other insightful detail:

“I always came through there when I worked at Curley’s…I don’t remember what time it was—it’s been so long. I do remember though that it wasn’t long before that [the shooting] happened…I think it was minutes before it happened. There was an old model car parked under the bridge; I don’t remember what color it was. I remember as I was coming on the off ramp, I saw this car, and this man got out. The reason I remember that is that the man had on an outfit the same color as his car. It was cold. He was going to the back of his car toward the trunk. I don’t know cars, but it looked like a newer car. I looked in my rearview mirror, and he was at the trunk doing something. I then saw the car under the bridge….

“That was the first time I had seen a car there, and I haven’t seen one since....I didn’t notice if anyone else was in the car with the man on the off ramp. The man that was getting out of that car (It was beige and his clothes were beige.) was an older man. The reason I remember it so well is because of his clothes being the same color of the car.

Marguerite Fletcher told Judy Hinson that she was tired and paying little attention at the time, though she maintained that better attention would have been afforded if she had even a prescient inkling that something significant was about to occur that evening.

I could have gotten the tag number….It looked like the car on the off ramp was a hatchback, between a tan and a beige, with an outfit that matched the car to a tee.

Though Ms. Fletcher could not recollect the color of car parked at the bridge, she averred that at the time law enforcement initially questioned her, she was able to tell them the color.

The strangest thing about the car under the bridge was that it was on the wrong side of the road, facing Valdese—going toward Valdese on the left side, directly under the bridge.

The late Reggie Donald Smart was working on his truck at Lawrence Fulbright’s Garage, located approximately one mile north of Valdese, during the early morning of Dec. 23, 1981. He left the garage about 1 a.m., to return home. His statement recounting the events of the evening would become the second most significant eyewitness account of the crime scene and the only passer-by to-date to see Rhonda Hinson slumped over the steering wheel of her Datsun 210.

In his interview with Lieutenant Warlick of the Burke County Sheriff’s Department and Special Agent John Suttle of the SBI, he detailed his journey toward I-40. The following is excerpted from SA Suttle’s recapitulation:

“…He observed a beige car backed into the ditch on the right side of the road in the direction he was traveling. He said he was not sure of the make of the car; but, it was beige and appeared new. He said he observed a white female with blond hair slumped over the steering wheel, leaning forward, and more to the driver’s side of the car. He said the door was open and the dome light was on at the time he observed it.”

He said he observed a white male about 6-feet tall standing on the outside of the driver’s door. He said he estimated the weight of this white male as 170 pounds. He said he could not recall the color of this white male’s hair, nor how he was dressed.

Mr. Smart stated that he didn’t think much about what he had witnessed at first, concluding that he had happened upon a mishap perpetrated by a drunken driver. Given that assumption, he didn’t get a good look at the man standing at the driver’s door.

Subsequent to his initial statement to authorities, Reggie Smart submitted to hypnosis in an effort to ascertain details of that evening tucked in the recesses of his brain. On Wednesday Nov. 15, 1989, the TV show Unsolved Mysteries aired a segment relative to the killing of Rhonda Hinson. In it, the producers aired an excerpted segment of the actual audio tape from Reggie’s hypnosis session:

“A Chevelle. It looks blue, ’70 model, I believe. Looks like the front end of it has been messed up. It’s in primer—the primer is grey…He’s not a big guy. He’s about six-foot or 5’ 10”…He’s about medium build…Sort of a dark brown haired guy…”

In April 1983, Mr. Smart reiterated his earlier statements but elaborated on one detail involving an old model Chevelle. According to notes from that session, Reggie was driving on Eldred Street within a mile of the murder scene when he passed an old model Chevelle traveling at a high rate of speed. The automobile turned up Pineburr Avenue [that runs east to west just south of Valdese]. As he glanced back through his rearview mirror, he averred that he saw a police car turn onto Pineburr Avenue behind the Chevelle.

Mr. Smart’s asseveration notwithstanding, Valdese Police later stated that the cruiser was not from their fleet, as did the Burke County Sheriff’s Department. Two Valdese officers were working that early morning: Harry Feimster, who was patrolling Main Street and Danny Barus, was on Church Street on “the other side of town.”

During Wednesday, April Fool’s Day, 1987, Reggie Smart was once again queried about the aforementioned detail. Seven-years before his death, he remembered that the Blue Chevelle was driving: “…pretty fast and turned onto Pineburr Avenue. and the police car turning right behind the Chevelle; but, did not see the color of the police car nor does he know what kind of light was on the police car (a long light like the sheriff’s department or a round light like the local police).

Reggie Donald “Tut” Smart died on Friday April 15, 1994 [Find-a-Grave also lists his date-of-death as Wednesday March 23, 1994] in Burke County. He is entombed at Catawba Memorial Park in Hickory.

Approximately five years subsequent to their daughter’s murder, the Hinsons decided that they could no longer tolerate the dearth of information trickling down to them from the Burke County Sheriff’s Department. Already, they had secured the services of sundry consultants to assist in the investigation, as previously reported. But in 1986/87, Bobby and Judy commenced to calling the principals who had been questioned by authorities and to qualifying rumors that they had heard across the years.

With some degree of frequency, Bobby Hinson phoned SBI Special Agent John Suttle, in whom he had immense confidence at the time, to inquire as to the progress of his investigations into the death of his daughter. And apparently, Mr. Suttle began to resent Bobby’s encroachment upon his time and questioning—as he perceived it—his ability to discharge his responsibilities. He said as much in a recorded conversation with a former law officer—heard by this writer over the weekend.

“…Bobby keeps calling me wanting to know what I am doing…I don’t know why I’ve been so nice to them because all they’re doing, every time they call me, is questioning my ability to do my job. It’s getting to the point that I am getting tired of it…I am not far from telling them never to call me again at home. If they do, I’m going to hang up on ‘em….It’s like they are portraying to me that I’m totally incompetent and need someone to call me every week to tell me what to do…”

[Editor’s Note: Former SBI Special Agent John Suttle has been issued an invitation to comment upon remarks he made during a recorded conversation approximately five years after the killing of Rhonda Hinson. To date, he has not chosen to do so. If he should in the future, his comments will be reported as he articulates them.]

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danwetzelsports · 7 years

Video

In lieu of the above video (courtesy of @nickkrause08) showing the friendly skies turning into fight club – not to mention all the other airline incidents of late – I am updating my recent post/rant on the worst people you’ll meet on your flight.

Hint: it isn’t the flight attendants, TSA agents or that overstressed/underpaid woman working the gate.

As noted in the first post, flying can be stressful and disappointing. I get it. I’ve flown over one million miles on Delta/Northwest alone and probably hundreds of thousands on other airlines. I’ve been to airports big and small, in airplanes big and small and seated next to passengers big and small. I’ve been stranded, abandoned and slept one night in a chair inside the Minneapolis airport. Whatever horror story you have, there’s a good chance I can match it.

Still, come on people. We have an actual brawl on an airplane? This is the discount flight from Burbank, not the prison yard. If someone disrespects you, chill. In fact, always chill. Your flight will go better. And sleep. And shut up. The other passengers don’t want to talk to you. Trust me.

Somehow the public momentum is to defend the customers and blame everything on the airlines. No, it’s usually us, the passengers.

Remember the woman whose baby almost got bumped because the flight attendant was trying to remove a doublewide stroller she wanted to bring down the aisle? Could have been handled better but … why the hell were you trying to bring a doublewide stroller onto a plane when it clearly and always is prohibited?

How about the woman who went to the media because flight attendants wouldn’t let her go to the bathroom while the fasten seat belt light was on and instead handed her a cup? Pretty funny story, but there is a reason why they have a fasten seatbelt light. It isn’t safe to wander around the plane. You can disagree with their judgment – there are many policies on board that make no sense. That’s still the deal. It’s probably a federal law. This isn’t your living room. You want full control of your actions? The interstate is right over there.

And yes, getting bumped from flights happens but the practice of overselling planes is good for customers, because it helps lower costs and allows more people each day to book flights.

Airline travel is amazing – amazingly safe, amazingly convenient and amazingly cheap. Perfect. Not at all. Anyone who expects perfect, let alone on a $119 supersaver, is a fool.

So here are my updated and now expanded nine worst people on a plane (in no particular order). And I’m not even getting to the obvious ones such as belligerent drunks or the would-be UFC brawlers in the video or the barking dogs – no dogs other than guide dogs should be allowed in the damn main cabin, by the way. Give me a break with the “comfort pet.”

1. Starbucks Lady

It’s a 6:30 a.m. cross-country flight and you felt the need to get a Venti double Frappuccino or whatever that creation is? Not only are you going to spend the first hour of the flight sucking loudly through a straw, but that creation has enough caffeine and sugar to drop a horse. Look lady, no one is asking you to fly the plane. Exactly how alert do you need to be?

You want to know how to make air travel better? Go to sleep. Flight goes faster, you don’t need to be entertained, you can ignore the other passengers and you catch up on some rest (fitful, but whatever). Don’t tell me you can’t sleep on planes between a gargle of Starbucks. You have to have a plan – turn off electronics, read a book, avoid stimulants. It isn’t hard. I feel for like 6-foot-10 guys, but you aren’t that.

Don’t book a window seat, drink a massive coffee and then wonder why you are as fidgety as a kindergartener, unable to sleep and have to get up three times to go to the bathroom – thus bothering the rest of us.

2. Big bag guy

It ain’t going to fit, buddy. Maybe it’s compensating for other parts of their life. Maybe they just really think they are going to get over on the airline for that $25 baggage fee. Whatever it is, that massive roller isn’t getting into the tiny overheard compartment.

These guys are the worst. They push and slam and bitch and moan. The people already seated below them are panicked and jostled. Some properly sized bag is inevitably getting crushed up there.

The guy gets angrier and angrier as he tries to defy the laws of physical space. Soon he’s regaling everyone about that time the airline lost his luggage in Albuquerque – cry me a river, we’re not on your side.

Then the poor flight attendant has to come by and tell him he needs to check it (for free) and he gets mad at them. Everyone’s stress goes up. Look, pay the fee or pack less. It’s simple. How much crap you need for this weekend in Erie?

The baggage fee thing is horrible but they have to do it because all you fools will only pay for the cheapest flight that comes up on Expedia. Then you complain when the flight isn’t luxurious like it supposedly used to in the Mad Men days or something. It’s like someone buying a Chevy Spark and then bitching it isn’t as roomy as a Cadillac Escalade.

3. Idiot/Patriot in the TSA line

You know these people are there to stop us from getting blown up, right? Imperfect system but it’s the best we’ve got. No matter what you think, TSA agents want to get rid of you as quickly as possible. They are trying to be professional under impossible circumstances.

So, can you please pay attention? September 11 was over a decade and a half ago … the freakin’ laptop has to come out of the bag. Yes, a cell phone is a metal item. And actually I am not surprised that your oversized belt buckle caused the x-ray to ping. It’s not shocking at all.

This isn’t that hard. Follow the stupid rules. You’re slowing up the line because you are a clown.

The only people worse are the ones who believe the TSA is infringing on their Constitutional rights with that there new-fangled body scanner or a pat down or merely existing. What, you think I’m a terrorist? If you’re that into your privacy, then cool. Just find a better way to get the woods of Idaho.

Twitter follower @FakeKevinKugler added a subset to this: the person who was sent to TSA PreCheck but decides to clog everything up by stripping down anyway. You undeservedly reached the promised land and this is how you act? Pay attention.

(Then again, TSA PreCheck should not just be handed out randomly like it is these days. Change that rule, TSA.)

4. Burrito Bowl Dude

Tight connections and long trips can mean there is limited time to get a meal at the airport. And we know you aren’t getting anything substantive in coach. So people bring food on the plane.

Here’s a tip. Maybe on those days, you just have a protein bar. Or eat right away as you wait for everyone else to board. Not these people. They have to bring an elaborate, often sloppy meal, let it sit in a bag for an hour stinking up the place and then pull it out and try to spread out.

There’s usually some assembly required, some salsa to pour over, some Sriracha or salad dressing. Then a knife and fork come out. You need the dexterity of Houdini to eat this thing in such a small space so rice or lettuce is inevitably flying everywhere and chicken is spilling and it’s a massive mess.

You’re bothering me now. I don’t care if it’s good.

5. Drink Cart Enthusiast

They need to get rid of the drink cart on all flights under like two hours. It’s a rolling debacle. If you are so desperate for hydration or a tiny snack then buy your own.

Yet they pull that thing out and people act like dogs that just saw their master walk in with the treat jar.

You’ve never had a Diet Coke before? A package of five to six pretzels? I have had people wake me up to let me know the drink cart is here so I wouldn’t miss out.

The drink cart blocks the aisle, slams knees and elbows and generally only gives the customers something else to bitch about because they didn’t get the whole can or found the peanuts an unsatisfying meal. You know, back in the day they used to carve up steak. Yeah, well, back in the day flights cost a thousand bucks and planes crashed all the time.

I once had a 37-minute flight to Indianapolis delayed for 1:45 because “catering” needed to restock the drink cart. That means we could have flown to Indy, deplaned, slammed a beer at the airport bar, reboarded and returned.

6. Maintenance Know-It-All Guy

I’m as suspicious as anyone when they announce that the flight is being delayed for maintenance because I assume they use that excuse to cut down on complaints. You know why? Because it works.

Or it should except for the guy standing in the gate area who immediately starts huffing and arguing that there is no maintenance issue and it’s a big conspiracy. Really, how exactly do you know? Congrats to you if you truly are so proficient in diagnosing a $300 million airplane that you don’t even have to look at it to draw your conclusion. If you really enjoy such a skillset, however, maybe you should make a career out of that rather than schlepping to Des Moines with the rest of us. Seems like something that would pay well.

You don’t want them to check and make sure the plane is working properly? You’re troubled by an airline that demands all the parts and emergency back-ups are working.

You do realize what the alternative is, correct? If you think you’re late for your cousin’s wedding weekend now …

7. Delusions of Grandeur in 38B

Many Twitter followers mentioned this one. You’re way in the back of the plane yet somehow believe once the plane arrives at its destination and pulls up to the skybridge that you’ll somehow beat the crowd and race off the plane first. I get the desperation to make a connecting flight, but it isn’t happening. Usain Bolt couldn’t charge the aisle fast enough to make it. Accept reality and wait your turn.

8. Frequent flyer poser

Submitted by Twitter follower @BoneilHoops is: “The guy that tells you how much he travels – has Gold Medallion bag tag.”

Ah yes, the “sort-of” frequent flyer who loves to yell at the gate agent or flight attendant about how much of a valued customer they are when, well, they really aren’t that valued of a customer. They gave George Clooney in the movie his own number to call for a reason. They gave you an easily identifiable bag tag and you may have gotten that by falling for their credit card deal, not actually flying.

I once heard a guy complaining to a gate agent about not getting an upgrade and asked what he needed to do to get upgraded to first class. This was on a flight to Europe no less. The woman calmly said, “fly our airline more.” Classic.

9. Boarding Group Z Gate Blockers

More Twitter recommendations: apparently these people, who crowd around and block the boarding gate even though their group isn’t getting called for awhile, are referred to as “gate lice.” I had no idea, but it works.

They have a process to get on the plane. The Diamond Medallion and First Class people go first. Deal with it. If you find yourself in Group 7 or whatever, get the hell out of the way. Standing in front of the little ropes that lead to the ticket scanning machine when you aren’t getting on for the next 20 minutes assures only one thing, it will take even longer to get on.

This is a partial list. In summary, as much as I sometimes hate airline bureaucracy, I hate you people even more – not enough to have a fist fight in row 18 over it, but still.

#commonsense

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