A few months ago I mentioned that there were two places I’ve traveled to that I haven’t written about on my blog. One was Italy, and I ended up writing about it here. So now there’s only one country left, and that country is… MEXICO!
I also figured we were way past due having Ollie on the blog, and I’ve only ever been to Mexico with him (once to Cancun in 2013 and once to Puerto Vallarta in 2018). Why not have him tell us one of his fine travel stories instead of me just showing you pretty pictures? So here we are.
What follows is a true story, in Oliver’s words. Enjoy.
So you want to hear a fucking story? We just capped off the best fucking vacation ever. My sister got married, and the all-inclusive resort was lit. But the week was over, and it was time to go back to the US. I don’t know about you, but I get anxious flying, real anxious (and when I’ve bent it like fucking Beckham that increases ten-fold). If you think Chicago drivers are bad you should see Mexicans. The bus driver was swerving on our connection to the airport which definitely played on my feels. I was already anxious enough going to the airport, but two hours before we tried to leave, mum decided to almost kick the bucket amidst all our goodbyes to cousins and family and the like. That resulted in me running through the resort looking for a doctor while mum essentially died on a beach. However, after a quick inspection, it was determined to be due to dehydration and a cold medicine she took. Mum was going to be okay.
Fast forward to the airport. We turn up to check into our flight, and that bird behind the counter that weighs your suitcase and gives you your ticket was more sassy than fucking usual that day. She hits me with a question: have you packed your suitcase and has it been in your possession since you packed it? Now after 4 pina coladas, a long ass ride to the airport, and being around some slippery gypsies that wanted to sell me stuff just to get some coin, I thought about it. While my mother was pretending to die and after wheeling her old ass back to her room in a wheelchair (this story is no word short of a lie), I realized I packed that hoe (my suitcase) but I haven’t seen that motherfucker for 6 hours. So I mumbled, stumbled, and bumbled a response to this bird who was trying to do her job. I said: I packed my suitcase but the gravity of the situation is it was sitting down at reception for 6 hours then sitting in the back of a shaky bus for 1 hour, so to answer your question it hasn’t been in my possession. She smiled, printed some tickets, and sent us up to security. Little did I know that my day was gonna be fuckin’ ruined.
I knew my day was going to be ruined right when I went to the pharmacy in the terminal that sold every illicit substance under the sun other than anti-flight-anxiety medication which seemed to be the most practical thing they could sell in a pharmacy in an airport. So I walked by 3 dollar packs of cigarettes, 10 dollar bottles of rum, and what seemed like one good ass time. I approached security and it reminded me of Brisbane domestic terminal fuckin’ 20 years ago with your standard metal detector. I walked through that bitch cooler than LL. It was an easy wait sitting by the gate having a couple beers waiting to board the flight. I was actually quite disappointed. It was probably the most sober I’d been all week. And I knew I was sober because I noticed something. I realized Dos Equis was only 4%, and I’d been drinking it all week. I was wondering why it took 50 beers a day just to get a buzz. But I had the airport beers regardless. Before we knew it, our boarding was called and we were ready to fucking go. Just like that I sat in my seat and got comfortable for the short 3 hour international flight ahead. Truth be told I was so happy my mother wasn’t dying I wasn’t even that stressed about the flight. I plugged in and put on the best playlist I had. The captain came on the intercom and said shortly we’ll be closing the cabin door, we’re fully loaded, blah blah blah. After 7 days of raging, the big dog was tapping out. I got a window seat and shut my eyes to go to sleep.
I thought about nice things like rainbows and gay marriage, and before I could fucking even doze I heard someone say: MR. O’LOUGHLIN MR. O’LOUGHLIN are you Oliver O’Loughlin? After a quick blindside from my nap, I looked up and said: I’m Mr. O’Loughlin what’s up? And the steward said: Mr. O’Loughlin you’ve been randomly selected for a secondary security search. My regular anxiety and my flight anxiety completely set the fuck off, but I was willing to cooperate. I was asked to collect my belongings and vacate the plane with 2 TSA officials escorting me. Now I know Mexico is known as an absolute drug fiesta hub, but your boy wasn’t carrying a shred of anything. That didn’t matter though. The moment I left my seat I didn’t think I was getting back on the flight. I asked Allison to come with me but the officials wouldn’t let her. I walked down a long aisle of eyes full of judgement asking why this man is being escorted off this flight. After I got off the flight I walked up the skywalk back to the ticketing area, and I’ll tell you it’s way fucking longer when you think you’ve been accused of something you haven’t done. I saw 5 airport officials lined up military fashion. Even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong, it’s kinda like when there’s a police officer following you on the highway and you instantly assume you’re guilty of something. They took my bags, pulled everything out, tested everything for drugs, and frisked me within one butthole of my life. They told me what I already fucking knew– that I was an innocent man. I walked back down that really really really god damn long skywalk. I walked down that hoe back onboard that flight. Now some might view my walk like a walk of shame, but I wasn’t an 18 year old who just spent her first night at a fraternity. I walked as a man of great pride back to my seat. In fact, it was a miracle that I did not ask a stewardess for bottomless mimosas on the way to my seat, because when you have the audacity to pull Ollie O’Loughlin off a flight, just know the thirst grows. My buttcheeks met my seat like a hot cross bun would meet my lips on Easter morning. After a brief conversation with my wife, it became apparent that not only was my seat completely ripped apart and searched, everyone around me was asked to point out their bags to make sure I didn’t leave anything on the flight unattended. And that was that…we took off.
To add insult to injury we literally flew over San Diego and 2 hours past it to San Francisco. There was one point where I wished I had a parachute because I could have just jumped out and landed in my bedroom. But higher powers had better plans for me. We landed in San Fran and had a quick turn around to get to our connecting flight home. We hopped on a monorail to change terminals, and it broke down about 6 times between terminal 1 and 2. You wanna talk about travel anxiety? Low and behold we get to the next terminal, and we have to clear security again which is a no brainer for anyone who’s traveled more than twice before in their life. I approached TSA with my wife, scanned my ticket, and the machine made an ungodly noise. The lady noticed that I had SSSS on my ticket. I was told that I would have to undergo a security search separate and away from my wife. We said we just had to do that in Mexico! It didn’t matter. I was ran through the metal detector three times and through that X-ray machine twice. I was asked if I’d like to be searched in private or in front of about a thousand other people trying to catch their flights. Touching back on my limited knowledge of Martin Luther King Jr., I wanted everyone to see that I was an innocent man. So I stood there and was searched. They were fucking testing the tips of my shoes and trying to cut my flip flops open to see if I was hiding anything. They felt up my pecks so much I thought the security guard may have been gay.
After going through all my shit, San Fran TSA spit me out but, ironically, I was through security faster than Allison. I asked the guard why me? He explained that the SSSS on my ticket designated me as a high risk flyer that had to undergo more intense searches. A high risk flyer? Isn’t that for mother fuckers who are from Iran or terrorism areas? I just went to a wedding in Mexico. We rushed to our gate to make our flight on time after all that happening. We were hauling ass to get there, but we made it. We got on the flight and were sitting there ready for take off. After a week of binge drinking and acting like a horse I was ready to go home and sleep.
Allison here again: this is where we’ll end the story today. Unbelievably there is more to it. Maybe we’ll tell the rest another time! And since it’s my blog, I want to share pretty pictures anyways 🙂
Hotel: Hyatt Ziva Puerto Vallarta