Pool Bars, Rhastas and Rum and Cokes...

Jax to Miami + Lincoln Price on mild bender + headwinds and slight weather = 1 hour of flight time and a motherfucker that at first doesn't even realize he's at a layover in Miami.

Damn, that was a quick flight.  In Puerto Rico already? Who knew that little prop plane could haul ass like that.

For real though one- could hardly tell that much of a difference from Miami Airport to Puerto Rico if your not paying that much attention.

So I'm at the Miami Airport. 

A little shuttle from the tarmac to the main terminal and then I catch a quick drag out front and then hit security.

 O.K. fuckers I'm ready this time.

No dice.  I get to the long line at security and there is a tall, black guy with dreads weaved up on top of his head like Marge Simpson and screaming about bullshit and harrassment.  He is pushing his way through the crowds and even manages to give me an elbow.

What the fuck is this guys problem?  Doesn't he know I'm a man on a mission too?

Security soon surrounds him and asks him to calm down.  He must of had some kind of recent trouble because he is screaming about bullshit, white people, righteousness, rhasta rights, and fuck all you motherfuckers and get out of my way. 

Oh, he ain't Rhasta...

And oh yeah, he's going down.  And there he goes.  To the defense of the security guards he was way out of control from my view.  Don't know if Bob would of been so proud.

So I watch the show for a bit and then realize it's time to scaddaddle.  I've got bigger fish to fry-  pool bars and rum and cokes!

A few years ago, more years than I'd like them to be, Ryan McDermott had driven me there on one of my last outings to The Land in Costa.  Long story short we were a few hours early so he offered to show me one of the best kept secrets in Miami, Fla - The upstairs pool bar on top of the airport. 

the pool bar- where the hell it is I don't know, ask that greasy bastard, Rhino.

Couldn't tell you how to get there now but I was a man on a mission and sure as hell looked all over it between flights.  Tried and asked everywhere.  Apparently it's a hell of a secret and couldn't get many answers.  Finally, somebody mentioned I was talking about the Admirals Club around Gate D34, which lucky for me, was the next gate over from my departure to Puerto.  Off I went.

EEEEHhhhhh! Nope. Try Again.  Apparently I was off in my assumption that just anyone could get in the Admirals Club and was stopped at the main entrance.  Looks like you need a pass or something.  I also remembered that Ryan had showed me a back entrance, one which I couldn't find.  Oh that McDermott - he's a sneaky bastard, ain't he.

The Admirals Club. Pass required.

So instead I opted for the downstairs public bar and downed my tall rum and coke at the only outdoor smoking area around.  A tiny little rectangle of a gas chamber that was hot, stinky, and so full of fumes you could gag to death if you took enough deep breaths in a row.  Me - I had a rum and coke and a full smoke - I was in fucking heaven. 

Whoop, bam, down, inhale and I'm gone.

I get to my gate and the guy at the counter tells me I'm the last one.  I check the time and mention there's still ten minutes till departure.  He says no importa and let's go.  Apparently Puerto Rican time doesn't quite apply yet.

And there I was.  2 in a half hours to go and then I'm Puerto Rico Terra Firma.

Up, up and away. 

Uh stewardess, yeah - Medalla cerveza and  of course-

PAPPAS

Hey Utah - make it two!   

(Gary Busey.  Point Break.  Katharine Bigelow. King and Lliff.)