SCENE: First class cabin on a Delta 747 passenger aircraft, currently in flight from Washington, D.C. to Minneapolis-St. Paul. RON GARDENHIRE is sitting in a first class window seat, looking very pleased with himself. PASSENGER, a middle aged man, is sitting next to him in the aisle seat.
STEWARDESS comes by and turns to the two men.
STEWARDESS: Could I get either of you anything to drink?
PASSENGER: Could I just get a water?
STEWARDNESS: Sure! And you sir?
GARDENHIRE: Coors Light please.
STEWARDESS: Sir, I'm sorry we don't have Coors Light. We have a nice selection of craft—
GARDENHIRE: What do you mean you don't have Coors Light?
STEWARDESS: We don't carry it, I apologize. Could I interest you in one of our craft beers?
GARDENHIRE (sighing deeply and rolling his eyes): Yeah I'll have the craft beer.
STEWARDESS: Okay, we have Brooklyn Lager, Newbury Port Pale—
GARDENHIRE: I said the craft beer!
Passenger looks visibly uncomfortable.
STEWARDESS: Sir, those are the craft beers.
GARDENHIRE: Ugh... what else do you have to drink?
STEWARDESS: Well... we have coke, sprite—
STEWARDESS: Oh, um, we have wine, a pink martini, a—
GARDENHIRE: I'll get that.
STEWARDESS: The what?
GARDENHIRE: The pink martini!
STEWARDESS: Right. Coming right up sir.
The stewardess pours Gardenhire his pink martini and places it on the tray table in front of him. Gardenhire once again looks very pleased with himself as he takes a sip of the drink and pauses. The Stewardess moves on. Gardenhire looks like he's going to take another sip of his drink, but ends up chugging the rest of it. He puts his empty cup on the tray table, turns towards Passenger, and leans in.
GARDENHIRE (whispering): Did you know it's my birthday?
SCENE: Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, baggage claim in Terminal One. RON GARDENHIRE picks up his two large checked bags from baggage claim and drags them out to the sidewalk in the pick-up area. He takes a second to breath, then pulls out his flip phone and dials.
RON GARDENHIRE (on phone): Hi sweetie. Yes, I just landed. We're just taxi-ing to our gate now. What? No we literally just landed. If you left now I'll be ready just when you get here, I have to get my bags. No, it wasn't unreasonable. Carol, I'm an adult. No, I'm not drunk. Carol! Come on Carol it's my birthday. Thank you. Okay I'll text you where to pick me up after I get my bags. Yes, I will. Love you too.
Ron shuts his flip phone and puts it back in the pocket of his windbreaker. He opens the small front pocket on one of his checked bags, pulls out his e-cig, sits down on the suitcase and takes a puff. He sighs pleasantly.
After ten minutes Ron puts his e-cig back in the suitcase. He pulls out his flip phone and texts Carol "2". Then he waits, sitting on his suitcase on the sidewalk outside of door two. After a couple minutes, he looks around to see if anyone it paying attention, then takes a quick pull off his flask from his suitcase. He screws the cap back tight on and puts it back quickly, paranoid someone will notice.
About thirty minutes pass and Gardenhire grows anxious—and more drunk. He takes out his flip phone and again texts "2" to Carol.
A mom, dad, their son and daughter walk out of baggage claim onto the sidewalk, and are greeted by some other relative in a mini-van who has come to pick them up. Gardenhire, sitting at least ten feet away, smiles and gives the family a thumbs up. No one notices except the son, who gives him a weird, creep-ed out look right before he gets in the van and they drive off.
Suddenly, Gardenhire's phone rings.
RON GARDENHIRE (on phone): Where are you? Where am I? I'm still right here. I've been sitting here since I texted you. No, since the first time. They don't actually think you have a bomb. People come to pick up people at the airport all the time. Okay just go around again. I'm right here. Okay. I love you.
Gardenhire hangs up and sighs again, but annoyed this time. He scratches his head. Fifteen minutes pass and still no Carol. He opens his phone back up and dials.
RON GARDENHIRE (on phone): Where are you? What? I've been sitting here the whole time. You couldn't have missed me. I'm sitting here with two huge, UNREASONABLE bags, remember? Carol, you're not making any sense. What? I had some drinks on the plane. Carol, it's my birthday. Did you lie to me when you said you were at home? Jesus, Carol!
Gardenhire hangs up abruptly. He is visibly and somewhat irrationally upset. He takes out his e-cig and has a few more puffs before quickly putting it back, afraid Carol will show up and catch him. She doesn't.
Another fifteen minutes pass. Gardenhire's phone rings.
RON GARDENHIRE (on phone): Hello? Well you must be blind then. I'm still sitting here outside door two. DOOR TWO. No, terminal one. The Lindbergh one. Really Carol? It's my birthday. What? I already said I had some drinks on the plane. Carol, I was in first class! Drinks are free! Can we talk about this later? I'm at terminal one just come pick me up. Yes. I love you.
Gardenhire flips his phone closed. He is tempted for a second to throw it across the street—and he almost does—but the moment passes. He puts the phone back in the pocket of his windbreaker.
SCENE: The Gardenhire family kitchen. RON GARDENHIRE is cooking himself a turkey burger in a pan. CAROL GARDENIRE is sitting at the table, totally distraught.
CAROL GARDENHIRE: Seriously, Ronald? Seriously?
RON GARDENHIRE: IT'S MY GOD DAMN BIRTHDAY! NO RESPECT! NO RESPECT!
Ron throws the spatula he is using to cook across the room and walks out. Carol waits for him to comeback, but he never does.