Yukon Do It!
Stuck at Reagan National Airport, Yukon Catan, has been steadily texting his beloved wife. He is absorbing all the information he can from the news reports on the TV at the bar, amongst all the crowd noise. The airport security has successfully locked down the building, with a little help from the police and no one can get in or out. His best friend and manager, Melvin Morgan, is behind the bar. Melvin wasn’t the first to hop the bar when things started going south, but when he got behind it; the originators quickly abandoned their posts. Even bigger than Yukon, Melvin was a sight to behold. As a large imposing African American man, he didn’t say much; he didn’t have to. People usually knew if they needed to move out of his way.
“I miss Zima,” Melvin said. “Remember Zima? That was my shit. Where’s Kitty now?”
“She’s at the Starbucks near our place,” Yukon said.
“Why is so hard to find olives? Kanye Christ, is it so hard to stock up on olives? Oh, never mind; here they are. This bar has horrible feng shui,” Melvin said before asking, “is she going home to wait this out?”
“No, she’s better off sticking with the First Gentleman. Even if they don’t make it to The White House, she’ll have the Secret Service detail to protect her from the rioters.”
“At least they have plenty of ice. I’m here to tell you, Yuke, if they were out of ice, I was gonna bring the fuckin’ roof down in this place. I still think you shouldn’t leave; they’ll never let you into the building.”
“I have to try Melvin. I belong with Kitty and even if I just get close, at least I’ll be closer to her. I think I may have an idea on how to get out of here.”
Yukon looks up at the TV, where people are on the street being interviewed.
“We did this,” one man said. “We put a homosexual in the Oval Office and now God is punishing us.”
“This is all just a ploy to sell generators,” another man claimed.
Yukon looks back at Melvin, who is flipping through the drink menu.
“Are you coming with me or staying?”
“Have you ever had one of these Dead Japanese Aviators? It looks like a Kamikaze, but with grenadine and a splash of milk. Interesting,” Melvin said before responding, “no, I’m staying; I’ll only slow you down.”
Yukon tries to call Kitty one last time, but the lines are still overloaded. He opens his messenger and types: I think I have an out. I know you want me to stay, but you know how stubborn I can be. I’m headed to The White House. I can’t take my phone, so this is it until I see you. I love you. Be safe.
Yukon slides his phone across the bar. “I’ll be back for this and I better not find any dick pics in my gallery again.”
Melvin just smiles and continues mixing his drink.
“Melvin… No dick pics. That shit was only funny the first three times and stop hiding them throughout my social media like Elf on the Shelf.”
Yukon gets up and heads towards the ground level of the airport, stepping over stranded and exhausted travelers peppered along the floor. He makes his way down the stairs, despite having to hurdle bored children playing on them. The doors are all blocked by police, security and screaming travelers, but the back of the building, which faces the tarmac, is relatively empty. Yukon took his time making his way to the back, scanning the landscape for something… heavy. He spots an unmanned baggage cart near the crowd with plenty of runway. He eases his way over to it, careful not draw attention to himself, and navigates around to the handles. Just like a gunshot, he blasts into full speed, pushing the cart into action. Instantly, the group nearest him hears his heavy steps, coupled with the cart’s squeaky wheel, inherent of all carts in the universe. A security guard also notices the cart.
“Hey asshole! Stop!”
Yukon introduces the baggage cart to the window and the glass is reduced to shards. The cart dives onto the tarmac and Yukon follows suit. Just a few seconds later, another cart being manned by an inspired witness, crashes into the adjacent window, but with a different effect. Yukon, hearing the noise, turns his head to see some poor soul smashed up against the glass.
A mob of people rush out of the new exit, and a few security personnel too. Yukon reaches the end of the property and without a thought or loss of time, dives into the Potomac.
The security team and spectators reach the water’s edge…
“Holy shit,” one of the onlookers uttered. “Did he just jump into the Potomac River in January?”
An older gentleman, who looked a lot like the principle from, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off said, “that water must be freezing.”
Finally, a lady in the crowd peaked over into the drink and added, “a moment of silence for that dude’s balls. Am I right?”
Melvin only smiled when he saw his buddy Yukon dive into the Potomac.
It’s not like that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that mad man jump into a river, he thought.
Melvin takes Yukon’s phone out of his pocket and heads to the bathroom.
“Everyone loves a good dick pic,” he said out loud. An elderly lady passing by looked at him a little frightened.
Yukon laughed as he dove into the Potomac. I would have loved to seen the look on their faces; they probably think I’m going to freeze to death, he thought.
Seconds after Yukon hit the water; he lost his boots and wiggled out of his designer suit, revealing his wet suit underneath.
He always wore a wet suit underneath his clothes, to him it was like a bullet proof vest; you never knew would it might save your life. It had come in handy a few other times as well, but it was a little bit annoying when he was trying to have sex with his wife, because it was a bitch to take off.
The Potomac River is about 300 miles in length and he had swum the entire length before. He knew the shortest distance to land was at Hains Point; a piece of cake for him. Once there, perhaps he could hot-wire a golf cart and drive the rest of the way. Maybe he would stop for a few kielbasas at DC Wieners.
Nothing like some sausage after a swim to refuel, he thought.
Yukon made slow and steady strokes. The key in long distance swimming was pacing yourself; you didn’t want to tire out too soon. The other important thing was maintaining control of your breathing. The only thing he concentrated on was reaching Kitty.
After what seemed like no time at all, he reached Hains Point. It is just like a scene out of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, where a hulking frame rises out of the waters of the Potomac. The creature crawling up out of the river would shock the average person, but today the area is all but abandoned. The only witness to Yukon’s emergence is Stinky Joe, a Hains Point staple. Stinky Joe looks up from the trash bin, just long enough to glance at Yukon in recognition of his movement, and then returns to his hunt for treasures to add to his rusty cart. As Yukon passes him, he pauses again, only long enough to explain how aliens are influencing our actions through fluoride in the drinking water.
“I’ll alert the President right away,” he said to the delight of Stinky Joe.
Only slightly tired from his dip in the icy river, thanks to his Olympic training, Yukon was still worried he may not make it all the way up Ohio Drive along the East Potomac Golf Course, much less over the bridge and then the long stretch of 14th Street to his place. He would need to stop at home first, before back tracking slightly to reach the White House.
He needed shoes, since he had to lose his Uggs back at the airport after his dive into the drink. He could use some dry clothes too. He couldn’t show up at The White House in his wetsuit. Not again.
As luck would have it, a car was making its way toward Yukon.
Maybe I can hitch a ride, he thought to himself as he cast his thumb into the air.
As the car approached, it slowed down and Yukon was surprised to see his friend Melvin at the controls.
“I found a shitload of maraschino cherries at the bar. You need a lift?”
Yukon smiled, “How did you escape the airport?”
“I brought the cherries along for snacks. You left the door wide open back at Reagan and everyone rushed out that big ass hole in the window. Well, everyone but me. Once everyone was gone, I just walked right out the front door. What we’re they gonna do, keep a lone black man prisoner? Bitch, please. Plus, I’m piss drunk, playa. They ain’t tryin to tame the beast!”
“Well I’m glad to see you. You okay to drive?”
“Nope.” Melvin said.
Yukon took the driver’s seat and waited for Melvin to hop back in the Ford Fusion.
“Here take this, if I sit on it any longer; it may hatch,” Melvin said before reaching into his back pocket to produce Yukon’s phone.
Yukon unlocked his phone and before changing his wallpaper back from the pic of Melvin’s dick, he looked to see if Kitty had text him back. She sent three.
Text number one: I agree. U R stubborn. I know I can’t stop u. Just pls be safe.
Text number two: OMG! Pls stop sending pics of Melvin’s dick.
Text number three: More? Really?
Yukon looked over at Melvin, who is all teeth by this point, and couldn’t help but smile back at his friend.
“We need to get you a hobby, Melvin.”