Big Fat Zubai Wedding (Part 1)

A last minute trip to India and Dubai

It’s not a typo, I just thought it was funny to call it Zu-Bai instead of Dubai.

Let’s get into it huh? Yet again I escaped San Francisco, this time for a big fat Indian wedding; the groom’s name is Jayveer and the bride Harleen. My dad is good friends with Jayveer’s dad. Thus we went. I hadn’t planned on going, it seemed excessive to fly across the country and take time off work to attend my dad’s friend’s son’s wedding. But due to my unemployment and my dad’s heavy persuasion I ended up on a flight to Dubai.

I love traveling with my new American Passport, I imagine this is what it feels like to be a white guy in public. Me and dad ripped a few beers at the priority pass lounge in SFO. Mom was in a good mood because she had just bought a gucci bag from the airport store. The vibes were good.

I sat downstairs in economy, while mom and dad were up in business. The air hostess was nice and seemed ethnically ambiguous. I made a mental note to go talk to her in between her rounds.

We exchanged smiles and I decided to go up to that middle area. I met an Indian guy, forgot his name, and started chatting with him. He explained that his job was to kick people out of slums and build condos in Mumbai. Sick: I love late-stage capitalism. Mr. Reverse Robin Hood was already friends with the hostesses, so it was easy to talk. I accidentally got a bit buzzed. Altitude plus an 8-mile run earlier didn’t help. The air hostesses were nice, but one was very anti-America which I found quite amusing.

“I would never live in America, it’s a 3rd world country with a Gucci belt around it”, she exclaimed.

(in my head) Bitch you live in Dubai.

Anyways. Their stuck-up manager kicked us out and told us to go back to our seats, which we did. I tried to lie down, cause there was an empty seat next to me, and I managed to get some sleep.

I woke up feeling awful, like I was gonna hurl, I lunged out of my seat (bad idea) and made my way back to the middle area where I asked for some water.

I started seeing stars in my vision and the next thing I knew I was on the floor.

Yeah, I fainted. So embarrassing ik.

I woke up and they gave me water, some dried mangoes, and nuts. I felt much better after that. The buzzkill boss lady asked me if I was traveling alone or with others. I said my parents are up in business, but there is absolutely no reason to tell them anything I am 100% fine and ok.

She didn’t seem to pay much attention to what I was saying and quickly hurried off.

I stashed the extra pack of nuts in my pocket but there was nowhere to hide the shame of being the dumbass that passed out on a flight. I could feel the judgment radiating off the cabin crew. In their minds, I was just another idiot kid who got too drunk and passed out over the Arctic. But I promise I wasn’t drunk. I was just dehydrated– which was because of the alcohol– but still, I didn’t pass out due to drunkenness. Those little cups of water that they give you don’t do the trick.

I get off the flight in Zubai and the look on my mom’s face immediately informs me of the fact that the buzzkill manager lady told her exactly what happened. I launched into a whole dehydration-and-fatigue defense — which, for the record, I 100% stand by.

Ok but Dubai isn’t the final destination for this leg of the trip, we still have to get on a connecting flight to Bombay.