I'd been craving buffalo chicken wings for weeks when I found myself sitting at an overpriced airport bar at LAX, clenching the free meal vouchers the airline gave me for effing up my flight. So it wasn't difficult to choose an item from the menu. And as everyone knows whenever you eat wings, you have to drink beer, so I ordered one of those too.

Now typically whenever you eat food in a bar, people tend to leave you alone. They're busy drinking and socializing and having a good time. But airport bars are different. People drink in airport bars not out of choice, but out of boredom. They have a long time to wait, so they decide to tie one on simply because it beats sitting in the waiting area listening to announcements and staring at the fat couple in matching Indianapolis Colts sweatshirts. But even though they're in a bar and even though they're drinking, they're not having fun. Despite the disco hits pumping out of the jukebox at deafening levels.

What I'm getting at is that as soon as my appetizer arrives, I come to two terrifying realizations. 1) Buffalo wings are extremely messy and extremely difficult to eat. 2) My fumbling attempts to eat buffalo wings are now going to be the sole source of entertainment for this entire bar.

With this in mind, I dig in. And it's even worse than I expected. These are some saucy wings, and the three or four napkins the bartender provided might not be enough. With every bite, my face gets covered in buffalo juice and ranch dressing, and I have to mop it down. I don't even bother wiping the orange grease off of my hands, except when I need to take a swig of beer.

And all the time, the Asian couple across the bar stares unapologetically. The guy to my right watches in furtive, darting glances as he pretends to read a sign, but I can feel his eyes on me. All around the room, every last person stops staring into space and starts watching me eat. I realize then that quickly this will either become extremely annoying or extremely funny. Then I start giggling uncontrollably and morph into an orange, greasy madman.

It's about then when I'm saved by someone even more entertaining than I am. This guy who looks a lot like the principal in The Breakfast Club comes in, already drunk off his ass. "I want the biggest beer you got and a Jack Daniel's on the rocks!" he shouts. "And make it a double! What time do you close? How much time do I got?"

The bartender tells him they close at 12:15, but the guy's not even listening to the bartender. He's noticed the juke, which is playing "Word Up" by Cameo and now he's dancing.

I finish my wings, tag off, and let Principal Vernon run the show from here on out. I got a plane to catch.