Mike Delamont

At The Mic – Mike Delamont

Travelling in the twilight zone

Today is day six on my current tour: 10 airports, three cities, two shows.

I hate flying. I hate it. I enjoy planes, but I hate flying. I travel all the time and it has become a mixed bag of insanity.

When I travel, I know how to pack and be ready for the whole airport experience. No checked bags. Print off the ticket before you get there. Shoes and belt off. GO!

I feel I am one of very few who know how this is supposed to work, but sometimes it’s the airport that throws a wrench into things. Going through airport security at the booming metropolis that is the North Bay Ontario airport-garage-and-nail salon I got to see something I had never seen before.

Everyone’s seen somebody pulled out of the line for a random security check and in North Bay it was no different, though in this case it was a baby. Thats right! A baby! Not the mother or father, but the eight-month-old criminal mastermind herself. They swabbed her hands and patted down her tiny body. I tell you if it wasn’t so adorable, I would have been furious.

On my flight back from North Bay to Toronto on the world’s smallest plane, I was treated to the experience of sharing my adventure – and seat – with the most rotund whale of a man I have ever seen. To be clear, I’m 350 lbs. I’m gigantic. So if I am calling you rotund, it should have some weight to it. Worried you might be rotund? Here is a test. When you opened this magazine did you break a sweat? No? Then you should be fine.

I don’t mean to rant, but if there are two seats, it seems only fair that we each get our own. Why do I need to share mine? People always say: “Well where do we draw the line?” This guy! We draw the line at this guy.

I’ve been on tour in Ontario and it’s been delightful – outside of the flights. Because all of the shows are in theatres and the tour is being produced by a professional company. The only thing I need to do is show up and tell jokes, so I always get asked what I do in my down time.

If you ever want to know where to find a comedian in your town, just go to the best greasy spoon restaurant and I bet you $10 they will be there. We look for them! We ask around! Greasy spoon means a real restaurant. An older, funny waitress that gives you sass and cheap coffee. This morning we went to one in Sault Ste. Marie and couldn’t have been happier. My friend Angelo, who loves food and can eat more than any person I know, was bested by the “Hungry Man’s Breakfast.”

When the waitress cleared the table and saw food left on his plate she loudly asked: “What the hell is this?” To which Angelo said: “Well I didn’t know the meal came with a whole carton of eggs.” And she replied: “Well yea! That’s why we call it the “Hungry Man’s Breakfast” not the “Hungry Woman’s Breakfast.” You don’t get that kind of treatment at IHOP and I think they are the worse for it.

This same, tiny diner was furnished with four tables and about a dozen malt-shoppe style stools. Of the 12 black stools, one was red causing us to ask why? “I dunno! Looks nice and artsy though doesn’t it? Hey! Maybe we should change the name of this place to “The Red Stool.” Yeah. I don’t think so. If your food has anything to do with red stool I don’t think you should keep going there.

Just a thought.

 

 

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