North Shore Oahu, Hawaii — I arrived at the beginning of spring break and was not able to keep my jaw shut — I surfed the beach break at Banzai Pipeline and hiked to a jungle waterfall while warm rain drizzled lightly through the sunshine. And the women … well, I think I had a touch of Island Fever, brah … Poor me, right?

But, on a much more stinky, festering bowel of a note, the trip just couldn’t go by without something totally turd-ridden happening. As if the Sabine goddess, Vacuna, felt inclined to backhand me before my vacation even started, my plane ride was not the anticipatory delight I was hoping it would be.

This might sound hard to believe, but I ish you not, captivated reader. It really happened. Here’s the play-by-play:

It’s the beginning of spring break, 2011. I’m on my insanely merry way to the island, sitting on the plane next to a knockout double-D rack attached to an exotic little love tigress (seriously, no fabrication). I have not a care in the world because I’ve finished a stool sample of a school week and I’ve written not one, but both of the rough drafts for my articles due during break. Can you believe it? Me, finishing both my assignments (rough drafts, but drafts nonetheless) early? All during spring break. “Toot Toot” to the overachiever.

I’m feeling euphoric, and that’s always the best time to hit on women. So I’m chopping it up, flirting with this pair next to me, shooting the doo doo about where we’re from and whatnot. I find out the left one is from Bangladesh. The right, Moscow. The girl, we’ll call her “Shannon” because I didn’t catch her real name, is from San Francisco.

I tell Shannon I’m a writer for the San Diego State newspaper. She is impressed — I can see it in her developing firmness. I tell her I write for the “Travel and Adventure” section. She is thrilled, and I wonder if she isn’t looking for some travel and adventure in the skies.

She’s a student at the University of Hawaii at Manao. Communications major or something. I don’t know, I’m not really paying attention. Anyway, I guess she thinks she can relate. She smiles and flashes some cleavage, “Can I see some of your work?”

Jackpot.

So I say to her, “Actually, don’t think I’m sleazy, but I just wrote a column about how to be a good wingman. Basically, it’s a personal tutorial on how to get your friend laid — and not Hawaiian style if ya’ know what I mean. I was actually planning on editing it on the plane so I don’t have to worry about it in Hawaii. Wanna help?” Of course she does.

I brought my laptop with me, and it’s safely stowed beneath the seat in front of me. I never should have moved it from there, but I really had planned on editing the articles during the plane ride and submitting them when I found free Wi-Fi in Waikiki. I take the laptop out, turn it on and ask her to hold it. Nature calls.

“I’m going to use the men’s room. My computer takes a few to warm up. Here, just set it on my seat, I’ll be back in a minute.” I walk to the back of the plane, drain the lizard, walk back to my seat. A minute expedition, tops.

As I approach my seat, I notice the surrounding passengers looking in its direction. I assume they caught on to the beautiful, mountainous view I’d been obstructing with my position in the aisle seat.

They had, but only because while I was gone, the she-devil hosting the magnificent mammaries had somehow managed to spill her entire cup of coffee my keyboard.

That’s right … her entire cup of coffee … on the keyboard of my laptop. The screen is blank, black, defeated. She uses her sweater and some tissues to rescue the dripping treasure box of technology — it’s no use. The laptop is dead, along with a semester’s worth of music, schoolwork and articles I ignorantly hadn’t backed up. That’ll teach me.

You never know when a beautiful pair of sweater puppies will seek revenge for the groping of their species by spilling a scalding hot beverage all over your most prized possession. Back your ish up.

Needless to say, the rest of the plane ride was a bit awkward.

So … here I sit, cut off from the world graciously using the unruined laptop of a generous hostel mate to record this account. A tad bit inebriated, drowning my sorrows with too many Hurricanes and too much pakalolo. Pissed at Shannon, but happy to have made her and the twins’ acquaintance. Wondering if there were ever any rewards for completing my work early (because this was the first time I ever had) and dreading having to spend my time in Hawaii looking for a computer with Internet to rewrite the lost article. All this in the desperate ploy to get play. I didn’t even pull digits.

Screw Murphy and his law. Is this not the definition of a SNAFU? My father would say, “life lands a crushing blow.” Then he’d ask if they were the National Geographic’s or the bumpy brail Stevie Wonder’s.

-Michael Misselwitz is a journalism senior who is looking for a good deal on a new laptop. Comedy is to be kept in mind at all times. No breasts were harmed in the making of this column.

-This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.