So, I fly a lot.
I fly enough to know what's allowed on a plane and what's not allowed on a plane.
But sometimes, we all make mistakes.
I have two kids and they are cute. I like to buy them cool things from the places where I fly. They have to miss me and not hug me and not play freeze tag with me for a few days while I'm gone, so it's the least I can do, right?
I like snow globes. And they love snow globes.
Snow globes are filled with--gasp--liquid.
As it is, snow globe liquid is not approved liquid. It is less than 3 ounces, sure, and it has boss sparkles, yeah. But it's not approved. Not even if it's a Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox snow globe.
|This is the exact snow globe.|
Flickr Photo: Mike Fabio
I'm getting ahead of myself.
I bought the snow globes at the hotel. I packed them in my big Doc Marten boot because kickass boots like that have hollow spaces and will protect said boss snow globes. Plus, packing things in the hollow spaces of one's boot to fit four days' worth of stuff into a carry-on is just logical. And I am all about the logic, as you know.
The security checkpoint scene went like this:
I do the proper amount of clothing removal, send four things through the X-ray machine.
I walk through the metal detector and the guy complements me on my squid. I thank him.
My guard is down.
I do not expect anything to go wrong.
I have not thought deeply about the fact that there are two not approved Paul Bunyan snow globes in my kickass Doc Marten boot inside my R2D2 carry-on suitcase. I have not thought about it at all.
I have other things on my mind.
So, I'm at the area where my stuff gets spit out. First comes my leather and my shoes and iPhone and then my laptop. Then my backpack. And then I stand there watching the X-ray guy really inspect the shit out of the contents of my R2D2 carry-on and I can't tell why he's so concerned. He calls another TSA person over and she says, "I guess it's my turn. Lucky me."
I say, "Looks like we're in it together." She doesn't smile.
She takes every damn thing out of my suitcase looking for this thing that she has a close-up image of on her screen. I keep asking her what she's looking for so I can help her, but she doesn't answer. A book falls on the floor. A shirt. (They have tiny tables for this searching in the MSP airport.) And as she closes in on the only thing left--my right boot, I realize what I've done wrong.
I say, "Oh shit. It's the snow globes."
She says, "Snow globes aren't allowed."
I say, "I know. I know. Shit."
She says, "Where are they?"
I try to get control of my suitcase back from her so I can reach into the boot and get them for her. "In my boot," I say.
"Why'd you put them in your boot?" she asks.
"It's just a logical place to put them, don't you think?"
Now she's looking at me as if I'm nuts.
But isn't it logical? Don't we all stuff our hollow shoes with dirty underwear on our way home? Posse, tell me I'm not alone in this.
Anyway, she finally gets the snow globes out. She doesn't even open the fuckin' bag. She just takes them out and says again. "Snow globes aren't allowed." Then she adds, "If you want to keep them you have to check the bag."
She then explains that this will take a while and we both know security is about 40 minutes long at this point.
They cost me five bucks a piece.
I ask her if she has kids and if she wants the snow globes or knows anyone who might.
She sneers at me. In hindsight, I guess a Paul Bunyan snow globe is no big deal to a kid from Minnesota.
What she does next is what's been eating me.
She dropped the bag with the snow globes into the trash can right there in the security area.
So. My dangerous, possibly explosive and not approved items were...put right there next to a line of 100 people waiting to go next.
Look. I get it. I get that some shit isn't allowed on airplanes. And I'm not anybody special, I get that too. And I knew the snow globes were going in the trash. I gave her permission to take them away. But to toss them in a trash can seems a bit odd to me considering they were confiscated because they were potentially dangerous.
Not logical at all.
Maybe install a chute for potentially dangerous snow globes? So they can be deposited far, far away from innocent people waiting in line to get X-rayed? I don't know. It just seemed so...mean.
|I even went into this shop. Who knew the Fox News Channel|
had a shop? Nice HUNGER GAMES display, though.
So then, my flight to D.C. was a bit weird.
Fact: if you ever become a pilot please don't ever mutter these words into the intercom...no matter how confident your confident-pilot voice is: We got a bit too close to the plane in front of us.
Yeah. Keep that shit to yourself.
But here's the kicker.
This guy. He came onto the tiny propellor jet that took me from D.C. to PA. He was a run-of-the-mill camouflage hat-wearing dude. Jeans. Construction boots. He got on the plane last on a standby ticket.
He sat in the very first seat, and then for some reason, three minutes after he got on, he was asked to leave the plane. I don't know why. It all happened in the middle of a nasty rainstorm and I don't know why they ask people to leave already-boarded planes. He got up, took his bag out of the overhead and called back to his friend.
"Dude! They're not letting me on. You gotta come with." He turned to the flight attendant and explained that the other guy was his pal. Then he turned to the whole plane--12 rows of us and said, "I'm a terrorist!"
At times like those, I want to quote the squid from EVERYBODY SEES THE ANTS. "The world is full of assholes. What are you doing to make sure you're not one of them?"
THE GOOD STUFF FROM MINNESOTA THAT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE TSA, SNOW GLOBES, OR ASSHOLES SAYING DUMB SHIT
I got to dine with Andrew Karre and Brian Farrey and in so doing, I discovered Hells Kitchen's ham, cheese and pear sandwich.
I got to finally visit the Flux offices in Woodbury and had an absolute blast with the amazing people at Flux. I'd been wanting to do that for 5 years, so it was great. Marissa and Steven and Brian and Sandy and everyone else who came out to see me, I really appreciate it. Also, on the record, Marissa is the best parallel parker I've ever met.
I got to meet the one and only Adela Peskorz and the awesome teens at Teens Know Best, who ROCK.
I got to read at The Loft on Saturday. I have this picture of Becky Davis reading from Chasing Alliecat.
I think someone posted a slightly blurry one of me on Twitter....oh yeah. It's here. With huge thanks to Anne Greenwood Brown for the shot!
After this, I ate the best hamburger I ever ate. And if you know me, you know I don't eat hamburgers. We went here and had a Juicy Lucy:
End of way-too-long blog post.
Now I have to go write a book between school visits until Rochester Teen Book Festival...my FAVORITE PLACE ON EARTH...coming May 19th.
Addendum: My good friend from the way back machine has informed me that the trademarked spelling for a Juicy Lucy is: "Jucy Lucy." Either way, it was gorgeous.