Airports make me irrationally nervous.
First there’s the issue of POSSIBILITY that my boarding pass, ID, wallet, and carry on baggage could suddenly evaporate into thin air. Every few seconds, I obsessively check to get visual confirmation that some unknown force has not suddenly taken my valuable possessions and made it’s way to Tijuana.
Then there’s my sudden inability to understand the English language rendering me completely unable to follow directions for getting in line to board the plane and instead of lining up in the B 31-60 line, I’m all standing like a fool in the A 1-30 line while everyone else is all “what’s that woman doing in our line” and then I’m all embarrassed and foolishly bumping into people as I try to get out of line and everyone is staring at me like I’m some kind of wart on society.
I worry that some ninja laptop thief is going to sprint full speed up to me, swipe my laptop and disappear into a crowd of people, while I clumsily chase after the person yelling for help and while onlookers smirk at my misfortune.
Missing my plane while I’m in the bathroom is another thing that freaks me out, so instead of going pee, I just hold it. And then I won’t drink water because I don’t want to have to pee even worse than I already do.
Luckily NONE of the above things ACTUALLY happened…except for holding my pee, OBVIOUSLY I didn’t want to miss my plane that would be taking off in 2 hours. DUH.
But one of my fears is unknowingly packing something the TSA has banned, like by some magical force I could accidentally pack a nuclear torpedo in my carry-on. I mean, I’m already nervous about not following the directions of putting my carry-on items in the bins properly or accidentally setting off the metal detector because I forgot to remove my belt, I certainly don’t want to draw attention to myself for having my stash of weapons of mass destruction detected.
So when the TSA agent told me they were going to have to open my bag and search it, I tried to act all nonchalant, but really I was scared to death they’d find the drugs/weapons/sex toys.
Instead they found a pocketknife. In my laptop bag. That I had packed all by myself. This wee pocketknife suddenly looked like a machete.
The TSA agent hefted it out of the bag and my jaw dropped to the floor, my face burned red, and I started stuttering and begging for mercy.
“Uh, uh…I, uh, don’t, uh, even KNOW how that got in my bag. Please, mister, have mercy on my soul! I have two small children at home. Don’t send me to prison! I’m not a terrorist!!” (I didn’t really say the last four sentences, I just added them for effect.)
He was kind and told me that we wouldn’t have to call my husband to bail me out of jail…this time.
And that’s how I narrowly escaped being arrested and sent to clink to become someone’s bitch.