Dude stole my tube of toothpaste.
This has never happened to me before. Seriously. Of course, since 9-11 we've all learned to live with the hassles of air travel. Heck, I live in the DC area, and I was flying out of National Airport. I'm grateful for the thorough security they have there.
Yesterday, however, I suffered an out-of-body experience. The first security gal took a long, hard look at my driver's license. She kept looking from the ID to me & back again. Yes, I know the snap on my new license is hideous, lady. New security precautions in VA dictate that I wasn't allowed to smile for that particular portrait.
But she didn't have to rub it in.
Then, I met the most helpful security dude. He got me 3 bins (I'm one of those annoying folks who carries on everything) & then helped me sort everything out. He then hefted my rolly onto the belt.
Service with a smile.
And speaking of smiles, one of Letterman's sidekicks was working the metal detector thingy, I think. He commented on my T-Shirt, then made a little joke. I joked back & then he joked back at me.
I was headed to my Happy Place. And as everyone knows, that's difficult at an airport.
I collected my backpack, my laptop, my shoes. But my rolly went missing. Turns out Security Guy from Hell was holding it hostage, over at one of those stainless steel tables they have in the screening area.
He investigated my cosmetics, such as they are. He dug thru the zippered pouch in which I keep my incidentals & unquestionables-actually, I use my Dad's old shaving kit. He unwound the clothes that I had carefully rolled (in a feeble attempt to prevent wrinkles) & he pawed thru the lovely blouses and skirts I'd packed so carefully.
I'm attending a college graduation this weekend. I want to look spiffy, ya know.
SGFH finally looked at me, grinned & zipped the rolly back up. Then, just when I thought I was in the clear, he hoisted it back on the screening belt.
Two. More. Times. Then he pawed thru my Dad's shaving kit once again. And hit the jackpot.
He'd discovered my secret stash of toothpaste. 6.4 ounces of Colgate, according to the label. Although I'd testify in court that it was more like the allowable 3 ounces, since the tube had been squeezed down a good 3 ounces or so.
"You're not allowed to have this," he mumbled in my direction.
"Sorry," I muttered contritely. Don't want to get these gentlemen angry now, do we?
I wonder if he was being so thorough because of Wednesday's shooting at the Holocaust Memorial Museum. I wonder if he takes home the stuff he confiscates on the job.