Tacoma Bound: The Travels of Wren and Maddo, Part the First (6/5/08)

I don't think Maddo was prepared for the extent of my airport jitters. She's never flown with me before, so the sight of me tweaking and nauseated in the passenger seat of Daryl's truck this morning must have been a surprise. It's not my fault, really. I just sit there, dreading airport security, thinking of all the things that have gone wrong in the past and oh god what if they yell at me for having my face lotion in my makeup bag and is my bra going to set off the metal detector again do I have my driver's license what if I didn't lock the back door why am I motion sick and where are my meds!

Breathe.

I did have a bit of a run-in with the TSA, but it wouldn't be a trip to Saint Louis without it. I had just made it through the metal detector without issue when I hear “FEMALE ASSIST, BAG CHECK!”

Oh God.

Turns out it was indeed my backpack being suspected. “WHOSE BAG IS THIS!” shrieked an old bag (Ha, you see what I did there), and I sheepishly raise my hand.
“Come here.”
I amble over. “What's going on?”
“You have a LOT of liquids in here.” She glares at me accusingly, and I flash back to running into Peter, Brandon, and Matt at Target yesterday. (“Are you making meth?” “No, I am going on a road trip!”)
“I know. I'm going on a five-day trip,” I reply tersely.
“Step back outside the metal detectors.”

Great. What did I do wrong this time?

I do as I am told and watch her grumble to herself as she dons gloves and grabs a Ziploc bag. It took about as twice as long as it should have because she was so busy yanking the gloves on she lost fine motor skills and got the fingers tangled. Then she kept missing the Ziplocs. She follows me out with my bag and begins to yank at the zipper, which is about as effective as her glove-obtainment was. After a few awkward moments, I decide she's probably going to tear the damn bag before she manages to get it open.
“Do you want me to get that for you?”
Stony silence is my only reply. Maddo is staring at me through the metal detectors, managing to look at once amused, sympathetic, and triumphant.
The zipper finally obliges, and she reaches in and yanks out an offending bottle, only to find all the other “liquids” have come with.
“Oh. They're already bagged.” She deflates a little.
“Indeed.”
The gears in her head turn, and righteous wrath resurfaces. “Well, next time you need to leave it out on the belt so we don't have to go through this again!”
“That's fine.” I consider pointing out that there is no sign stating this anywhere, but think better of it.
At this point I decide she's actively trying to pick a fight, because instead of letting me go, she gives me a suspicious stare. “Are you suuuuure those are the only liquids you have?”
“Yep.” (Other than the face moisturizer, I mean. Heh. But really. What's the point of Ziplocking the fucking things if I'm not going to do all of them?)
“Fine. Go back through.” And she storms off, . Back through the metal detector I go, to discover that Maddo was allowed to get by with her liquids without a search. (I think the guy who called the bag check felt bad.) But still, this proves my hypothesis that all airport security people think I am a druggie.

Hopefully this is the only bit of random rudeness I encounter. As Maddo pointed out: “She was just trying to bully you so she could feel powerful. I don't think she expected you to fight back because you were so much younger than she was.”

That usually ends badly for people.

As of 8AM, Fam is AWOL and Unc and [girlfriend] are at the house, gathering all the stuff I need to pack together to make it easier for me and Maddo once we arrive. I think this is very nice of them. They've also asked us to pick a restaurant for tonight's dinner, which is also nice of them. (“I think [girlfriend] is the best thing that has ever happened to your family.” - Maddo) So, assuming I can survive the damn plane flight, I just have to pack and get dinner and then pick up the U-Haul tomorrow morning and then get out of STL.

Note to self: Do not forget to buy a cooler and an iTrip or we may not survive Montana.

::EDIT::

Oh my God. Funniest thing ever. Went to dinner with the family, and invited Mike along (not you, Eri. Clearly). We decided afterward that we'd meet up to go swimming, but Mike needed to drop by his house and get his swim trunks. Unc decided to take us to his new office, so Mike ended up getting back to the house first. I get the following text:
"You here yet?"
"Nope. Just sit there and look shady until one of my neighbors calls the cops on you."
"Kay."

We got there seconds before the police did.