On Thursday, I was anxious that my flight to San Francisco would leave early (just for shits and giggles) so I got to the airport 3 hours early.
While waiting in line, I ran into a co-worker. He was also going to San Francisco. I told him that I was just going to “hang out with friends.” I had told a few people in the office that I was attending a writing conference in order to avoid explaining to them what a blog was (or for a few of them, what the internet was). I’d rather my co-workers not read this blog. I’ve never discussed work in this space, but I still don’t want to explain to a co-worker why my boobs talk to each other or why I occasionally call my kids assholes. I just don’t think they’d get it, you know?
Anyhow, onward with the story. Stuck in line for what seemed like hours (thanks, queue-jumping businessmen!) Did you know that if you’re wearing a suit it exempts you from having manners? Keep that in mind the next time you’re in public – it’s ever so handy.
After I got my boarding pass, it was off to customs. I was terrified my mouth would have a mind of its own and tell horrible lies like I was smuggling mad-cow-infested beef in the pockets of my packed pants. Or I had a shotgun shoved into the high altitude regions of my lady bits. Miraculously, I managed to get to security without saying anything stupid.
As my bag traveled down the security belt, it stopped. A snarky security witch flashed me the hairy eyeball. “Hmm. We’ll have to look at this again,” she said. I panicked. Right in front of the sign that says something like, “Do not joke about terrorism or we have the right to blow your brains out” (or something like that) a woman I’ve never met before said loudly to me, “Oh my god! You WOULDN’T do THAT, would you?” I asked her if she was trying to get me kicked off the plane. She put her arm over my shoulder, giggled, and called me “hon”. At that point I really wished I was packing heat.
I told the security guard that she was probably just noticing my knitting needles. She looked at me with disgust. “Oh. There’s more than knitting needles in here.” What the fuck? Just tell me! Did a baby crawl into my bag and you think I’m selling it across the border? Do my prescription meds make you suspect I’m aspiring to be the new drug czar of Union Square?
My bag was searched by a kinder guard who could tell I was close to shatting my drawers. He asked if I worked “in chemistry” and did a chemical test on my bag. Seriously, what the hell is in there? Pleased that my bag wasn’t an innovative chemical bomb, he opened it up for inspection and took out my knitting. Then he grabbed the kit that I keep all my tools in and it finally dawned on me.
Scissors. Fuck. I am brilliant.
The plane was an obnoxious, graceless tin can hurtling through the sky. I held my breath during take-off and landing and cursed its loud engine that kept me from fully enjoying my Ricky Gervais podcasts.
I got off the plane and headed to the meeting spot where I was to rendezvous with a fellow blogger. I waited for several minutes and thought I’d call her on her cell. Since I’m a dinosaur, I don’t own a cell phone (I know, pick your jaw up off the floor now, please). I went to get change for the payphone. In the few minutes that I was gone, she came and didn’t see me.
As I was about to call her, I heard my name paged throughout the SFO Airport. Telling me to go to a place that I had no idea how to get to. I called Jennifer and asked if she was paging me. She was. Although neither of us had any idea where we were actually standing in the airport.
Eventually we found each other and got lost several times. Sadly, we are far too much alike and were hopeless when it came to finding anything. During our adventures I found out that she too was an unintentional terrorist-in-training.
After we hopped on the BART (the subway), we prematurely celebrated our victory. We were finally two blocks from the hotel. Then we managed to get lost again. We feared walking in circles for hours on end, always just slightly missing our destination. Luckily, a friendly crack addict took pity upon us and pointed us in the right direction.
And that was the beginning of my San Francisco adventure.
Yup, you guys were meant to be roomies!
I had a fight with a man in a business suit at LaGuardia in NYC one time -he was HORRIBLY rude. He too thought the suit gave him exemptions. Not likely.
And good thing you found that crack addict – otherwise who knows where you’d end up….possibly with other crack addicts.
I thought you looked a little guilty. Guess they’ll let anyone in the country now. Sheesh!
So glad you found your way there Andi. (and then found Jennifer) So did you guys tip the nice crack addict? A lil’ somethin’ somethin’ for his troubles. Because who knows where in SF you would be right now, would you be home?
What was up with all the crack addicts?
Reminds me of my trip in May down to St. Louis to meet a couple of fellow bloggers. No BlogHer (or Him) type of thing, just we three guys who had hit it off (totally platonically!) over the ether.
I got to customs in Toronto and the surly full-of-himself guard asked me where I was going and who I was seeing.
“So, uh, how did you meet these friends?”
“Um, well… ON THE INTERNET.”
Please, for the love of god, I hope I never EVER have to say that again. I don’t think that guard’s eyebrows have yet returned from their search for the back of his scalp.
Trips to the US of Eh… good times.
I would have wanted to punch that random commenter in the security line, too! The NERVE!
Being an American citizen doesn’t make the security people any nicer to you….in fact, internationally I think they’re meaner cause it’s at America’s request that every other country has to go through this bullshit now.
Oh, did I say request?
I meant demand.
Americans don’t know how to do anything besides demand.
I’m having a severe immigrant guilt complex thing going on, if you can’t tell.
I lost my nail clippers due to a memory block but Grandpa out shone me by having to fork over 3 Swiss Army Knives on three different flights. His genius IQ must hve been on hold.
We really are so much alike, it’s quite scary frankly.
Next time we’re together, I’ll be more prepared and actually LOOK at a map BEFORE venturing out.
you got paged at the airport!
awesome!
Thank goodness for friendly crack addicts. They made the world go round.
And you would never make it as a pharmacist. We are by definition tightly wound and entirely anal. Next time, pack T and I in your luggage. We can be very useful in a jam.
Going through security is seriously the WORST part of flying! I fly fairly regularly, and really get sick of the strip search. Really! Why should I have to take off my jacket, belt, jewellry and shoes every time? I find it so invasive, and I feel like yelling at the top of my lungs: “Anyone for another round of Strip Poker?!” (just to piss off the security guards)
I know what you mean about customs, too. You get so nervous, even knowing that you are a completely innocent good citizen of your Country. Sometimes National Security can take the joy out of travelling, but it sounds like you had such a great time, Andi, that it can be worth the pain.
I would have wandered for hours. I have a fear of getting paged or paging someone. Way to be brave Jennifer!
I have only travelled alone a few times and I think I have lost all courage to do it again. My husband was in the air force so he is my saving grace when we travel. Don’t ask him about the time I almost got him arrested in Mexico because I flew through security leaving him with all the bags containing things he couldn’t explain. Oops.
hey, it’s no vacation without a little help from the local crack head.
and really, maps and cell phones are just fads…you don’t really need them.
So, how’d you get the manicure set home? (Whose brilliant idea was that, anyway?)
I got lucky because I texted Ali (my roomie) “where are you?” And she’s all “baggage claim 10″ and I responded “I’m at 14!” and that was the easiest airport meet-up ever! Esepcially between 2 strangers.
Aah,thank you for tip. I was wracking my brain trying to think of what I would tell my boss about Blogher (when I do in fact go). The last thing I want is to let her know I have a blog. I’m so completely inappropriate in that I do talk about work (just to get shit out)….I’d be fired on the spot.
Oh and if makes you feel any better, I do have a cell phone but I’m actually still on a dial -up connection at home. Which I think qualifes me as a dinosaur
lol. Wow. What a way to start off your tripto BlogHer.
I am known for getting lost, probably why I decided to pay extra and have the Lorrie drop me off directly at the hotel.
I hear crack addicts can be helpful.
I find all of the paranoia by the airlines quite amusing. Because someone couldn’t blow something up with an SUV on the road? Or a train? Or a bus? Really?
Still getting over the cell phone thing!
I took a cab because I am Texan, and dammit, I’m afraid of public transportation.
This is exactly why I gave up knitting.
Airport security meticulously wiped down my bag with a trace chemical detection wand at Pearson. No joke. And I wasn’t even packing scissors.
I’m impressed that you took the BART. We were too afraid, and sprung for a cab, both ways. On the way back to SFO the cabbie lectured us on DVD players in cars and basically called our children unimaginative losers. That was AWESOME.
You thought you’d have time to KNIT???
Well, I used to bring cross stitch on flights; ha! That is now a thing of the past too.