Notice, I mentioned being in the airport for 6 hours before here. Not 2 (as recommended), not 4 (which is already slightly cray), but 6 hours.
I was not playing. I didn’t even want an iota of an issue to occur. I was praying last night and giving thanks to God for no issues, and then didn’t believe it, so I prayed again with husband this morning.
I could have went in at the projected 2 hours before my leaving time, but decided against it because I wanted husband to be the last person I saw before I went into the air. Romantic? Yes. Logical? Don’t care.
He had a DJ gig all day and he needed to be there early (turns out he was totally early). I didn’t want to inconvenience him, so I asked if he could drop me off early. Hence, why I’m at the airport at 10AM, instead of 2PM.
I needed a couple of things out of my bag, so I proceeded to open my luggage (let’s call her Francesca) and take out what I needed. Francesca didn’t want to close so easily, as I suspected, therefore leading to my struggle with not only my mostly freshly done braids (that were falling into my face), but with Francesca. I like to speak to myself, and I’m okay if you’re asking “Who are you talking to?” However, take in mine, I will ignore you and continue to give inanimate objects or people who don’t/can’t hear me a piece of my mind like I was scolding a child (I have my mommy voice on lock due to the babysitting).
The conversation went a little like this:
“Look hair. Imma need you to know that you’re going to have to stay out of my face. We need to have an understanding that you are going to stay pulled back, out of my face, and under this hat. Please and thank you.”
Then, I proceeded to tie my hair with a scrunchie, and grabbed Francesca.
“And you’re going to get your life.”
These were the great words spoken as I sat on Francesca and zipped her up in her entirety. Then, I made my way to the baggage counter.
Baggage claim went surprisingly well. Like…superbly well. I went ahead and gave my information, weighted my bag, which was surprisingly light, by the way despite sumo punching Francesca, the luggage, into submission.
DA DA DAAAAAA…(cue suspenseful music).
Going through TSA hasn’t ever been my favorite thing to do for several reasons.
- You have to strip, without pay (hehe), when you walk through the line.
- When I layer, I go hard in the paint and this was no different.
- 2 jackets, one hat, spankies under my jeans, pair of jeans, boots, a sweater underneath with a scarf wrapped around my neck, as well as my gloves.
- When I layer, I go hard in the paint and this was no different.
- You have to go through these random body scans.
- I’ve been chosen before to go through them. Seemingly, more often than not, but I don’t travel a lot, so there’s no big whoop here.
- You have to separate your belongings into different bins, and then be fast enough to grab your things, half-naked, before the next set of people go through, which can be a hassle.
Oh yeah…and my name was sort of spelled wrong on my boarding pass, so I was wondering if I was even going to be let through the gate to be scanned for anything.
I walked towards the first agent. She asked to check my boarding pass. I gave it to her…heart beating like a race horse…
“Okay, ma’am. You’re good.”
Oh, sweet home, Kentucky!
I glided on through the spaghetti net that is the TSA line. It’s funny when no one is filling the lines and you have to glide like a goofball dizzily through the line until you get to the agent at the end. The gate keeper.
This particular gate keeper was nice. Pepper gray hair, and a tidy beard.
He asked for my information. And I asked with wide eyes,
“Would my passport be okay, or would you prefer my license?”
“The passport is okay since you have it readily available.”
Yay! I wanted that to happen, so that my information and boarding pass were right there for him to see. The boarding pass scanned in nicely. And then came for the identification.
He looked down at the boarding pass, then at my passport and instead of handing them back, looked up at me, then back at the passport.
HOLD UPPPP!!!!
My stomach was about to come out of my butthole. Like. Tidy, pepper-gray gate keeper. Be a loving person and understand that this is me, and even though the Mrs. is looking like my middle name, it’s not.
“You’re good, ma’am. Here you go.”
OHHHHHHHHH! Praisseeeeeee!!!!
I grabbed that thing so fast and scooted right on past him before he could think to change his mind.
Shimmy shimmy coco pop! Cabbage patch dancing, the pop and lock, and the running man would have commenced had I not wanted to draw too much attention to myself. I also needed to start peeling back the layers of clothes I had accumulated and snuggled into expertly this morning.
In total, I filled four bins, one with boots, one with my backpack, another for my hat and jackets, and another for my computer.
I got scan ready, received a pat down for who knows what – since I was free the boobies baller today, and grabbed my things before walking barefoot down the length of the section A gates. It took a total of 15 minutes of arriving and getting through TSA for me to make it safely to my gate, 4 hours and 5 minutes before boarding time.
Oh…and I sort of thought it would be funny when I got here to send my mom the following message:
“Mom…don’t be sad, but…”
You can imagine the conversation we had.
So, how goes it Millennial? Ever had an almost moment at the airport? Tell us about it below in the comments.
Millennial Mania 