Well, I'm finally home, so I will kiss the frozen soil and call it good.
Do I look like a terrorist to you?
Yesterday, I was "computer selected" for the TSA special security screening. Which meant that they asked me to stand on one side of a partition and watch in stunned humilitaion ( well, they didn't require the humiliation... I added that myself), while on the other side of the partition, a specially trained screener unpacked both my suitcases and checked them for.... whatever. And when I say unpacked my suitcases - - I mean completely. Not one thing left in any pocket in the whole bag. She unfolded all my clothes, looked through every single prescription and toiletry product, and felt up all my underwear which I pack in little rolled bundles.
And she was swabbing the inside of everything, and said something to her trainee about checking for residue. I wonder if I'm more or less likely to be put on the watch-list when they test those swabs and come up with anti-wrinkle lotion, zit cream, and baby oil. Because what kind of freak would use that combo, right? Oh, and Midnight Pomegranate spray from Bath and Body Works. That'll be on there too.
The part that made me crazy (well, crazier than normal) was when she picked up my jewelry travel bag upside down, and all my earrings fell out. Of course the penalties are severe if you reach over the partition, so I had to help her search for all my earrings by talking her through it.
After that I just watched the clock on the wall, and wondered what exactly she was going to do when she couldn't get all my stuff and the 2 pillows I had brought back into the bag. Because it had taken me all morning, the expansion zipper, a crowbar and a shoehorn get everything in there in the first place. And, you know, watching each second slowly tick by while I stood waiting in the airport was about 50 times less frustrating than watching that woman repack my stuff. The whole thing took 27 minutes. Just in case you were wondering.
But the fun just kept on coming, because while she was stuffing things back into my suitcase, my name was paged to please come to the ticket counter, where they wanted to change my seat because they were seating some federal marshals and convicts in the front of the plane. And they needed my seat, and would I mind moving to the back of this tiny little puddle jumper plane?
All I can think of at this point is the movie The Fugitive.
Then I was of course automatically selected to be strip searched (well, not quite) through the people screeners. While they were patting me down (seriously) in one area, they were going through my carry on bags in the other area. And again taking every single thing out of every single pocket. They even took all the bread I was carrying out of the paper shopping bag - breaking one of the handles in the process. I guess I'm lucky they I didn't get the bread sliced, or it could have taken so much longer. As it was, I ended up being the very last person on the plane, but at least I got a good look at all the convicts on the way to my seat - so I could identify them during the police search.
Eventually I did make it home. My mom is recovering well from her surgery. And I should be back in full swing today. Should be.
Mainly I'm trying to figure out why it's always so hard for me to get back to reality after being gone. You'd think I'd just jump back in with extra energy, but that's just not how my brain works. I HATE coming home to mail, voice mail, email, and tons of stuff that I have been procrastinating for 2 weeks.
It takes a day or two for me to even want to be back to my routine. Speaking of which, I have wayyy more posts in my Google Reader than I will ever be able to get to. Please forgive me if I just jump in from today!
Or possibly tomorrow.