Next time I ask someone to blow me, I need to qualify that statement

I was telling someone that it’s not going to be a terrorist to take down an airplane — it’s going to be an everyday passenger like you and me.

All right, so I got to the airport yesterday a good two and a half hours before my flight. And given that the airport is the size of a postage stamp, I figured I’d be sittin’ around bored.

Haaaa. Funny!

So I’m flying on an airline that was recently acquired by a Big Airline. So I park and go in to the Big Airline, toss in the credit card and wait to be recognized.

And oh boy was I — as Brandon and not Goddess.

Brandon was going to Nantucket. And while a part of me was eager to go to any destination that sounded vacation-like in nature, I admit that I had always assumed Nantucket was a fictional place.

I tried three more terminals before someone tells me no, to go upstairs and use the check-in stations up there as the merger isn’t complete. So I use a few of those till I realize Big Airline owned those machines too and I had to keep going to get to Little, Swallowed-up Airline.

I checked my one bag and headed downstairs.

I get in line and, BTW, they’re serious about this 3 ounces-or-smaller containers shit. I had my baggie full o’ crap, and they said, nope, not goin’ on.

As this was, oh, PERFUME involved, I wasn’t going to throw it away or leave it there as they’d suggested. I asked where I could FedEx my stuff and they said there’s no FedEx facility on-site. *sigh*

So the girl says I could go back upstairs (for the second time) to put my shit in my suitcase. So I flew up there.

… Only to be told that my suitcase had JUST gone downstairs and was being put on the plane and, no, I wasn’t going to be allowed to add it.

You know, I knew the rules, but I thought it was glass, it was half-empty and hell, maybe I could catch a break.


So I ran back to the ticket desk (the right one this time) and checked my carry-on so that I wouldn’t have to throw away a bottle of Perry Ellis Woman. (The jury’s out on it. I like it but I don’t think I’ll buy it again.) Meanwhile, I was nervous because the bag was small and not even half-full, but I got it in one piece so woo.

I went back downstairs (third time’s a charm!) and went through security, all barefoot and happy. And another girl I was standing with told me it’s only in D.C. airports, but I had to get blown before I got on the flight.


Seriously, you step into a chamber, and they put like a railroad-crossing signal in front of you so you can’t run through. And from your head to your toes, air jets full of cold-ass air bean you on both sides of your body. After all the running around I’d done, I rather enjoyed it, but still, thank GOD I wasn’t wearing a skirt!!!

More stories from the road, but alas, I gots some work to do. Greetings from the left coast and all that happy-ass horseshit. 🙂

2 Responses to Next time I ask someone to blow me, I need to qualify that statement

  1. Erica :

    So… what’s the purpose of the blowing?

  2. Tiff :

    Testing for explosives.