Travel is stressful. You are willfully pulling yourself away from the known, comfortable environs of your home and thrusting yourself into the unknown. You subject yourself to the mind-numbing intricacies of a burgeoning bureaucracy, place yourself in a mass of people who are as tired, dazed and sweaty as you are, and put you and your loved ones in imminent danger of falling to the earth, or into an ocean. Man, what fun!
Robin and I got up at 0245. What’s the 0 stand for? In the immortal words of the late Robin Williams in Good Morning Vietnam, “O my God it’s early!” We put the last items in our suitcases, loaded the car, dragged Jessica’s ass out of bed and drove to Indianapolis International Airport.
We arrived at around 0330. General guidance is that travelers get to the airport at least two hours before their flight, to make sure they make it through TSA. Our flight was scheduled to board at 0520. And sure enough, no one was at the Delta counter to check us in. Apparently the Delta counter doesn’t open until 4:15am. We here at Delta are not aware of TSA suggestions to travelers. In fact, Delta Union Spokesperson Squinty McSquintface said, “Come to work 2 hours prior to our first flight to help our customers, are you crazy? That’s fucking early!”
We got my TSA Known Traveler number added to my ticket so I could use the TSA Precheck program and stream-line my access to the TSA security screen. Having slain the check-in baby bureaucratic check-in dragon, we sallied forth to slay the TSA Screening beast of many heads.
Armed with my paper ticket, I waved it at the bored TSA agent who said, “You’re good, boss,’ and waved me through. I dragged my carry on luggage, my leather briefcase and my CPAP machine, and snaked my way through the serpentine barriers that TSA thoughtfully placed to allow travelers to obtain their steps for the day before they’ve departed. I put my things into bins and headed to the metal detectors.
Did I mention it was early? Neither Robin nor I had coffee yet. That detail reared its ugly head. In the TSA Precheck line, you don’t have to take off your belt, or your shoes. But you still have to empty your pockets. “Beep,” said the TSA Precheck Dragon. The TSA Black Knight asked, “Anything in your pockets, boss?” Apparently TSA agents are into irony, and groupthink.
I did, indeed, have items in my pockets. So back to the bin area I went to place those items in a bin. Back to the TSA Precheck Dragon, who dutifully chirped, “Beep.” The TSA Black Knight, who had just defeated me, asked, “Anything in your pockets, boss?” I guess his attention span was worthy of being an extra in 50 First Dates. Sure enough, my iPhone was in another pocket. The third time was a charm, and the TSA Precheck Dragon let me pass, after asking me my name, what my quest was, and what was my favorite color.
My original bins were all patiently waiting for me, then I had to patiently wait for my other two bins. Those came just as Robin finished coming through the regular line. Even a time-saving feature like Pre-Check can be defeated by one idiot with no coffee in him. We walked a ways toward the gates, then I had to turn around and go back to the Pre-Check area to pick up the cane I had forgotten. President Obama once famously said of Joe Biden, “Never underestimate the ability of Joe to fuck things up.” Ha! Ol’ Joe has nothing on me.
The rest of the morning went without a hitch. We flew to Detroit, and had a 5-hour layover. The rest of the trip would be in First Class, so we were looking forward to that leg of the flight, which I will address in the next blog.
Meditations of a Bald, Fat Guy 