After meticulously planning every distracting thought for
takeoff, I did not expect to have problems before I entered my terminal.
Removing my hip new Toms (you’re welcome, now non-shoeless child in Africa) for
security, I entered the “Alien”-like capsule to be x-rayed. Since I already
read over the Airport Security Rules at least 10 times, I easily aced this
first exam (Boo-ya TSA). My carry-on baggage was another story. Apparently,
most passengers don’t bring wine openers when flying to Dallas. But since I’m
super cultured and a fluent-speaking-Frenchie, it’s totally legit I’d want to
bring along a wine opener.
Luckily my mortification was momentarily subdued by my bag
shifting from an older TSA gentleman to a…similarly-aged TSA woman. Now did I
honestly think this would go smoothly? Realistically, absolutely not. If
perpetual awkwardness was a disease, I would be a miracle survivor (citation:
some random comedian).
So it begins with the TSA lady opening my carryon, which
contains my electronics and every embarrassing undergarment that one could possibly
pack. And where was the wine opener? At the bottom. Sparing you the gory
details, Timothy and I stood at security for approximately 15 minutes while two
TSA women completely unpacked my carryon, gently placing every undergarment I
have to the side, only to find a wine opener that was, so typically, A-OK to
fly.
So here I am, with my boyfriend, barefoot, with every
undergarment and hair product lying on an airport security table. I held up the
entire line, which only made people more curious about what in the world I had
in my bag. Well, luckily, I’m much more friendly with at least 200 men, women,
and children who traveled from the New Orleans Airport this morning. So intimate
with these people that one woman, an hour later, said to me, “She really
unpacked everything, didn’t she?” Yes, she did. Thank you for the reminder that
my perfectly organized bag is now in disarray, as well as my dignity.
What did I learn? Buy a wine opener in France.
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