Trip (Up)

       A Holiday: Leisure time away from work devoted to relaxing or pleasure.

       To Relax: To make less tense.

       Airport: A huge disorganized building filled with a chaotic mash of frantic people hauling excessive baggage and gear in an uncontrolled and confusing manner.

       Relaxing? Less Tense? What was I thinking?

       It is ironic that many of my holidays begin and end with the most exhausting and trying element of the trip: The Airport.  I definitely have ‘airport aversion’, and usually by the time I’ve arrived at my destination, my ‘relax factor’ has plummeted by 50%, my appearance is disheveled, and I’ve unavoidably upset someone or more likely been reprimanded for sitting in the wrong place, asking too many questions or complaining about the food.  As expected, this little jaunt to NYC was no different.  All I can say is thank god for noise cancelling earphones, dark sunglasses and lavender oil….

         I have no confidence in…anyone at airports…and as such, I never check a bag, no matter the length of my trip.  Unfortunately and without a doubt, my checked bag will indeed get lost, bumped or delayed, for one reason or another, which has led me to conclude that basically a checked bag is a lost bag.   One time, on a 4-day trip, my misplaced luggage took 3 days to get to me, and let me tell you, there are only so many ways to wear a black t-shirt….and socks really can have a personality all on their own…  It’s a curse I’ve been saddled with, and in order to avoid hours of negotiations and arguments with the most incompetent and unconcerned lost luggage bozos, I carry everything on.  If it doesn’t fit in that teeny carry-on, my purse, coat pockets or can't be worn, it doesn’t go, no matter how much I think I might need it.  Needless to say, I’m frequently at my destination lacking in something, and wishing I had brought another pair of shoes, sweater, pants….or all three.  No one said sacrifices are painless, but when it comes down to it, I’d rather be wrinkled and repeated than forced to buy “I Love New York” t-shirts because my clothing is on a world tour.  Besides, on this particular trip, I didn’t think the people of Manhattan would really care that my one pair of shoes were more akin to slippers and that my t-shirt had been slept in.  And at the Broadway production of “Hair”….well, the actors were naked….and hairy.…so I already felt secure in my outfit.  Strangely, I did keep humming the song from “Midnight Cowboy”,

        “Everybody's talking at me.

         I don't hear a word they're saying,

         Only the echoes of my mind.

         People stopping staring,

         I can't see their faces,

         Only the shadows of their eyes.”

        So, crammed carry on, loaded with 5 days worth of clothing and accoutrements, and already worn out from my self imposed travel packing restrictions and preparation, I arrived at the airport an hour before my flight so that I’d have time to make it through security, grab a coffee and ……get dressed.

        My boots, my belt, my sweater (which I frankly saw as part of my upper layer and not an item which needed to be removed), my watch, my hat, my bracelet and my scarf all got piled in a muddle on the ominous grungy conveyor belt.  Additionally, before I could pass through the metal detector, my computer was removed and separated into its own bin, my lotions and potions that had been previously placed into their own little individual containers……which were within their own little individual baggie…..were then put into another little individual rounded tub.  My boots were also made to enter the machinery solo, but were denied a container by the agent, as they were scary looking black things that I suppose needed to be scrutinized without restraint.  Following, my coat, sweater, hat and scarf were in another bin, while my bracelet, belt and watch were segregated into yet another small bucket.  Finally, my purse and carry-on suitcase brought up the rear.  I surveyed the conveyor belt and noticed that there was a ridiculous 20-foot long string of my belongings positioned in heaps along the table…and I, now a participant in the mass disrobing happening around me, was barely clothed, shoe-less and exposed with merely a flimsy boarding pass for protection.  The things we do under fear…  I looked around and noticed downward glances and uncomfortable quietness as the people in line nervously unbuttoned, unzipped and unbuckled their attire in order to obey the strangely smug and delighted agents and their repeated orders.  Or maybe they averted their eyes to avoid the peep show in the next lane:  At 6:30am, it’s just hard to look at a sweaty obese man in his plumber-butt jeans wife-beater top….  

       But finally, having passed the metal detector test and now waiting for all my stuff to hopefully pass too, I questioned if I would be able to gather and replace it all in time to make my flight.  I wondered why I had spent the time getting dressed in the first place, when I would just be required to remove everything and redress merely an hour later…. Next time, I’m seriously contemplating arriving in my pj’s with my clothes ready to wear at the top of my bag.  Why get dressed twice?  And wouldn’t it be reasonable for TSA to position a mirror at the end of the screening scrutiny?  Someone like me needs a little reflection after the dissection and inspection!  I already look like a bag lady carrying my load, and getting dressed hastily, under observation and mirror-less, commonly leaves me with my sweater buttoned incorrectly, my belt missing a loop, or a pant leg caught in my boot.

      Every time, I’m a wreck…and that’s even before I get to the plane.