My roommate’s grandfather has a saying that makes a lot of sense to me. “If you’ve never missed a plane then you’re spending too much time in airports.” I tend to get their at the last minute, sign the form that says my luggage isn’t going to make it, run through security and get on the plane. I spend almost no time in the airport.
Today is different. I’m excited to go to El Paso. The fine taste of Chico’s Tacos is just a few hours away. I couldn’t sleep. I ended up at the airport early. This turned out to be a stroke of luck.
I plugged my confirmation number into the little self check-in kiosk thingy and it said to go see a customer service person. I do that and she watches me try to check in again. Then she sees the message and says, “Ohhhh, I need to get my manager.” That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I’m important damn it. I shouldn’t be talking to pissant customer service reps, bring me a manager.
But this wasn’t “get my manager” in the good way. This was “get my manager” b/c you are apparently an evildoer and your name is on the goddamned no flight list with Ted Kennedy and that 3-month-old baby and other terror threats. It turns out it’s not actually me who’s on the list but one of the few other Antonio Gonzalez’s in the world. Christ, double Christ.
For the 20 minutes when they were trying to figure out how I got on the list and I was wondering how many TSA agents will be in the room when I’m asked to strip. Would they have warm fingers?
I wondered if it was my membership in the extremist group MECHA in high school and college. Was it my interest after reading the El Puro Pedo article on forming my own militant Chicano group? Maybe it was the fact that I checked out On Bullshit from the library and am now on to Karl Rove. Maybe it’s b/c they knew I would write this post…