An uncomfortable shuttle ride from Flagstaff concluded with a almost speedy check-in now finds me sitting in the Sky Harbor Airport, enjoying the free WiFi and a terrible terrible cup of coffee. My nodding off sessions on the trip down from Flag are all the sleep I got, so I am in effect in the midst of an all nighter. Late this evening I should arrive home, and find myself with the wreckage I left behind.
The morning light is hot and nearly abrasive, and my plan for enjoying the airport has been challenged by my exhaustion and the apparent exhaustion of 96% of everyone here. I inadvertently attempted to smuggle a half empty jar of peanut butter through security, resulting in my bag getting searched. I can understand why the TSA personal get annoyed. The check point I walked through had a man who repeated in a gruff monotone that "all liquids, creams and gels" (and, it would follow, nut and legume butters) must be removed a placed in a separate container. He had a similar mantra regarding computers, games and PDAs. Someone from my line yelled: "How about iPhones?!" His facial expression did not budge: "yes, iPhones too."
So as I shuffled barefoot across the threshold of the metal detector (the next plauge will be some sort of foot fungus) I should not have acted so surprised when the belt came to halt, and officers congregated around the magic xray screen to look at my bag with furrowed brows. My bag is removed by another TSA officer, who was pretty in a girl-muppet sort of way, asked in a polite monotone what sort of electronics I had in my bag today. I said: "Oh. A netbook."
"Is there anything sharp or dangerous I should know about in your bag?" she asked with her polite and pretty muppet-smile. She was eying my bag, a large black courier bag that looks like a drybag - if you know what a dry bag is. If you don't, I can only assume that it looks like a large black, shiny bag that one would fill with sharp, dangerous electronics.
I assure her that my back is in fact not a safety hazard.
She eyes the single vecro roll-top: "is this the only way to assess the contents of this bag?"
"Yes."
She cautiously opens the roll top and her polite muppet face morphs to something more similar to one the the stages of grief.
Obviously a bag that is nearly water proof is not very breathable, the bag had been the home of two pairs of climbing shoes, my harness, a rain shell and a series of t-shirts for nearly 3 weeks. I can only guess from the TSA officers facial expression that the odors had combined to form something so beautiful that she could not find the words to express it.
I had not had my first cup of coffee and was not putting things together very quickly. "Are you OK?" I asked.
Her blue-gloved had reached in and I honestly had no idea what she was going to pull out. "I don't recall exactly what I packed." This was perhaps the worst thing I could have said, and the glance she shot me reflected that. Out came a jar of peanut butter, and in a tangle of wires, my netbook.
"I'm going to need to rescan the computer and you definately can't bring the peanut butter," she said in a long sigh.
"I understand."
The muppet smile returned, my bag was rescanned and she bid me good day.
So now I am struck with the task of processing the wonderful last 3 weeks, and hopeful writing about it in a comprehensible and hopefully interesting way.
Thanks for reading.
