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 Holly Winter Living The Life Of Holly June 9, 2003 I wasn’t worried about finding Darlin-man at the Miami International Airport. We had taken different airlines to get there and were many concourses apart from happening into each other. I mean. We both had cell phones. I decided that I would let him find me in the haystack, and started the check in process. He called. “Hi Babe! Where are you?” “Miami, and you?” “Would that be at or near the airport? Or have you stopped at the Seven Eleven for a soda?” “Airport. I dare you to find me. Ready, set, go!” “I might need more of a hint.” He said, dryly. “Ok. I’m standing near a ticket agent.” I offered. “That’s what I like about you.” He said. “Such detailed hints.” I saw the suitcase first. Now. Normally you would think that Darlin-man would stand out. Because he is so tall and cute and I was looking for him. But. Well. His suitcase seemed even taller than he was. He was having trouble navigating it through the terminal. “He doesn’t work for the airline, does he?” The ticket agent checking me in asked. “No.” “I can tell.” Airline people frown on those who travel with lots of baggage. We watched as poor darlin-man took out several German tourists, knocked an ice-cream cone out of a child’s hand, and knocked down every line divider that he passed. That suitcase was a sight to behold. A woman standing nearby saw that icon of space and clothes and shoe possibilities. She pointed to the monstrosity, waved her arms around in the air, and slapped her husband. He accepted her rage, giving Darlin-man the evil eye. (You see how too much baggage hurts many people, not just the baggage handlers.) Oh. Don’t worry. Darlin- man missed the evil eye. He couldn’t see a thing. The ticket agent watched disapprovingly as my boyfriend made his way closer. “You haven’t been dating long, have you?” “Actually we just got back together.” I giggled. “It’ll never last.” Darlin-man approached the counter. “Hi Babe! You made it!” I gave him his hello kiss. “Who’s your friend?” I asked, introducing myself to his luggage. “Long time friend.” Darlin-man insisted. “We go way back.” It was a good thing that the airline was willing to take his suitcase off our hands as it was too much airport excitement for me. My suitcase was compact enough to travel as carry on luggage, and might have doubled for a pillow or a headrest if we needed one, so it was permitted to roll along with us as we found our way to our gate area. The security check point was easy to find, and we joined the long line of people ready to watch their belongings get x-rayed. Now it was Darlin- man’s turn to make fun of me. I was a pro at going through security since I’m a flight attendant and constantly go through these check points for work. Of course. I know how to avoid that selective beep that makes them wand me for hidden metal objects from my toes to my bra strap while other travelers regard me as a possible terrorist. But. It takes me a little while to prepare for the great passing... I took a deep breath and focused all of my attention to the task at hand. I removed my laptop from my leather briefcase and eased it into bin number one. The briefcase went into a second bin. I untangled my purse from around my shoulder and put it into a third bin. I removed my sweater and added it to the third bin. My shoes were removed, quickly, one after the other, and stuffed into the third bin. I unwound my company issued ID tag from around my neck and placed it into the second bin with my briefcase. I removed my bracelet and put it into the second bin. I did a quick body check. Had I forgotten anything? No. Ok. I picked up my suitcase and plopped it onto the conveyer belt. I got on line to pass through the detector that would prove, once and for all, that the only arms I was carrying had nothing to do with firearms. Darlin-man leaned in for a whisper. “What would it take for you to reach up under your skirt, remove your stockings, and add them to a bin?” I burst out laughing. “Um…” “Do it. Just reach up and take off you stockings and plop them into a pile. What would it take?” Ok. So. Maybe... “Ten..” He raised his eyebrows. “…hundred…” His eyes lit up. “You would do it for a thousand dollars?” Wait. Let’s see. I would lose my job of being a flight attendant. I love that job. Would they arrest me? The woman working the line looked kind of uptight. Bet she would love to grab that ID from me. “Ten…. hundred….thousand…” He shook his head. “That would be so funny. I think that you should do it for free. To prove how funny you are.” It was my turn to go through. “See. Now you know. I’m not that funny. And now I know. You are clearly not willing to pay for humor. You missed a once in a lifetime chance…” We made it through security without getting selected, which is like a Kodak moment in the world of travel: you never take it for granted. I started the process of reassembling myself into the traveler I was before I entered the x- ray zone. I pushed my laptop back into my briefcase, pulled my sweater on, swung my ID around my neck, slid my purse over my shoulder, refastened my bracelet, and stepped back into my shoes. I dropped my suitcase to the floor and lifted the handle. I know. Darlin-man wasn’t the only one amused. The security guards always get a chuckle. “You’re a complicated woman, aren’t you?” The guard collecting bins laughed. “Hey. That’s a badge I wear proudly.” I smiled. Darlin-man leaned over and kissed me. “Come on, complex one. Let’s find some food.” “Ok.” I grimaced, rearranging my belongings. “As long as we don’t have to go through security again.” Um. Well. We did have to exit back into the terminal to find food. I know. So much for me knowing airports. And. In case you’re wondering, for our second trip through security that day, although Darlin- man was willing to sweeten the prize, my stockings remained on. Hey. We don’t want to encourage too much airport excitement in one day, right? ------------ About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com Comment on this column in the forum. ------------ |
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