We arrived at the airport ready to fly into New York, and there was a news crew in the lobby. This makes me nervous, I said. Bryan said news crews always broadcast from the airport. Really, I said. Sure, he said, they’re always here. Why, I asked. Because it’s a place where they can always broadcast live if they want to. I raised a single eyebrow at him. His look suggested he learned this information from an authoritative guide entitled Preferred Habitats of Local News Teams. In actuality a bunch of guys had just been arrested in London for plotting to blow up planes. Of course, we didn’t discover this until we were in the security line.
In the best of circumstances, airport security teams see me through a different lens. To them, I appear to have sharp objects taped in concealed places, and a mouth ringed with the gunpowder I’ve been eating for breakfast. Accordingly, they searched my bag and confiscated everything in it. Well, almost everything.
They took my Revlon Lipglide in Sparkling Sangria, they ignored my metal nail file. They confiscated my Origins Pinch Your Cheeks tint, but bypassed the box of matches. They pulled my Aveeno Sunblock Spray, but left my razor-sharp cuticle scissors.
With each item they took, my mental calculator added another $20-$30 to my cumulative agony. By the time they were finished, they’d yoinked about $150 worth of cosmetics. I was surprised to find that I actually wanted to cry in frustration.
I told the security guard that he was nearly doubling the cost of my ticket, and asked if there was some way to ship this stuff. You can, he said, but it’s $9 an item. Bryan finally just went back to the front counter and checked my box of toiletries. Of course, when we got to the gate, they made us check our bags anyway.
The upside is, our plane totally did not blow up en route to New York. So it was a good trip.