Okay, I am back from the black hole, otherwise known as ohmygodihavenolifebecauseworkissobusy so thanks for hanging in there and waiting [ with baited breath, I am sure.]
At any rate, to re-acquaint you with my [if only just slightly] neurotic self, I would like to applaud my recent improvement on one of my travel neuroses.
The TSA likes to see me squirm. How do I know? Simple. They invented security check points.
Step 1. To start, they create one common queue for all passengers looking to board an aircraft. Coincidentally, the people surrounding me will definitely include a few smelly/overly loud/non-speaking English people, just for good measure. A large, mass crowd will maximize my wait time, and also heighten my awareness of all personal belongings. There will also be a crying baby somewhere in the immediate vicinity.
Step 2. Next, the TSA attendants will begin to yell at everyone waiting in line re: restrictions aboard an aircraft carrier. While I know that I have no contraband materials in any of my carry on, I will neurotically check, just to make sure there isn’t a lingering water bottle and/or rifle in my bag, you know, in case I missed it during one of my own personal check-thrus. Now, my once extremely organized, strategically packed bag is now a clutter of pillows, books, and underwear [just for if my luggage gets lost, and I have nothing to wear besides clean underwear.]
Step 3. Then, they make everyone put all toiletries in a clear plastic bag in a separate bin on the conveyer belt. I find this to be completely mortifying. Is it completely necessary for it to be a clear bag? Now, not only will everyone know that I use a shampoo specifically for blondes, but they will also know that I use a men’s razor and Barbosal shaving cream [it makes for a closer shave and smooth legs, okay?!]
Step 4. As I am completely vulnerable in front of a crowd of strangers, the TSA throws a germaphobic curve ball. You want me to take off my shoes?! I don’t even like walking around my apartment barefoot. Am I the only one who isn’t comfortable removing my shoes and walking on the same airport floor where thousands of other dirty/smelly/foreign/athlete-footy feet have also been?
Step 5. Now in complete panic [but not showing any of it out rightly – I am no terrorist, just deathly afraid of Swine Flu], I calmly put on, what I affectionately call, my airport socks. Airport socks are socks packed specifically for security and plane use. They are put on at security, removed when I put my shoes on, only to put them back on should I choose to remove my shoes once I get on the plane. Once I am done using my plane socks, I pack them in a manner so that I can recall which side of the sock touched the floor versus my foot. What is the point of wearing socks to protect my feet if I am only going to infect my bag once taking them out? The socks are carefully reversed so the germ side is in; crisis averted.
Step 6. Ready to cry, I am summoned to walk forward to the new, state-of-the-art body scanner. Great. Now not only are my toiletries on display, and my feet indirectly making out with the fat guy’s feet from two feet in front of me, but now a complete and total stranger is going to see me naked…as if I don’t already have a complete and total body image complex.
Step 7. Feeling completely violated, but a tad relieved that the TSA didn’t pull me for any other personal security searches, I calmly and strategically remove my plane socks and put my shoes back on. I then begin to stress about my next airport anxiety: the safety instructions en plane. This is my time to freak out and make a game plan, should my plane have an emergency [keeping in mind that the nearest exit may be behind me.]
Why write about this? Because on my recent trip to Los Angeles I broke out of my routine and didn’t wear plane socks through security. I did put them on once on the plane, but baby steps here, baby steps.
PS: should you ever choose to bring this up to me in person, I will vehemently deny that any of this actually occurs.
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