I swipe my card to check in, nothing happens, "c'mon you piece of overused shit! work!" I'm assuming it heard my threats and began to work. Aaaand its not working again. Here we go again with another adventure. "Ma'am, let me help you." Its the nice JetBlue guy, he's kinda cute too. A nice tall drink of cafe con leche, if you will. Mmhmm. I'd date him, lol. I'm a short, scuzi a grande piping hot cup of caramel machiatta. No harm done. mmmm caramel frapp with whipped and caramel sauce. This was not turning out to be a smooth operation of sorts.
"Ma'am you're at the wrong airport." What the hell? Everything's been going so smoothly so far, aside from being an absolute brainiac having put my iPod in a safe place only to forget where the hell I put it. Nothing abnormal for me, so it all seemed to be going just swell, dandy even. HA! Almost smoothly. I first go to the first terminal, AA, turns out I'm at the wrong place and the wrong time by about 50 miles and whatever. After great inspection of my paperwork, we discover I am flying JetBlue, as I thought and told the desk guy. Thank God for senses of humor once I got to the JetBlue kiosk. My sense of humor.
I was already sweating from just being nervous and find out the machines are acting up and there were no seats but the upgrade. If I didn't purchase the extra 4 inches, yeah FOUR inches of extra leg room, I would have been sitting in the back, objectively called "steerage" by oneself, the high school choir headed for NYC too. CRAPPPPPPPPUH! I just told him to just give me a TEN DOLLAR PER INCH seat and I'll be fine. I'm not going to exactly stand in front of the plane waiting to see if someone will not show. somethings not right cause I bought this shit over a month ago. And the fun continues...
After running for the security check and sweating my ass off,Just before you unload your items and place your stuff in those filthy buckets, including shoes (more germs) and have them roll away while you have a moment of GREAT violation and invasion of privacy. There is always a moment you hope upon hope your bags and other items actually come out of the other side. Its almost like the feeling of seeing them come out of the other end of the great shrinking machine like Willy Wonka's, only it doesn't come out and ends up on the tele. In the meantime, I wonder if there's trolls waiting inside to spit and lick all of my stuff. Who lives in those things? Tiny little monsters with long teeth, insane black hair, bloody hatchets and nothing on but a bamboo skirt. Like that movie from the 70s.
TSA has new rules and must wipe your hands with a piece of cloth. I thought to myself, "this is just weird and holy shit what the hell will they do now?" There I am, little me, innocently waiting to move forward and I walk up as everyone else . A little lady about my size but not of the same "girth", lol, took this little fabric that looks much like a wallet size prayer cloth and cleaned it up after the person before me. Who, by the way, by today's paranoid TSA (lauging cynically) is being thorough at their job and would have done the classic profiling and taken the very nice man in front of me. For obvious reasons. So this cloth is placed on this exray thingy. Its an odd machine.
"CHECK FOR EXPLOSIVES" IN RED! I couldn't believe I set off the dangerous/hazardous/potential terrorist/weird substance on my hands aligned with a loud beeping sound. Meh. I have become a "possible threat" to the aircraft. REALLY? Yep, really. The panic, the sweat ran down my face from running and now became the sweat of hot flashes mixed with the persperation of utter embarrassment and wha, huh, eff! I get I.D. check, ticket check, looked at like a criminal, literally a criminal. Naturally, being the light and happy person I am, my humor doesn't go over well. If I could advice, never joke with the cranky short TSA officers at Burbank Airport, it can get ugly as ugly as they were. For the first time ever I was patted down, were talking FULL body search minus the cavity check..
Walking, walking, walking over to the special place of doom, they look inside and out of everything, I was beginning to wonder if there would be a cavity check. That can go either way dependent on whether or not its a foxy dude or Mickey Rooney or just a chick. No such luck. I did get a woman, I guess it was better. I wouldnt want to have my puffiness rubbed down by a cutie anyway. I literally got rubbed and moved all over cept for my "cavity" if you will. lol. I think I'm beginning to enjoy this a little too much, the writing about it that is.
We joked about it and weapons and how people carry them on and how many creative ways she's seen them hidden. We talked about how female gang members carry their weapons strapped to their inner thighs all the way up to the coochie quarters should they be super skinners. I wish I had her name. We chit chat while she swept her hands under my breasts and around the bee hive o honey, but still with respect. Wow, I'm all talkin n stuff here. And to think I'm super duper flight doseage cranked with xanax. This is the longest effing flight or so it seems.
We go further into our conversation and she had no idea that as short or long back into the 70s-80s, cholos would fight with chains and knives. NO GUNS! She was shocked, "Whaaahaat? No guns? Are you serious? Now they just use guns huh. Wow. Bike chains? Thats funny and damn painful! " I agreed and told her they take the easy way out and just pull a weapon. No animalistic satisfaction in really hashing shit out, for those who chose to be violent and fight. And I honestly believe it. Nothing relieves conflict with vatos, cholos, pachucos, thugs, etc., like a good old fashion fist fight. Am I wrong. I had a fist fight. It got a lot of shit worked out and I kicked her ass. So it was a double whammy. I gave her some upper cuts and kidney punches and she just pulled my hair. LOL.
After all of this jibber jabber and everything being swabbed and rubbed, I get to catch my flight in 20mins. I was starving, needed a bagel and maybe something to drink. I'm carrying my supposed light weight laptop and and trying to manage to go as fast as I can. Good GOD, my flight was already boarded and of course I am the last to make a dramatic entrance onto the plane and am lost aaaall over again. All ability to think or speak were taken from me. Hands shaking from all of the excitement, cranky and hungry.
My flight was nice and smooth, not comfy and the restlessness just would not quit. For the love of Mike, I was cranked on tranqs and nada! I was fortunate enough to have someone offer the aisle seat for trade. FINALLY! Something is on my side and I don't have to suffer through 5 hours of being in the middle. I hate the center seat. The story doesn't end here, but I'll save the rest for posteriority. LOL.
Moral of the story? Neosporin can be considered a dangerous or explosive material, always bring the correct itin info with you, and please make sure you have something to eat. Otherwise, you may give the parent of the wild child in the front row a dirty look only to realize they smiled at you, leaving you feeling like an asshole.
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