Felt up by the GSA

I got a full patdown at the airport on my way to Philadelphia the other day. I sat in line, I took my computer out and my shoes off, ticket in hand. I walked through the alarm with no beeps (sweet, someone didn't sneak a bomb into my pocket when I wasn't looking). I'm in the clear...so I thought. But wait, here's what transpired. "Back it up son (says the balding former High School linebacker who once got 4 sacks in a game against Oconee High). Something on your person just set off the alarm. I'm going to need you to remove all metal objects from your pockets. Sir, are you wearing a belt? Take it off. Slowly...Yeah that's right. We are also going to need to swab your shoes, briefcase, the computer inside the briefcase, DONT TOUCH THAT! DONT TOUCH ANYTHING, and cell phone."


"Denise, come over here and look at this kid with no belt on, I want you to check his shoes extra careful."


Time passes slowly as a dozen or so people (at least half looking more terroristy than I do) glide right by me, trying hard not to make eye contact with me, aka obviosly the guy who was planning on bringing America to it's knees via US Airways Flight 3678. 


As I'm watching the Progressive Insurance lady swab my shoes I notice the beads of sweat that begin to pour out of her spacious forehead. She calls over Al Bundy and the conversation they have with each other can only be described by the one word I was able to make out as they kept sneaking glances at me. That word was 'positive'.


I start to doubt myself really bad at this point. Did I make a bomb the other night after I took an ambien and not remember sleepbombbuilding? Maybe someone really did sneak bombs into my pocket when I was purchasing gum at the airport newsstand. Did I accidentally walk through some bomb powder? What if I did? Am I going to PMITA (Pound Me In The Ass) prison for a month because of this mistake? My nervousness answering questions in dark hot rooms might be misconstrued as a dead guilt giveaway to the Feds.

All the while this is going on, a short, stocky, bald man was gloved up and ready to inspect my every curve. At least he was an gentleman. He treated my various body parts with the honor and grace one could only hope to deserve. So for that, Mr George Costanza, I salute you.


Back to Denise, the shoe swabber. By this time she had busied herself by swabbing my computer. She was almost finished at that point, and when she was finished she called me over. I scooted slowly in my socks and jeans with no belt (lest I trip over myself in a fit of pathetic sadness). She informs me to get dressed and go upstairs for my flight. With an apology in my pocket and my life splayed on the ground for all to see I thanked her, packed again, and went upstairs.

ALASKA!

Welcome to Pisa, Italia!

Quick honey, take the picture before this building falls on my raisins!

It all started on a rainy early evening...

Our parents are named Bob and Enid. Everyone in the know lovingly refers to them as Benid. They both worked their whole lives and are now retired, live in Florida (del Boca Vista Phase II), and watch plenty of television.

Over the course of their golden years they have planned for many vacations. Wonderful travel ideas flow from them like golden showers. Wait, scratch that. Travel ideas like visiting the holy land of Israel, taking an Amsterdam river cruise, marveling at the immense Alaskan landscape on a sea cruise, and touring the picturesque Italian countryside in a drop top Ferrari. Sounds delightful, no?

Here's the problem. While they have made and confirmed multiple reservations with travel agents, they have never actually gone on ANY of these trips. There is always SOMETHING that keeps them from going. Whether it be the flu (Israel), terrorist warnings (Amsterdam), CSI marathon (Alaska), there is always a reason to not go.

Which brings us back to the title of this post. This rainy evening as I was washing dishes, a thought popped into my head. Who does Benid's travel agent call after they leave her office. Money in the bank, baby! Is it her boyfriend? Her bookie? Her banker? We will never know. Since we will never know who she calls, and we will never know what it's like to see pictures of our parents in exotic locations, I decided to take it upon myself to find out.

So I put together some pictures and places to try and replicate the fun Benid had on these "trips". And I hope you like them, because I am positive they would have. Had they actually been there.