Driving vs. Flying Part II
Study, I did. I was not going to let Herb pass by me on the Interstate while I was
riding my bike to work. Instead, I pictured Thelma and Louise drive-by with
hair flowing in the wind. I was already practicing my Miss America wave as I
passed him on my right. That being said, it was a good thing I found some “help”
on-line. I actually couldn’t believe I had lowered my integrity so much as to
go searching for it. However, I could not let another driving student get their
license before I did… again. So, “study,” I did, returning the next day to
stand in line – again – with the rest of society at 7:30 a.m. Arriving a half
hour before the doors opened, I was quite proud of myself for waking up on time
and getting to the DMV early. There were a lot of smarter people that morning, though. Standing in line with what had to be half of America, I decided I would try to make some friends, knowing I would be spending the next several hours with these people. In case you are ever looking to make some new friends yourself, I have some advice. Share. Passing out copies of the driving test blog I discovered the night before to my new best friends, I quickly became their hero. I felt scandalous and popular, all at the same time. I was passing out the answers, and suddenly my CooI-ometer was eons high.
Finally, the cool breeze of the air-conditioned DMV welcomed us, and much to my chagrin, I never spotted Herb. Unbelievable. After passing the test (getting every
answer right, thank you), I couldn’t even have the satisfaction of walking by
Herb with my temporary driver’s license. I guess the real victory, however, was
that I was able to get my passport and start traveling with the rest of the
gang. I would be joining the exclusive “air” club and knew it would only be
that much easier up in the clouds.
* * *
CM made it look so easy. No lines, no waiting, just walking on water with their luggage
in tow behind them. And then there was me. Shuffling quickly through the
airport terminal (no frequent flyer miles yet to upgrade me), I made the
mistake of having my hands bogged down with my suitcase, carry-on, ticket stub
and a piping hot cup of coffee (really?).
Waiting in the bin line, I noticed the woman behind me trying to become friends. Still reeling from the popularity contest I had won back at the DMV, I figured it was just another fan trying to make small talk. It turned out I was quite wrong. Apparently, my bag was falling over into her bin. Which would have been fine, had I remembered to
remove the water bottle I had accidentally left in my bag, causing the buzzer
to go off and put me back in line. Then, I had to remove the large bottle of
perfume I carried, another unsuccessful attempt to make it through the scanner.
We would continue this charade a little further until I would finally make it
through the golden gates and onto my destination… New York City!
The meeting itself went off without a hitch. My return flight was uneventful. Somewhere
between the meeting strike and return flight? An epic novel. Not only were my
hands merely cutoff by the angry gentlemen in front of me who forgot to remove his belt, but shortly after I would be detained to a glass cage. Knocking on the glass box, I yelled to my boss. “What did I do? I’m being taken away. Please send my family my love. And oh yes, I might not make it to work on Monday.”
Thankfully, a few minutes later, after being cotton-swabbed on my palms (the same palm that had touched the Naked Cowboy’s derriere – how convenient), I was released to fly home and try to remember where I parked.