This past weekend, I flew somewhere. On a plane, that is. I don't fly all that often so of course I got a little apprehensive about it. Though most probably don't admit it, when you're about to get on a plane, you fear the worst. Malfunction engines, crashing, terrorists - the whole thing. I just sat there picturing the middle of the plane splitting open LOST style. I realize I have issues.
The other thing I get a little anxious about it going through the security check. It just makes you feel guilty of doing some kind of wrong. I always feel like I have a Desert Eagle in my backpack that totally slipped my mind. Then they call me aside, cuff me and in 30 seconds my face is smashed to the floor and I'm being dragged to an interrogation room where I'm waterboarded and burned with a blowtorch by Jack Bauer.
And of course, as I go through the line this time, an airport security guy says, "Mr. Young, could you step to the side." He pulls my backpack over, puts on rubber gloves and makes me stand back. He says, "Sir, did you know you had a pocket knife in your bag?" So of course I had visions of jumper cables and my nipples getting well acquainted shortly. Turns out, no big deal. They just threw it away. Yet I wanted to be sure they knew I had no intentions. I couldn't walk away and let those people think they'd foiled some major terrorist plot. So I kept making annoying comments like, "Hah, can't believe I did that" and "I'm so sorry"¦ I usually check my bag." Regardless, I expect a call from Homeland Security any second now. BUT I'M NOT TALKING. I'M INNOCENT.