I'm going to jail

One day, I'm going to wind up in TSA Jail.  Is that a thing?

My first trip to see my now husband was life changing.  Well, of course, because he is now my husband.  But I was so sad to leave that I cried most of the way to the airport.  Yes, I am that girl.  By the time I got to security, my eyes are bloodshot, I look a flushed hot mess.  As I was embarrassed, I didn't take off my sunglasses.  So they insisted that I did, and then began a line of questioning about my current state.  Basically, "Ma'am, are you okay? Are you on something?"  I convinced them it was allergies and sadness.  They didn't press the issue. 

On my second trip to see my beloved last March, I set off all the alarms during the routine security check.  I stand there like a good girl, making my triangle with my hands at the screening.  Honestly thinking, I wish they could just screen for cancer or osteoporosis while they are looking for hidden weapons.  When all of a sudden, I am being asked to step aside and let them swab my pants...in the buttocks area.  They did the same to my bags and purse, which again set off all the alarms.  What the hell was on my pants? Finally, the tested my hands, which were clean.  Turns out, I had GSR on me from the Jeep.  Yes, that's right.  The Hubs is a Marine, which means Gun Shot Residue can likely be found in the Jeep, on his clothes, and around his gear after a week at the range.  I thought I was going to kill him, but I knew better than to utter those words during my interrogation.

Last Thanksgiving, I was flying to Tennessee with the twins.  It was November.  In Jersey.  That means...brrrr! Cold.  We each had a suitcase, a backpack, and a coat.  The kids each had a booster seat for the rental car. For those of you bad at math...that's 11 items.  And this was when the kids still had to take off their shoes, coats, hats, gloves, belts, etc.  Basically, our number of items just doubled. After getting dressed for the second time that morning (and I mean MORNING, it was 5am), I picked up all 11 items and started walking.  The kids were still in sleep comas.  As I start to walk off, one TSA guy says, "That's impressive."  Being the only people in the little Terminal F, they all started to notice and gave me round of applause.  I kept thinking I couldn't feel my fingers, but I was resigned to never let 'em see me sweat!  Sadly, I only make it to Gate 3 before I told them to snap out of their haze and carry some of this crap.  What?  I'm not the one who packed all that junk to play with for five minutes on the plane before falling asleep.

Yesterday, after waiting at security for an extremely long amount of time, my kids were losing their patience.  Completely understandable as it was a million degrees.  We all looked like we had just entered some third world country devoid of any air conditioning.  My kids took it upon themselves to be adorable to all of those around us, yet stare daringly at TSA.  So, Lola (of course it would be Lola) starts to ask questions.  Basically, a why the hell do we do this.  I tried to explain about looking in our bags in a way that wouldn't terrify six year olds.  At this point, I notice her face.  She is thinking about the contents of her bag.  I get a case of the giggles.  She's thinking about Bullseye (Toy Story horse) that she stuffed in there this morning. 

Then, she puts her new Build-A-Bear, a dog named, whatelse, Doggie, into the tray.  She walks through the metal detector and right up the TSA guy and asks, "What is that machine?"  I try to answer her, but he interrupts and explains it's an X-ray machine.  She smiles and tell him what an X-ray machine does.  The instant look of shock on her face.  He asks her if she is okay, and then he asks me.  She starts to mumble and then stumble on her words.  She is trying to explain her stuffed animals.

Lola: Um, my Doggie is going to look weird. He is not real.  He has no bones.
TSA agent (playing along):  He's not real?
Lola: No, I made him at Build-a-Bear.  So he isn't going to have any broken bones.  He isn't going to have ANY bones.
TSA agent: No bones?
Lola: Nope, but he isn't dead or anything.  I didn't kill him. He's just fluff and a heart. Oh, and my brother's dog isn't going to have any either, I don't think.  He was from Build-a-Bear too.

She walks over, grabs her bag and Doggie, and starts to walk off.  She looks at me, as I am stunned, and says, "C'mon Mom, let's get a Sprite or something."

Seriously.  TSA Jail.  Who's coming to bail me out?