I'm a Pistol Packin' Mama!

Mr. Sweetie and I took a one-day trip to Canada last week. The plane left at the ungodly hour of 6 A.M. (!) so we had to be at the airport an hour ahead to check in for an international flight.

For those of you keeping score, the distance from St. Paul to Canada is just Not! That! Far! Physically, culturally, Canada is like the third Twin City. Anyway, we pulled into the airport at 4:45 and were inside three minutes later. Piece of cake, right? Except.

Minnesota is Northwest Airline territory. 99 and 44/100% of all flights out of Minneapolis are Northwest. Which is in bankruptcy. With its mechanics on strike. And its flight attendants about to go. So, even though there are A LOT of people in NWA uniforms at the airport at 5 a.m., none of them are working.

Which means that even though we got to the airport check-in line at 4:50 A.M. (!), we still had to wait in line for HALF AN HOUR!!! to get checked in. And we didn't even have any luggage.

You know what? Airline travel is really like riding a bus these days. We got upgraded to first class (Thank you, frequent flier miles!), all that meant was slightly more room, and two bags of peanuts for what should have been a breakfast flight. And since those British terrorists have ruined it for all of us, we couldn't even buy breakfast and bring it on the plane ourselves.

But--lest I sound grumpy and dissatisfied--it was a great trip. We went to Canada for a reason (that's for another time) and it was a glorious day, our business was completed in a VERY satisfactory way, and we returned to the airport with plenty of time to eat, buy souvenirs for the kidlets, and be together.

Most excitingly, however, my purse got pulled out of the x-ray machine, and handed over to a TSA guy for personal inspection. I was pretty certain there was nothing of any interest in there, so I was interested in what they were looking for. My wallet came out--it's a big thing, with a compartment in the back where I stored my iPod. My glasses case came out--it's a solid clamshell sort of thing, and the inspector opened it outward, with his face turned away--I almost expected fake snakes to come popping out. I had a digital camera, some assorted papers, and I was cleared to go.

Very nicely, the TSA inspector offered to show us what had prompted the search, and he turned the monitor around. Inside my backpack style purse, my digital camera had tipped up against my wallet, which was made opaque by the shitload of change I had in the change compartment. It really looked like a handgun.

I'm more dangerous than I ever knew!