In approximately 60 minutes I will be snapping back to reality. My plane will hopefully descend into a peaceful landing and I'll be reintroduced to the chilly weather that the Northeast has embraced for quite a few months now. I am by no means ready to walk off a plane (in flip flops mind you) into 40 degree weather with a long day of work ahead of me tomorrow, but I suppose life must go on. Since I'm tired of reading and simply cannot fall asleep (because not even my severe iron deficiency can tire me out after all of the sleeping in I've done the past five days), I challenged myself to detail a few random tid bits from Spring Break 2011.
My super awesome parents dropped me off at the airport six days ago and my desperately needed escape from reality began. Let me be the first to say that the airport is not a relaxing experience. As a matter of fact, I find that from the time you step foot into the airport until you are buckled safely in your seat, the whole experience is one legit, anxiety provoking, hot mess. Fortunately, I checked in online and printed out my boarding pass ahead of time. There's one saved headache. But then there's the whole security checkpoint process. Allow me to clarify my frustrations with the checkpoint "system." I have no qualms with the Department of Homeland Security patting me down, making me and my luggage go through an x-ray machine, or even having a security guard sift through the contents of my luggage (one time, I actually had a security guy recommend one bikini over another to ensure that I looked my best on the beach...how nice). I know a lot of people's frustrations lay within this whole system, but hey, it's a privilege to fly. You were not born with that natural right to hop on a plane, sit in a chair, rise above the clouds, and fly away. So if the DHS wants to search me and every other person out there who is boarding a plane to ensure that I land safely and in one piece at my final destination, search away! If you don't want to be searched, then quite frankly, I hope you're not flying with me. My frustration stems from my own self. For starters, I pack too much. TLC could do an entire series on "luggage hoarders," because of people like me. I pack enough to last me quadruple the time I will be vacationing. Jeans for 90 degree weather? Check (it may get chilly!). 3289459345 pairs of underwear. Check (what if I'm stuck without access to a laundramat?). 14 shades of eyeshadow when I know I may only splash on a bit of makeup for my entire spring break rendevouz. Check (what if I meet someone famous and need to get all glammed up?!). So, not only do I overpack, I also insist on carrying all of my sh*t with me. I refuse to check my luggage, unless absolutely necessary, which often times leads me to engaging in a full on argument with the security checkpoint personnel that my carry on luggage will indeed fit in the overhead. Yes, I am that girl - the one who thinks that "one carry on plus one personal item" doesn't necessarily apply to her. I know I can easily check a bag, but for a girl on a budget, that's a last resort, and then there's always that possibility of lost luggage. Who wants to deal with that.
It shouldn't be too hard to imagine me, trooping through the airport, with my six plus bags in tow, fiddling around for my boarding pass and ID badge, trying to maintain some sense of sanity as I approach the first Security point. The lady screens my driver's license, gives me a nod of approval, and hurries me along. Next stop...the x-ray machine. I've had several x-rays of my actual body - broken bones and whatnot - and it's never been nerve wrecking. But the security x-ray really does a number on me. As if it's not bad enough that I'm already the girl who carries way too much with her, I'm also that girl who holds up the security line. I frantically throw my suitcase and other bags onto the security belt, but feel like I'm racing against time, as I see the passenger behind me put his stuff up on the belt in one swift motion. I try to tuck away my ID/boarding pass in an accessible component of my purse, which I'll hopefully remember, heave out my laptop, remove my jewelry, untie my sneakers in a frenzy, all while "Mr. I'm so suave" unknowingly taps his fingers behind me signifying his utter lack of patience with me. I smile and apologize one too many times for taking so long, even asking if he wants to go ahead of me. When he politely declines, I feel a rush of adrenaline go through me and pray to God that I can get my act together and move it along. I swear, when did I become so slow!? Then I remember the infamous liquid rule and all of toiletries I always insist on packing (as if my best friend didn't have a full stock of shampoo, lotions, etc. at her apartment). I rummage for my zip lock bag of liquids, toss them on the belt, and cross my fingers with the hopes that security won't detect that the zip lock bag was nothing but a mere decoy and the rest of my full size liquids are strewn about the rest of my suitcases. Finally, I'm across the border into the promising gates of relaxation. But of course the madness doesn't end there. By the time I've been screened, my belongings have crash landed at the other end of belt and I'm yet again left to scramble them up in the most haphazard fashion before they become co-mingled with Mr. Suave's belongings. Looking like a complete fool, I pile on my stuff as if they're my latest can't live without accessories, sink down into an empty bench, and take in a sigh of relief. The hardest part is over. The next part isn't so bad. After I've situated me and my belongings, I confirm my gate number and head to the nearest news stand to buy some snacks and copious amounts of water. On a typical day, I struggle to drink that all so important 64 ounces of water, but send me to the airport, and I act as though I may never see water again in my entire life. Keep in mind that I cannot possibly carry one more item, but still I try to stuff two large bottles of water into my overflowing purse. Because, hey, I just may get a bit parched in the clouds....
Thank God the rest of my trip was far more...peaceful. That's not to say that it wasn't uneventful. To give some of my readers just how ridiculous I am - or can be - I'll explain a very typical "Courtney has had one too many drinks" story. On Friday night, Natalie; her boyfriend, Joe; and I went out into downtown Ft. Lauderdale. A few drinks and a couple hours into the night, a few of Joe's friends who were in town for a bachelor party decided to meet up with us. Please note right here that I have no game. I may be single, but I don't try and pretend to be someone I'm not. I don't try to be smooth, or funny, or anything else on purpose. What you see is exactly what you get. Translation - you don't know what's going to come out of my mouth, especially when I've had a few drinks, but chances are it will end up being quirky, somewhat humorous and above all else, totally ridiculous. After talking for a few minutes, my new friend, Andrew, asks why I wasn't out the previous night. Instead of saying what any *normal* person would say, I said in my most animated voice, "I was still on a plane," and proceeded to raise my arm in the air and flap. Yes, that's right. I flapped like a bird in a bar so that my new found friend could fully envision that I was in flight to Florida rather than drinking at the Elbow Room in Ft. Lauderdale. When he didn't realize my absurd hand motions right away, I thought I was in the clear. But of course, even though it took a few minutes, he realized what I had just done and completely called me out on it..."Did you really just flap at me!?" Well, yes, I think I did. Sigh. Only me. The good news was that the flap became the signature dance move for the rest of my spring break and for their bachelor party.
Okay, my flight is about to land and knowing how long it will take me to gather my luggage, I need to log off...Until next time :)
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