Solo Traveller

I'm leaving on a jetplane.

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Well, not at this moment, but that's been the theme this past month. In the last six weeks I've flown to Detroit, Phoenix, and San Fransisco.

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I love to fly. I love how you can wake up in one place, and go to sleep somewhere else on the map. I love meeting new people on my flights, and the people watching is top notch.

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I love the feeling of taking off and landing. I love looking out the window and looking into towns a million (okay, thousands) miles below me. I think up of lives of the people that live in those small towns that map makers don't know exist.

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Seeing a new city, and experiencing new things are fantastic! I love exploring and checking out what each city has to offer. Phoenix has the most amazing quesadillas I've ever eaten, and margaritas to die for. The residents are welcoming, but private. San Fransisco is a lot like Seattle, kind of funky, artsy, each neighborhood having its own pulse.

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As much as I love all that about travelling I hate the airport, especially security.

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I don't know why, but I cannot make it through security without shenanigans. I've been stopped and patted down, my hair has been searched, my bulging backpack has been unpacked and dirty clothes have fallen all over.

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I've almost lost shoes, books, my driver's license, my sanity, and most terrifying, my laptop.

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My shoe was knocked off my bag in the bin, and fell on the conveyor belt. I had everything ready to go, except my left shoe was still being scanned. Seven times.

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My license has set off the scanner (silly me keeping it in my back pocket). I put it in the small item holder, that never made it out. Someone had moved it to the side so their bags could go through.

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I was in the Phoenix airport being patted down when a woman grabbed my laptop after it was scanned. She insisted it was hers as I'm standing there yelling that she's stealing my laptop. The great people in charge of security stared at me like I was nuts.

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"That's my black laptop!" I yelled.

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"Ma'am please stop yelling," was all the TSA agent could say as she patted my legs down.

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"But that's my laptop! And she's stealing it!"

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I'm not a calm person, I'm hyper, spastic, and take to bouncing up and down and fidgeting when I can't wait any longer. These are not good signs when you're going through security.

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Finally, someone decided that this crazy person could be telling the truth. They took us to the other side of security and asked questions.

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My laptop is locked, so when you turn it on you're taken to a log in screen. There is an icon, the computer's name and a password needed.

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"What is the password?" the TSA agent asks.

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The woman guesses wrong twice. The first guess was 'password' and her second was '1234'

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They are good guesses, but wrong!

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For safety reasons I cannot tell you what it is, but it was not enough to prove it was my laptop.

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Below the icon, the name of my laptop is listed.

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"What is the name of the laptop?" the TSA agent asked.

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I started laughing. I couldn't help it.

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"My computer," the woman said.

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I laugh even harder.

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"No," the TSA agent says "sorry."

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I must look like a crazed hyena the way I'm laughing.

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The woman guesses the name again, saying she was with her grandchildren and they changed the name. She's wrong again.

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"Ma'am, what's the name?" For the record, I hate being called ma'am. I'm 24, much to young to be called ma'am. Miss is fine, thank you.

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"It's Lappylaplap2 backslash Mo" I say. You may now understand why I was a hysterical mess.

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"Yeah...." The security lady said, obviously now getting that I am the owner of the laptop.

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She handed it to me, I said thank you. And got to go through security again. YAY!

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Now, for whatever reason whenever I travel with anyone else security goes smoothly, nothing is lost, or attempted to be stolen, I remain sane and we reach our gate with ease.

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The moral of the story? I should travel with a stuffed animal to make it through security.