Jet Blue Movies

I don’t like flying. The minute I get on a plane, I know something’s going to explode or shut off at an inopportune moment. I feel even worse for anyone who has to sit next to me because my filter is disabled the second my butt hits the seat and every slight turbulent bump will have me announcing our imminent demise. In that sense, this flight was good luck for fellow passengers because the red-eye left enough open seats to allow me major sprawledge. I had the entire row to myself.

The flight itself was incident free. The airport, however, was not. Surprisingly, I have absolutely nothing to complain about regarding the TSA folks. They were wicked polite and non-invasive. Long Beach has a good little crew. I’d let them investigate me any day. However, the baggage check in was another matter altogether.

I had two suitcases to check. One was fairly massive, but hey, the first one goes free (weight, height, colour and planet alignment restrictions may apply.) It turned out the massive one that I’d had to stand on to close was five pounds over. The nice lady at the counter suggested I’d save paying an extra fifty bucks if I pulled five pounds out of that bag and cram it into the smaller suitcase I’d also had to stand on to shut. Why I couldn’t just average the suitcase weights is beyond me, and how they came up with a ten buck a pound figure is mind boggling. Nonetheless, the lady was trying to save me money and I’m all over that.

After a bit of an argument with the zipper, the two of us managed to open the case enough for me to reach in and try to find a few bulky things. I located something largish, yanked, and out it came with enough force to rocket skyward, carrying with it a comet trail of underwear. There were bras on the scale. There were panties on the counter. The whole place looked like a Bruce Springsteen concert stage. I noticed that everyone at the counter had turned to see what sentence would accompany an unmentionable explosion. I simply said, “Yes… well… there’s that.”

This was the point where the very nice counter lady became noticeably less helpful. I can understand having my undergarments suddenly turn invisible, but I also seemed to vanish into thin air. Granted, she and the rest of the folks at the counter were having a difficult time keeping a straight face, but the woman managed to not look at me once during the entire cramming and shutting portion of the second suitcase. Or handing me the baggage claim ticket. Or while she muttered something about Jet Blue not having any liability if my suitcases popped in flight.

Everyone wants the TSA people to take sensitivity training classes. Fine, but while they’re at it perhaps they should offer the counter help a course in stoicism. I mean really, the nice lady at the counter could have had much worse things to worry about if I’d opened the side pocket instead. Some of the items crammed into that pocket bounce.

Lily Robertson, who would rather face a perfect storm at sea than a perfect plane in the air, can be reached at canopicjargon@gmail.com, on Facebook.com, or you can airdrop a comment here.