On The Road Again

On The Road Again

What is it about driving down the road to someplace you've never been that isso attractive anyway?  Driving itself is mostly boring, especially on the long straight dull interstate that makes up two~thirds of the first leg  of  our  usual journey, followed by the airport.  

Next up, the ever~so~soothing process of lining up for inspection to be admitted to the waiting corridors that stretch for blocks  but back to that inspection  Open your bag, remove certain electronics and all liquids~oops I forgot, this is Atlanta on a Friday, so wait in line for forty~five minutes just to be inspected.  Now, will you be x~rayed?  Oh yes, we must ALL do that  and remove your belt  and any jacket or sweater you have on  Oh, and those shoes..  

Now stand  on the painted footprints and raise your arms [hoping your pants don't begin to fall].  The unfortunate among you will be directed aside and the inspector will have to rub the back of his hand over the suspicious spot or spots on your x~ray image  Luckier still?  you can have your hand swabbed and watch while the cloth used to swab your hands is moved with tongs  to a machine "sniffing" for traces of bomb~making materials  Hope you didn't spread fertilizer in your yard recently.  

Where was I?  Oh yes, your bag might have contained suspicious metal objects, so now after you retrieve your shoes~hard to forget those~and the contents of your pockets, like your wallet, spare change and  your cellphone;you get to watch them remove the offending object object or objects from your carry on ["are there any sharp objects in here that might injure me?"  I wish, you think but don't say].  Then they inspect the entire bag.     The suspicious objects, and your bag,of course, are re~x~rayed.  

Now your bag is wiped with another damp piece of cloth and "sniffed" by that machine looking  for traces of bomb~making materials.  Let's hope that's not your old briefcase from when you  used to work for a chemical manufacturer, but you pass, put your shoes  and belt back on and,glowing with radiation, you head for the gate to begin the wait.  

Being the reflective sort you pause to wonder why they don't call it "the waiting room" and not the "terminal.'  Ah, but mixing "terminal' with "waiting room" only brings on....   Are we having fun yet?  Wait a minute, where did I leave my cellphone?