oxygen, for instance.
a good facial cleanser.
a friend that will tell you if those printed tights make you look like a textile sausage.
cookies.
the list goes on...
however, my dear readers, there was one item that i had forgotten to put on that list.
i didn't realize its importance until i was waiting to get checked by security, boarding pass in hand, at newark airport.
oh, right, right. i need a photo ID...let's see now.
where did i put my driver's license?
i rummaged through my wallet, knowing i'd find it there.
knowing it would be jammed between all those receipts.
knowing it would be the key to my entry onto that plane.
knowing it would prove that i was, in fact, who i said i was.
...then suddenly knowing that i did not have it.
panic ensues...
i felt like i was being chased down by a band of zombies...fast moving zombies burning posters of idealized depictions of los angeles.
not only did they threaten to eat my brains, but they also threatened to ruin my trip.
oh, those cursed ID-demanding airport zombies.
like airports aren't little packages of stress to begin with.
i could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
like my day hadn't started off difficult enough with time-sensitive office demands and a failed attempt to get a ride to newark.
no. it couldn't stop there.
i had to lose my driver's license.
they (the travel gods...obviously) might as well have wrapped the entire plane with heavy duty duct tape (i'm talking about the quality stuff here, folks) and challenged me to try to tear my way in with the only equipment they found worthy of the quest...a rubber mallet.
people, i don't ever lose my license.
12 years have passed since i procured my very first one and i never once misplaced it.
suddenly, visions of me buying cigarettes in a number of drug stores flooded my mind.
the question: did they return my ID after the purchase?
...of course, at this point in my travels, the question was neither here nor there.
i mean, great.
great if i left it at the duane reade...a lot of good it would do me at that point.
so, i very meekly walked over to one of the guides...you know, the ones that look at your boarding pass and point at a line that you're supposed to run over to.
he stared at me, unforgivingly, like i was walking up to him wearing pants made of dead children.
i took a deep breath and made my plea...nearly falling to my knees with arms outstretched, willing to give up my first born and all the cookies i was planning to eat over the winter months.
he didn't flinch.
he just pointed at a line.
man, they're good at that.
ya know. pointing at lines.
so, i hastily rushed over to the line and waited.
i surveyed the various security guards checking IDs.
- Guard 1: no nonsense type - furrowed eyebrows and a perfectly pressed uniform. possibly the kind of person that enjoyed giving people grief for wearing their pants too low. possible hobbies include...nothing. it's business all the time. ok, maybe a coin collection or they're secretly into macramé.
- Guard 2: the joker - tie slightly askew, nudging fellow security guards. owner of overzealous eyebrows. possibly the kind of person you would not trust with your life as they would probably be the 2nd person to go in a horror movie. possible hobbies include going to bro bars and sincerely enjoying the electric slide at weddings.
- Guard #3: the father - worn in uniform and spectacles hanging precariously at the end of the nose. likes greeting airport patrons with "and how are we today?" possibly the kind of person that owns more than one large dog and pretends to eat cookies made of playdoh gifted to them by their grandchildren just to see them smile. possible hobbies include community service and planning nice weekend excursions with their wife of 40+ years.
i think it's obvious which guard i was hoping for...
lo and behold...
"and how are we today?"
i slowly shook my head..."not good."
his response would tell me just how this was going to all go down.
his eyes turned into azure pools of complete and utter concern.
"what's wrong?"
i felt like telling him that i got beat up at school or that i ran out of my favorite crayon color.
"i lost my driver's license."
he paused and cocked his head.
he was really thinking about this.
"hm. well, let's see whatcha got!" he sang enthusiastically.
clearly, this man was going to make sure that my day was only going to get better.
i threw out every credit card, my health insurance card, and an old academic photo ID out on his table. he brought the photo ID up to my face, "let's just make sure this is you."
i condensed any remaining shreds of positivity i owned into a ball and threw out a winning smile.
he laughed, gathered up my things, called over another guard and explained my situation.
this guard looked like he was made of concrete...
rigid.
arms bent out like two parentheses hugging his torso.
he looked kinda like this:
( overcompenstation )
he had an underbite and i'm fairly certain his neck was actually a flesh-colored neck brace as it didn't afford his head an ounce of side-to-side movement.
he calmly explained that i would have to go through some extra security check points.
he said this while using a "calming" hand gesture...
i suspect it's the same gesture one would use to check the softness of a pillow constructed solely out of toothpicks and scotch tape. slow, soft, downward palm movement.
caaaaalm. caaaaalm, little lady.
i nodded and noted, in the frankiest frank tone a girl could ever frankly produce, "well, this is good. i was afraid i would be bored. this is much more interesting."
he looked at me confused and blinked a few times.
he managed a strained smile and mumbled, "the woman over there will take care of you once you're through this point."
then, as if practicing for fatherhood, the concrete man leaned over and gave me a gruff, disarmingly sturdy pat on the lower back while proclaiming, "everything will be fine."
it was just one of those moments.
it's as if he had handed me a book entitled "the art of eating glue and how to acid wash your own denim...simultaneously"...
in other words, bewildering.
i thanked him and slowly backed away, fearing that if i turned my back on him he would do something equally bizarre like break into a round of london bridge.
aaaaaaaaanyway, my dears, crisis averted.
i hopped on the bullet train to easyberg soon after...
a few swabs of boots and bags...some opening and closing of doors into "secure" areas...a handful of random comments from yours truly and i was sitting at the gate with a jamba juice in hand with a few minutes to spare.
all in all, a good experience...even without my government issued photo identification.
...and wouldn't ya know it?
after all that panic, i found it in the pocket of my parka the day i returned.
a perfect golden ticket moment...
i never thought i'd ever be so happy to see a slice of plastic in my life...especially a slice of plastic donning a highly unflattering photograph of my mug.
if i had a pension for singing catchy tunes and dancing with an old man in his PJs, you bet i would've been hopping down the street on the way to the chocolate factory...
if by chocolate factory you mean any location that isn't the DMV.
sidenote: what i forgot about was the fact that lacking government-issued identification will also hinder your ability to enter shows and bars...fail whale.
the alternative? watching a mind-blowing number of episodes of lost atop a comfy couch with your paramour while nommin' on blue chips.
what i really mean to say is that the alternative is sometimes a better option.
No comments:
Post a Comment