On my trip to visit my mother for Mother's day (LA to Phoenix), I didn't even HAVE a carryon. Just a book I wisely chose because it fits in my pocket. This is because I needed to check my overstuffed bags-within-bags bag. I would go to Arizona empty. I would retun flush with the treasures of my youth. As many toys and books and old mementos as I could manage.
You knwo that one scene from Snatch, where they guy goes from New York to England in a 5 second montage of plane travel? We'll call it "Plane Montage". Now picture Plane Montage + Hugging Mom + Warm Meal + Furious Packing Of Overstuffed Bags + Hugging Mom Goodbye At Airport, so we can get on with the story.
Now laden with my two free checkable bags (Yay Southwest) and a stuffed backpack carryon, I set out from the way-to-hot Sky Harbor airport in AZ back to Los Angeles. The night before, we measured how many books fit in my luggage without them going over 50 pounds (a lot!), so I knew I'd have no problem checking them. Now back in the TSA line again, I shifted my bacpack around uncomfortably. It was stuffed full of Transformers (but well within the allowed size parameters) and someone's missile was gouging my right in the kidney.
I threw it down on the conveyer belt and walked thorugh the metal detector myself. Waiting for my bag to spit out of the box, I look up at the X-Ray screen. I see my shoes and cell phone come through. For once, there's no line and I actually allow myself a moment to wonder why/how the x-rays are colorized. And then, it comes on the screen. What looks like torn bits of translucent contruction paper and confetti, a myriad of colors, delighfully and playfully piled on one another. And on top, a layer of black sprinkles, scattered here and there, sometimes almost in a pattern. The conveyer has stopped. "Hey George, come see this" cries the X-Ray lady.
Oh, so that's what a lot of Transformers looks like on the X-Ray, I think to myself, a little nervous blush coming on. George comes voer and peers into the screen. "That's a lot of pind and screws... all over the place," he says, indicating the black sprinkles. Clearly, both baffled, I helpfully say, "That's my bag, you can take a look if you'd like." Ignoring me, they continue, "Some of these are little springs, too, definitely mechanical." Eep.
"Oh, it's TOYS!" sputters George, and my bag finally beigns to move again. Sure, now they're all looking. I sling on my bag an walk on to my gate. I'm glad I thought to remove any toys that had electronics, though it was mostly because I didn't want my carry on yelling abotu Autobot attacks while crammed under the seat in front of me.
On an unrelated note, I miss it when they used to ask you if you packed your own bag...
