Hammer time.

I was recently in the airport on my way to Baltimore. I was dropped off about an hour in advance, which is a little tighter than I usually like to run things, but it just started out to be one of those days. It was a Wednesday and at that hour of the morning I did not think the airport would be all that busy. Boy, was I wrong. The cars trying to maneuver in to drop people off were all jockeying for the best position. I don't get this... the person they are going to drop off is probably going to walk a half mile once they get inside the airport terminal. So stop inching your way in for the curbside spot. Just stop the car and get 'em unloaded for crying out loud.

Carol doesn't vie for a position. She wheels up, stops, and I have about thirty seconds to unload, hug, say goodbye, and she's on her way. Very efficient... as it should be. The curbside baggage handler station was lined 10 deep. Where did all these people come from? The line for the security check point was a hundred deep and moving at a pace that allowed me to believe TSA was not prepared for this rush of travelers either. Don't these people know we're in a recession? Shouldn't they be home, curled up in the fetal position, worried about their 401k's and job security?

The time was ticking away on the large clock, prominently displayed over the security check point. I kept looking at the time on my cell phone, as if it were going to be different than the time on the wall clock. It wasn't. I was going to be late. Maybe even miss my flight. I could hear the TSA agents barking the usual orders "Remove all liquids and gels from your carry-on and put them in a one quart clear plastic bag." "Remove your shoes." "Remove your coat." "Take your laptop out of the case." My God... have these people never traveled before? It was then I realized there should be two lines. One for those who know how to get through a security check point, and one for those who think those warnings about the liquids and gels somehow don't apply to them.

I finally got up for enough to get my stuff on the roller table in preparation for the X-ray. I felt some relief. I was almost there. Only fifty minutes to my boarding time and the walk to my gate would take ten. It was going to work out after all. Then... the X-ray machine ground to a halt. I heard the screener say the lone word I did not want to hear... "Supervisor." Actually, she had to say it three times before she got one's attention. The supervisor approached and the screener pointed to something on the screen and they talked in a low voice. It was the bag ahead of mine that was causing concern... but nonetheless, the X-ray machine was not putting my bags through.

I passed through the personal X-ray scanner and waiting patiently. The TSA agent and her supervisor were still having a pow-wow. Then she turned the screen in our direction and said to the guy in front of me... "Sir, are these hammers inside this suitcase?" He replied "Yes." The TSA agent said "You can't take hammers on the airplane." The guy became angry and started arguing with the TSA agent, as if she was someone going to, on the spot, make an exception to the TSA's prohibited items list. All the while, I could hear the voice of Bill Engvall saying "Here's your sign." Come on... hammers!?! Three of them to be exact. Just Taser the dude, drag his carcass out of the way and get that X-ray belt rolling again, I have a plane to catch.

I made my plane... barely. When I got to my destination hotel, I was emptying out my suitcase and came along a stash of lotions, conditioners, and shampoos... like six bottles of the stuff... that my wife had absconded from the Embassy Suites on our trip to Oklahoma City the previous week. Thankfully, the TSA agents were hammering out bigger problems and my bag sailed right through.