Should I Stay or Should I Go, Now?

Bound for Nashville: I arrived at 8 a.m. with sleepy eyes and three bags at John Wayne Airport. I'd spent the past several years traveling back and forth chasing this crazy dream, but for some reason this particular trip I wasn’t looking forward to. 

“Give me a sign I am doing the right thing …” I pray quietly.

"One bag too many," I am told by the friendly curbside attendant. "And your second bag is over 50 pounds. You will have to move some items from your third bag to lighten the load or I will have to charge you $50."

“Great,” I say to myself as I begin to quickly move several pairs of boots and pants from one bag to the other.  Curious, those waiting behind me lean over to inspect its contents, which to my horror include a pair of underwear wrapped around the tip of a cowboy boot. The curbside attendant re-weighs both bags in at just shy of 50 pounds. Satisfied, he nods and tags the bags. 

"I'll have to charge you $50 if you want to check your smaller bag, too. Why don’t you just carry that one on?” he suggests amiably.

Don't Trust the Man

Being an agreeable person and trusting that surely Mr. Curbside Attendant is looking after my best interests, I agree, and he points me in the direction of the security line. To my horror, I notice there are at least 200 people in line.  I look at my watch. The delay at curbside cost me 20 precious minutes.  Lugging my laptop, my briefcase and now my makeup bag, I rush to the end of the line. It moves slowly.  About halfway to the security checkpoint, I see a colorful sign: "No liquid items over 3 ounces permitted in carry on luggage." 

It’s repeated in Spanish, but just in case someone couldn’t read, it also has pictures of lotions, shampoo and water bottles with a big red X across them.

 “Oh, freakin’ no!" I say under my breath.

Nervously, I look around and try to reassure myself that I will make it through X-ray just fine and since I am running late for my flight, surely they will take pity on me and let me pass. My heart pounds.  I look at my watch again; my flight is now scheduled to leave in 20 minutes. If I am extremely lucky, I just might make it.

A buzzer goes off. People turn around in alarm and stare at me as a blond security attendant pulls me and my makeup bag to the side. She begins removing every item that is over 3 ounces and bagging everything less than 3 ounces. 

"What are you doing with those items?” I ask her, pointing to the larger pile. 

"Everything over 3 ounces has to be thrown out,” she replies calmly. 

"WHAT?” I exclaim. "No!” Those are brand new bottles!"

"Otherwise you go back out to the ticket counter, check this bag separately and rebook your flight,"  She says, raising dull, tired blue eyes.  She is just doing her job,  and I can tell she doesn't like it any more than I do. 

"Freakin’ terrorists gotta ruin the world for everyone," I say aloud, putting my shoes back on. "Fine, I'll go back out," I tell her in resignation. 

She returns all the items to my bag, and, closing it, I walk back out through security past my now sympathetic-looking fellow travelers. 

"Moooo ..." I say, as I make like a cow and wisecrack back at them, getting a few laughs from the line.

Poor Ms. SongMom

Delta takes pity on me. They book me on another flight that will leave in two hours and then escort me through security to the front of the line. I look up at another passenger getting preferential treatment and notice to my surprise that it’s Michael Jordan.  He smiles broadly at me.  I feel special.  Glass now half full.  I pass through security easily and walk by the bar. It’s open and packed with people.  Nice. It's always amazed me: For some reason it's ethically and morally OK to drink alcohol at the airport no matter what time of day it is. 

My friend Lauren claims that the famous song by Jimmy Buffett was written because it's always 5 o’clock somewhere … but especially so … in the airport.

Getting to the gate, I hummed to myself and stood in line as I waited to finally get seated on the airplane.

 “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark, but apparently there has been a mistake.  We are currently overbooked for this flight,” said the flight attendant as she looked at my ticket.

“Oh, my gawd!”  I replied, my heart sinking. “I just showed the entire world the contents of my luggage, including my underwear, then waited in a horrible security line, missed my first flight because of my shampoo and now you tell me I still can’t fly?  Seriously?” I gasped, leaning in close to her, “Do I deserve this?  Girlfriend, I am just a songwriter with three kids!”

“Well, let me see if I can get you on another flight.”  Hmmm …” she muttered.  “Unfortunately, our next flight that has available seats doesn’t leave until 12:30 p.m.”

“Tell me this isn’t happening!” I lifted my eyes to heaven. 

“Well, we do have flights available tomorrow if that helps,” she suggested.

“I have a rehearsal in Nashville tonight that I can’t miss!” I explained. “Please!”

“I’m sorry, but that flight is the only one that can accommodate you if you want to leave today,” she replied. 

It appears I have no choice.  “OK, I will take it.”

Knowing I had at least a four-hour wait, I walked back to the bar. 

“I’ll have a Bloody Mary,” I said to the waitress, “ ’cause Jimmy Buffett says it's OK … and I ain’t flyin’ the damn plane."

It's All About Fate.

Four hours, a patty melt and two Bloody Marys later, I found myself back in line. I handed the flight attendant my ticket. 

“First-class upgrade, Mrs. Stark,” she replied with a wink. “Now go write a hit …” she whispered with a big smile.

I smiled ear-to-ear as I walked through the gate and was escorted to my first class seat, where I was promptly handed a hot towel and a glass of champagne. 

“Excuse me, Miss,” I heard a familiar voice drawl, addressing the flight attendant.  “I’d rather have a beer if ya’ll don’t mind.”

Curious, I turned to look and the man returned my look, and once again I was rewarded with a big smile. 

It was Billy Bob Thornton.

Glass now full.  I closed my eyes. “Thank you, God,” I whispered softly as the plane began to taxi on its way to Nashville.

 “I needed that.”