When will I(!) be free to move about the cabin?

I have some additional trips under my collar since the last time I wrote.  First, there was the one from Florida to Minni.  If I never see another security line or airplane seat bottom, it’ll be too soon.

Upon arrival at the terminal in Ft. Myers (no small feat considering the transfer of Momma’s piles of luggage, plus me — stuffed into my tiny carrier — to the shuttle bus), Momma spotted two men in uniform.  They were standing around, doing nothing, and she asked them where Special Services was (so she could buy my “criminally high-priced ticket”).  And now that she thought about it, where were my frequent flyer miles?

Obviously annoyed by this interruption of their busy day, one of the uniforms flippantly informed her, “we don’t have one of those here — just go over to your airline.”  When we got to the Delta ticket counter (after standing in line for ten minutes), however, they told her to go to Special Services.  See what I mean about air travel?  And don’t forget, I’m imprisoned and being wheeled behind her every step of the way.

When we had finally checked in, gone outside for me and reached the bewildering maze of security lines, we found we had our own lane.  Now we’re talking, Momma thought, we’re in the fast lane!  Turned out, we had just entered the next ring of security hell.

First, TSA told us to wait for a special agent who would walk us through security.  When he finally showed up — twenty minutes later — he instructed Momma to take off her shoes, jacket and scarf.  I am frankly surprised he didn’t ask me to take off my fur coat and collar.

Next he told Momma to remove me from the carrier and carry me though the metal detector.  On the other side, he wanded her hands and informed her that he would have to go through all of her (and my) bags!  Momma, normally feisty, was so beaten down by now that she remained mute (and I remained mutt).   We watched in disbelief as the agent took everything out of Momma’s purse and tote and looked through every item (including her billfold), wanded them and then held the wand up to a computer screen after each scan.  Then he removed my little elephant (of course) toy from my carrier and did the same with it.

Momma, at this point, was fit to be tied (welcome to my world) and demanded to know what was going on.  The agent explained that they had to take extra precautions when police K-9s were present.  “Right, Lina, as with all things government, that makes perfect sense.  Since the dogs are on site sniffing for drugs and explosives, TSA has to do more searching, not less.”

Upon boarding, Momma was busy arranging her tote in the overhead bin and me under the seat (luckily she got that part right), when a self-important little jerk came up the aisle and told her she was in his seat.  Not willing to take any guff from anyone by now, Momma pointed to the little diagram under the overhead bin showing her seat letter next to the depiction of a flight attendant, and said, “I don’t think so.”  The little jerk then pushed passed us, plopped down and started scattering his stuff around.  Momma now noticed that he had usurped her space on the center console (this was an almost greater sin that trying to take her seat) and asked him to move his water bottle.  Where was she supposed to put her Prosecco, after all?  This was going to be a long flight.

The next day Momma was off on another trip — this time gallivanting with her girlfriends in Palm Springs.  One day Dr. Becca sent Momma some fun pictures of me, Winnie (Dr. Becca’s dog) and Spike.  She complained playfully that I (Lina) had stolen Winnie’s boyfriend, Spike.

That’s Spike in the middle!

This got Momma’s attention.  Spike (what kind of name is that for a dog anyway?) looked a little too “Hell’s Angel” for me to be hanging with.  And she let Becca know:  “You tell that little missy that she is too young for a boyfriend.  She is going to be grounded.”  Truth be woofed, I think Momma is jealous.  And after all, it wasn’t that long ago that she, herself, wasn’t above being a biker.

When Momma returned from “The Desert” (she had learned that all the cool people call it that), it was time to fly back to Florida.  Luckily, we sailed through security this time.  I was a little disappointed, though, not to see the police K-9s.  I always woof that I love a dog in uniform!

We are now home for my final week in the Sunshine State this season.  That means, of course, that I’ll be subject to yet another flight back to Minni.  That’s okay, though – I’ll be happy to be home and since Momma will soon be off on another trip, I plan to sneak away and see Spike!

Lina, Frequent Flyer and Biker Chick!

WOOFDA!

Pawscript:  HAPPY EASTER BUNNY DAY!