Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Prepping for Travel

I love going places but rarely love getting there; especially in the post 9/11 era with the TSA maggots creeping around my genitalia. Then, there's the anxiety of packing - What should I take? How much should I take? What can I live without and what do I absolutely need? Will there be a place to get so and so if I forget it? what if I just don't bring it, will there be a place for me to get some? How much is that doggie in the window...wait, that one is misplaced.

How many of you have ever made the mistake of shortchanging yourself on, oh, let's say underwear? Have you ever out of necessity dropped a few dirty shorts and a few other things to not be so obvious in the drawstring bag in the hotel and then have to fill out the incomprehensible triplicate form before dangling it outside your room in someting of a Hester Prynne fashion? Aside from the inevitable mockery of your lodging neighbors and passers by, there's that little twinge of fear that your laundry may get lost in the shuffle and you'll still be shy of underwear. Then there's the decision beyond all decisions: (a) Do you attempt to scrub a pair clean in the bathroom sink and blow dry it? (b) Sift through the batch and find the least offensive pair for the ride home praying there are no travel delays so you can go home, remove them, throw them away and boil all parts of your body that were covered by them, or (c) go commando?

I remember the good old days of travel where it was practical to attempt to get everything you need in a carry on so as to avoid the additional nightmare of checking luggage. Who's ever had checked luggage lost? I have - it had a far more exotic trip that I and was flown back to me several days after I arrived home. I know I am not the only one who's been in a position where most (if not all) of my wearable clothing are in my checked luggage and if it really disappears, the only acceptable place to be in public would be a nudist camp.

Now I check everything - I don't to have some TSA maggot fisting me because he doesn't like the idea that I occasionaly wear boxer briefs and heaven forbid, am carrying my 3.2 ounces of Pantene or 4 ounce tube of toothpaste that I was secretly plotting to use for some diablolical terrorist scrubbing ritual.

Oh well, at least JetBlue offers a snack. See ya on the other side.

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