When I was filling out my application to go on a church mission trip, one of the questions asked “What is something that annoys you during a trip?” My answer was “traveling with people who don’t know how to travel.” I was lucky in that I learned how to travel very young. We lived in Alaska and as a small child I flew with my parents to Ohio and Florida to visit grandparents. During these long flights I read everything I could on the plane, the safety information card, the barf bag, and the airline magazine with maps of airports and terminal diagrams. I don’t have quite a photographic memory but it is very visual, and I could recall a map and find the way to a gate even at that early age. It was never hard for me.

Well, fast forward to Sunday. Jamie and I are in DFW waiting our turn to go through airport security screening. This time I remembered to put my knife into my checked luggage, unlike our trip to Grand Rapids a month ago. This airport even had handy Mail It Home bags, so if you found yourself in line with a contraband toenail clipper you could mail it to your house. I wasn’t that lucky in Michigan, but I digress. As we’re walking through the turnstiles I was thinking to myself “I hope we don’t get behind that blond woman and her three dingbat daughters.” They decided they didn’t want to pay the $15 per bag fee, so they were carrying suitcases onto the plane. I surely didn’t want to have to wait for them to get screened. But we lucked out, and ended up behind an older couple who were trying to find their photo ids to show to the TSA agent checking boarding passes. As it turned out, the blonds would have been the better choice.

I sent Jamie on ahead of me so that if my bag got searched, she could keep an eye on my laptop so it wouldn’t get stolen. Well, Jamie ended up going into a machine that looked like the thing that turned Bruce Banner into the Incredible Hulk. Actually, it was a millimeter-wave scanner, the controversial new device that can image under clothing. I was hoping to get a picture of her being scanned when the x-ray belt stopped and the TSA agent examining the screen gets on the phone.

We’re waiting and waiting and waiting and then he yells out, “Which one of you has the handgun ammo in your bag?!?!” Nobody answers. My bag is barely into the machine and Jamie’s is just ahead of it, so it wasn’t us. But the old dude and his wife start saying, “I don’t have any.” Well, they pull the bag out and the TSA guy says he found five bullets on the x-ray. He sets the bag onto the table and starts to open it up while they restart the belt and scan our bags. Jamie is done being in her virtual peep show and grabs her stuff. I’m trying to put my shoes on and I’m overhearing the conversation with our terrorists. The TSA guy is trying to slowly open the bag when the woman reaches over his shoulder and starts poking and prodding compartments. Showing remarkable restraint he tells her to go sit down and not touch the bag. I snapped a quick shot of them as we walked away, and the woman actually smiles for the photo. 

 

We weren’t anywhere near being late for our flight, but I was a bit perturbed. I can be a patient man, but sometimes things like this really annoy me. Some airports have separate lines for frequent travelers and then lines for people who need a bit of hand-holding. My vote is for all airports to be that way. It isn’t really that hard. Put your stuff into the grey tote. Leave the bullets at home or put them in your checked bag. Take off your metal. Pull your id out while waiting in line so you don’t have to do it at the counter. Theses aren’t hard things, just little things. While it only takes 10 to 15 seconds to pull out your wallet and fish out your driver’s license, multiply that by the 150 people in line and you just stole 20 minutes of my time. 

 

I know I’m sensitive to this because Quality Time is my love language. People are just so unaware of how the choices they make affect those around them. I guess I’ll keep getting these little lessons in patience for awhile. Just when I think I’m patient enough I find out I’m not.