Traveling while brain dead—not such a good idea. I found this to be true after finishing a challenging school year, quickly packing my suitcases, and making my way through Lima, Peru, to the airport to go home for Christmas. I should have known problems would arise when my attempts to check my flight status proved futile…reason #1 to dislike and boycott American Airlines. Not to worry, problem solved—Alvaro as a travel agent has connections. Everything was on green. Bags packed with just the right weight. Clean body, face, teeth, etc. All ready to travel. We packed the car and embarked on the ever frightful journey down the Pan-American Highway to the airport. With an hour drive ahead of us, Tammy and I went through the checklist. Laptop-check. Toothbrush-check. Passport-check. Gifts, shoes, unmentionables—check, check, check. I still had the eerie feeling that I had left something behind but refused to dwell on it, chalking it up to my brain-dead state.
Why did I nonchalantly dismiss such a feeling? Upon our arrival to the airport, my suspicions became a reality. Yes, I had packed all those items mentioned, packed them nicely into my carry-on which was sitting exactly where I had left it—in my living room. We rapidly phoned Emily and Nicole. Problem solved—they were just leaving the house to come for their flights. My carry-on was safely in their taxi.
I began the well-known ritual of check-in, security points, and immigrations. My brain turned to automatic due to the low activity going on within it, that is, until the pleasant security guard kindly told me he would need to check my bags. And check my bags he did ever so meticulously with his green latex gloves snugly in place. Thoughts raced across my mind as he considerately reminded me of that new law as of August 2007 about liquids in carry-ons. He pulled out every little bottle and container I had of lotion, liquids, gel, etc. I could not stand idly by as all that money went down the drain. I began to incoherently argue that they had been inconsistent in upholding this law since I had traveled many times before without any problems of the sort. I should have just owned up to my mistake and resorted to begging. (Just between us, I think my Reagan/Bush 1984 sweatshirt folded in my suitcase made him suspicious.) :)
I began to frantically plead with those around me for a Ziploc bag, scaring the poor Mormon boy by my side. I don’t remember which language I spoke to him, but he appeared quite frightened. I guess I have that effect on people. To my pleasant surprise, a fellow passenger blessed me with a Ziploc bag. I later found out that he had paid six soles for it. God provided a stranger to help shut me up. But wait…I didn’t shut my mouth in time enough. I found myself in line in front of the helpful stranger and proceeded to tell him that “my brain was fried.” What was I thinking? The guy probably thought, “Yeah, I bet it is.” I endeavored to further explain the reason I was struggling with thought processes: I am an overworked high school teacher who is in dire need of a vacation. He politely smiled. I wished him a Merry Christmas and walked away sulking in my foolishness. I really needed to sleep.
Before I could rest, I needed to safely stow away my carry-on. Problem # (by this time I’ve lost count), I was one of the last people on the plane: no storage was available close by. Reason #2 to dislike American Airlines: the stewardess refused to help me. Thankfully, Daniel and Heather had some empty space near their seats. Finally, I could prepare myself for the seven-hour flight of sleep. Reason #3 to never buy AA again: their plane seats were not made for tall Americans but rather for small Oriental people such as the girl sitting beside me. She looked comfortable mmm…(frustration). However, Dramamine, ear plugs, and an eye mask successfully put me to sleep no matter the physical state I may have been in.
As I reminisced over the eventful trip, I concluded that indeed I did need a subtle, okay perhaps brash, reminder that, no matter how often I travel, I am still no expert on the subject. Mmmm….my pride was wounded once again. But, alas, it is my pride that keeps me from becoming more like Christ. “When pride cometh, then cometh shame” (Proverbs 11:2). I messed up, but another verse encourages me—“For a just man falleth seven times and riseth up again” (Proverbs 24:16). He’s still working on me as the old children’s song says.
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