airplane hell: addendum
Jul. 7th, 2002 02:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
egypturnashI forgot to mention the other notable things about my trip.
Before boarding the flight from Chicago to New Orleans, I got picked out to be the lucky recipient of a random search. Whee. I suppose the long, disheveled hair with the purple streak, the bags under the eyes, and the positively stuffed backpack had something to do with it.
I buzzed in the usual places: take wallet with change from pocket, detect button on jeans. The guy didn't check my shoes for explosive soles, as I've actually seen being done in the past.
He fiddled around a bit with the mesh side pocket on my backpack where I normally put a water bottle. When on the plane, I looked in there, wondering if there was a battery or something in it... and lo and behold, there was the GPS unit for my Visor that I thought had fallen out of my pocket while riding from Spümcø! Despite my tiredness, grumpiness, and lack-of-wolf-snuggliness, I was happy, because I'd been annoyed at this loss. I feel complete, I have a Unit again. *snigger* My Unit is smaller than yours,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jonasbagel!
Nothing amazing to report about my visit home: I got my hair trimmed, cleaned some broken stuff out of my mother's computer, had a raspberry sno-ball with whipped cream, visited a couple old friends and their kid, and read a book my mother had taken out of the library that contends that violent fantasies are quite useful and neccesary to growing children.
Tomorrow I get to go visit my grandmother. She will surely grumble about my purple-streaked hair, and will no doubt rant at my poor mother about it after I'm gone. She holds me up to the perfect-in-memory images of my dead father, his dead-long-before-Dad-met-Mom brother, and my dead grandfather. They were all good people (I'm only guessing about the uncle), but none of them were perfect... and I am horribly flawed in her eyes. I try not to let it get to me too much, but I really hate visiting her because of this. She doesn't at all understand what I do for a living, still definitely disapproves of my lack of religion, and has disliked the recent alterations to my fashion sense, too.
My mother suspects that this may be one of the last times I have to do this; Grandma's health is declining, and more importantly, her urge to live seems to be going - much of her conversation is about her assorted illnesses, and how she's just not long for this world. I feel somewhat cold when I admit to having mixed feelings about this.
Before boarding the flight from Chicago to New Orleans, I got picked out to be the lucky recipient of a random search. Whee. I suppose the long, disheveled hair with the purple streak, the bags under the eyes, and the positively stuffed backpack had something to do with it.
I buzzed in the usual places: take wallet with change from pocket, detect button on jeans. The guy didn't check my shoes for explosive soles, as I've actually seen being done in the past.
He fiddled around a bit with the mesh side pocket on my backpack where I normally put a water bottle. When on the plane, I looked in there, wondering if there was a battery or something in it... and lo and behold, there was the GPS unit for my Visor that I thought had fallen out of my pocket while riding from Spümcø! Despite my tiredness, grumpiness, and lack-of-wolf-snuggliness, I was happy, because I'd been annoyed at this loss. I feel complete, I have a Unit again. *snigger* My Unit is smaller than yours,
jonasbagel!Nothing amazing to report about my visit home: I got my hair trimmed, cleaned some broken stuff out of my mother's computer, had a raspberry sno-ball with whipped cream, visited a couple old friends and their kid, and read a book my mother had taken out of the library that contends that violent fantasies are quite useful and neccesary to growing children.
Tomorrow I get to go visit my grandmother. She will surely grumble about my purple-streaked hair, and will no doubt rant at my poor mother about it after I'm gone. She holds me up to the perfect-in-memory images of my dead father, his dead-long-before-Dad-met-Mom brother, and my dead grandfather. They were all good people (I'm only guessing about the uncle), but none of them were perfect... and I am horribly flawed in her eyes. I try not to let it get to me too much, but I really hate visiting her because of this. She doesn't at all understand what I do for a living, still definitely disapproves of my lack of religion, and has disliked the recent alterations to my fashion sense, too.
My mother suspects that this may be one of the last times I have to do this; Grandma's health is declining, and more importantly, her urge to live seems to be going - much of her conversation is about her assorted illnesses, and how she's just not long for this world. I feel somewhat cold when I admit to having mixed feelings about this.
no subject
Date: 2002-07-07 11:07 am (UTC)