(The following was composed while flying to the conference somewhere over Oklahoma. It shall be better formatted when time permits.)

So the trip began like RENT: so badly that even if the rest of it didn't suck, (which in the case of RENT it did), enjoying the rest of it was impossible.

I arrived at the check-in at 12:25pm. The oh-so-helpful girl with her hair pulled so tight that her eyes looked Asian asked me what time my flight left.
"1:05pm," I responded.
"Okay." She typed a bit. "Can you carry that on?" She asked of my suitcase.
"Umm, I suppose so, if it's not too big. Shouldn't you tell me that?"
"Well, we cut off bag check at 45 minutes to departure, so you may have to check it at the gate."
"So I missed it by 5 minutes?"
"I'm afraid so. Do you have any liquids or gels in there?"
"Well, yes, that's why I planned to check it."
"As long as it's under 3 oz, you can put it in a little baggie."

A bit miffed, I headed to the molestation-station for check-in knowing that my suitcase, which I now had to carry on, contained hair gel, toothpaste, cologne, mouthwash, shaving cream, and a few other liquids with which I planned to take my flight to Denver hostage. But most distressing was knowing that I had slipped my keys into my suitcase. On my keychain was my mini Leatherman which I have used daily since it was given to me as a groomsmans gift 5 years ago.

So after stripping for the people who were unqualified for jobs like baggage handler or assistant manager at McDonalds, I crammed my various items of contraband into a little ziploc baggie. Sure enough, they dragged it off the conveyer belt and held up my hair gel saying it was too big.
"But it's not even half-full," I protested. "It's far less than 3 oz."
"But we go by the size," the little man said.

In my head, I straightened it all out. You see, I have far too much of something that is truly contraband with Homeland Security, common sense, to make a scene. I knew it would do no good and I know that the little people in uniforms who took away my obviously deadly hair gel had no actual authority to make a decision. I decided not to argue that if the goal of their idiotic policy was to prevent more than 3 oz of a liquid or gel from entering the plane, then they had succeeded. And I decided not to point out that if they needed to feel better about their decision they could examine the contents of my suitcase, ask me a few simple questions, and determine that I'm not a security risk and wouldn't be even if I were carrying a bag full of old damp dynamite. I also quickly decided not to highlight the most obvious flaw in their paln: the two 2 oz containers of mouthwash that I had. That's 4 effin' ounces! But as long as it's in seperate containers it's okay?! Was this policy written by Miss South Carolina?

Instead of saying any of that I just let them take away the key ingredient in my tonsorial takeover plot with only a slightly withering look.

And just as I was quickly gathering my things, thinking I'd gotten away with the keychain, they stopped me again, opened up my suitcase, removed my leatherman, and told me I'd have to either throw it away or mail it to myself.
"I can mail it to myself?" I asked.
"Yes, do you see that little mail station over there?" The plump one who was apparently moonlighting as a product tester to determine how much stress vest buttons could take pointed to a little stand back by the airport entrance.
"Would I have to go through all this again?" I asked referring to the security check-in.
"Yes. Do you want to do that?"
"No. I want to check my bag."
"I'm sorry, but..."
"I know, I know," I interrupted. I glanced at my watch. It was now 12:45pm.
"It costs about $10." She offered.
"$10?! Ahhh... no, I'll be late for my flight and I don't want to pay that."

I grabbed my things, got dressed again, glared at her like I plan to do to my proctologist someday, and stormed off. I went to the electric billboard to check my gate and flight status and saw my flight listed... with a departure time of 1:22pm. I started to sputter and choke as I tried to figure out if I could reclaim my hair gel and Leatherman and tell the desk girl with screaming folicles to check my freaking bag! How could she not have known that the flight was delayed? She gave me my ticket! But alas, now it truly was less than 45 minutes to take off.

I stomped on to the plane, crammed my suitcase into an overhead bin and now I'm somewhere over Oklahoma on my way to Denver where I'll sit around for a bit before heading to NYC.

At least the world is now safe from my ounce of hair gel in a 5 oz tube. I'm seriously considering chugging my 4 oz of mouthwash to see if it's enough to get me drunk.