Airports...

I’m on my way to VEGAS. Its like a dream come true – I could hardly imagine a more exciting trip than heading to Vegas with my 2 friends from the UK whom I only ever see once every few years. But as I left my husband at the airport I developed a pit in my stomach. It’s really hard to leave my “boys” behind and I find myself daydreaming about coming home even before I’ve left the airport. Its such a weird dichotomy of emotions; I know I should thankful to have such a wonderful family that leaving makes everything bittersweet, and such great friends that even make leaving my boys seem like a good idea…but a part of me just worries that I will never again experience a weekend that’s relaxing and unilaterally just fun.

Two things are certain every time I fly : my poor bags get the embarrassing “HEAVY” sign put on them (good thing they’re not adolescent girls…) and the people at security surpass one another every time with their rudeness..

Today was particularly crotchety because I had to go through customs too. I filled out the form as best I could and the guy looked at it and then at me and then stamped a few things in self-empowered bliss and then turned to me, raised an eyebrow and said, “I need the ADDRESS of your hotel”. I mean, SERIOUSLY, how many NEW YORK NEW YORK hotels are there in Vegas? I apologetically shrugged my shoulders and told him I didn’t KNOW the address of my hotel and he let the uncomfortable silence build as we started at one another. Were they SERIOUSLY not going to let me go without my hotel address???

After what seemed like an ETERNITY the guy slowly drawled at me, “3278 Las Vegas Boulevard”.

He knew the whole time!!! What was THAT!?!? Some sort of I’m-going-to-make-her-sweat-power-trip game?

I pretended to be EXTREMELY grateful and thanked him profusely before moving on to the next station of rudeness : security.

I bet the woman who was working the conveyor belt USED to be a nice person. But whatever training she received as an airport security-check-supervisor-to-putting-your-stuff-through-the-xray-machine taught her sure knocked it out of her. As I approached with a smile she snarled “Put your PURSE on the BELT”. It was a cross between a HISS and a GROWL. I can just picture her first day of training where she politely said, “Please put your purse on the belt” and someone probably LEAPED down her throat and yelled “RUDER! SAY IT RUDER!!! And NEVER ever EVER use the word PLEASE!!!!”

I survived to two levels of happiness-zapping-rudeness and managed to get on the plane with some semblance of a smile still left on my face….and off I went. Sans kids. Sans husband. Sans responsibilities…maybe this whole separation thing won’t be so bad after all….