TSA loses synaptic challenge as Dan finds yellow (baby) blue jacket
And so, left in a state of incredible suspense, loyal readers are undoubtedly concerned about Darius and Christiane’s return flight from Santa Barbara to Seattle. In a break with tradition, they arrived at the airport in a timely manner.
“Wow!” I thought as I drove to the parking spot after dropping Darius, Christiane, Nazy and (the lovely) Leandra at the curb. “2:02 at the airport for a 2:55 departure. It’s a record.”
Even encumbered with a stroller, a computer-containing backpack, a carry-on with prepared baby food and a one year old (The Lovely Lenandra), they still breezed through the ticket counter and headed to the TSA checkpoint.
“Luckily,” I thought, “We are in Santa Barbara. Things will go quickly.”
I was, of course, wrong. Expecting swift efficiency from the TSA is like voting for Trump with an expectation of dignified competence. And just as cesspool spillover oozes from the ‘Executive Mansion’ in Washington, Santa Barbara Airport TSA procedural lethargy seeped into (in)action.
Only two people where in line when Darius and family arrived at the checkpoint nevertheless, it took 27 minutes to pass through.
“Luckily,” I thought as Nazy and I watched the process slowly unfold, “we arrived in plenty of time.”
Darius, Christiane, (the lovely) Leandra, the backpack and stroller headed to the gate. It was 18 minutes before scheduled departure. We waved ‘goodbye’ and…
“Should we wait until the airplane takes off?” Nazy asked.
“Of course not, Nazy.” I replied. “They are on their way.”
We were on the 101 highway when Darius called.
“We missed the flight!”
“How is that possible?” I asked. “There are only five gates and the maximum walk from security to any gate is 30 meters,” I thought as we turned around and headed back to the airport.
It turned out that the carry-on with the baby food had to be hand examined. Unfortunately, it was queued behind a single bag and had been momentarily forgotten. At the time, TSA was dealing with a ‘special security risk’ and had had parked all items needing hand inspection into a (slow) queue. Darius waited at the gate with (the lovely) Leandra while Christiane returned to security to wait with a nonchalant public ‘servant’. An Alaska Airlines gate agent arrived from the gate to ask TSA for a “speedy check”. Like Christiane, she was rebuffed. A bevy of immobile TSA agents waited. Alaska Airlines, unwilling to risk loss of the landing slot in Seattle, departed. TSA agents continued to concentrate on dithering while exuding apathetic arrogance. The airline attempted to rebook Darius and Family on a flight via Portland. But…
“The Portland flight is delayed, Dad.” Darius explained. “There is a mechanical problem. It hasn’t even Portland.”
“If it leaves as presently scheduled, Dar, how long is your connection time in Portland.”
“Twenty two minutes.”
“Dar — you can’t even get off of the airplane in 22 minutes. What’s the other alternative?”
“They can book us from Los Angeles.”
“When from Los Angeles?” I asked. “We are not in Los Angeles,” I thought.
“7:45.”
“We have to leave right now,” I replied. “Right now,” I thought looking at my watch. It was 3:34.
Alaska Airlines personnel, working with the speed of a synapse attempting to connect widely separated neurons (e.g. a Donald Trump ‘brain’ analog), interpreted ‘right now’ as more than half an hour. We actually left at 4:07.
“Are we going to make it?” Darius asked — more than once.
“Of course!” I replied smugly exuding false confidence. “But rush hour traffic on the 405 will make the trip exciting,” I thought. Accurately.
We zoomed down the 101 listening to the Volvo ‘read’ incoming text messages. The car wasn’t too good transcribing French or Arabic. Its ‘German’ sounded like mine — badly accented. Random text sounded like Dutch; a fact that may explain the challenges I had with Shell and ING. When, thanks to Google translate, Darius entered Chinese, the car sounded very Chinese. (I believe that it was assembled in China.)
It took 53 minutes to complete the final five miles. Amazingly, Dar and Family breezed through both the Alaska Airlines ticket counter and the TSA security checkpoint at LAX. I got back home at 8:45 — a bit late for dinner with friends.
As you can imagine, Darius’ rather dramatic departure threatened to overshadow all the other exciting events of the week. Arrow, for example, continued to rapidly develop his verbal skills. He can say his own name (‘ahwo&rsquo
and his brother’s name (‘Tigah&rsquo. Impressed that he could repeat most of what he heard, I tried some new, and longer words.
“Arrow,” I said. “Can you say ‘Leandra’?”
“Baby,” Arrow replied.
“Clever,” I thought. “Can you say ‘Bougainville’?”
“Gohl,” Arrow replied. (‘Gohl’ is Farsi for flower.)
And, when Arrow sees a traffic light change from red to green he says: “Go, Dan, Go.”
And, of course, I had a few foibles and fumbles with my lovely spouse.
“You have lost your blue jacket, Dan.” Nazy claimed.
“I’m sure it’s..”
“I’ve looked in the car, at Melika’s, in Melika’s car and at Tiger’s school. I called the last three restaurants we visited. I checked under Tiger’s bed. And..”
“Did you look in the closet?” I asked. (Stupidly.)
“The closet? Did I look in the closet for your coat? When was the last time you used the closet?” Nazy asked. “I’d be surprised if you knew where the closet is located.” Nazy thought.
“Good point, my dear.” I replied. "I'm never going to wear a jacket again," I thought.
“When you take Tiger to swimming class, I want you to check lost and found and look into ALL of the lockers.”
“Nazy!” I replied. “I’m offended by your attitude. I’m not so stupid that I’d leave my blue jacket in a locker.”
“Just look, Dan. You will find it.”
“Yes dear,” I replied as I relied on years of husbandly experience. “But the jacket is not going to be there,” I thought.
I was, of course, right. My jacket was not in the locker.
“Your blue jacket was not in the locker,” Nazy interrupts. “But..”
“So — I found my yellow jacket,” I replied. “But I am a ‘yellow jacket’, my dear, a ramblin’ wreck from Georgia Tech.”
“Dan..”
“And you didn’t even notice that it was missing.” I asserted. (Inappropriately.)
A while later, I was having lunch with my friend Joel.
“… and, don’t let me forget, Dan,” Joel said. “I have two things in my car for you.”
“Two things?”
“Yes. A blue jacket and a child’s placemat that goes with the setting Christine gave Nazy for Tiger.”
“That will make me popular, thanks!” I replied. “Thank God he didn’t have two jackets,” I thought.
“Wow!” I thought as I drove to the parking spot after dropping Darius, Christiane, Nazy and (the lovely) Leandra at the curb. “2:02 at the airport for a 2:55 departure. It’s a record.”
Even encumbered with a stroller, a computer-containing backpack, a carry-on with prepared baby food and a one year old (The Lovely Lenandra), they still breezed through the ticket counter and headed to the TSA checkpoint.
“Luckily,” I thought, “We are in Santa Barbara. Things will go quickly.”
I was, of course, wrong. Expecting swift efficiency from the TSA is like voting for Trump with an expectation of dignified competence. And just as cesspool spillover oozes from the ‘Executive Mansion’ in Washington, Santa Barbara Airport TSA procedural lethargy seeped into (in)action.
Only two people where in line when Darius and family arrived at the checkpoint nevertheless, it took 27 minutes to pass through.
“Luckily,” I thought as Nazy and I watched the process slowly unfold, “we arrived in plenty of time.”
Darius, Christiane, (the lovely) Leandra, the backpack and stroller headed to the gate. It was 18 minutes before scheduled departure. We waved ‘goodbye’ and…
“Should we wait until the airplane takes off?” Nazy asked.
“Of course not, Nazy.” I replied. “They are on their way.”
We were on the 101 highway when Darius called.
“We missed the flight!”
“How is that possible?” I asked. “There are only five gates and the maximum walk from security to any gate is 30 meters,” I thought as we turned around and headed back to the airport.
It turned out that the carry-on with the baby food had to be hand examined. Unfortunately, it was queued behind a single bag and had been momentarily forgotten. At the time, TSA was dealing with a ‘special security risk’ and had had parked all items needing hand inspection into a (slow) queue. Darius waited at the gate with (the lovely) Leandra while Christiane returned to security to wait with a nonchalant public ‘servant’. An Alaska Airlines gate agent arrived from the gate to ask TSA for a “speedy check”. Like Christiane, she was rebuffed. A bevy of immobile TSA agents waited. Alaska Airlines, unwilling to risk loss of the landing slot in Seattle, departed. TSA agents continued to concentrate on dithering while exuding apathetic arrogance. The airline attempted to rebook Darius and Family on a flight via Portland. But…
“The Portland flight is delayed, Dad.” Darius explained. “There is a mechanical problem. It hasn’t even Portland.”
“If it leaves as presently scheduled, Dar, how long is your connection time in Portland.”
“Twenty two minutes.”
“Dar — you can’t even get off of the airplane in 22 minutes. What’s the other alternative?”
“They can book us from Los Angeles.”
“When from Los Angeles?” I asked. “We are not in Los Angeles,” I thought.
“7:45.”
“We have to leave right now,” I replied. “Right now,” I thought looking at my watch. It was 3:34.
Alaska Airlines personnel, working with the speed of a synapse attempting to connect widely separated neurons (e.g. a Donald Trump ‘brain’ analog), interpreted ‘right now’ as more than half an hour. We actually left at 4:07.
“Are we going to make it?” Darius asked — more than once.
“Of course!” I replied smugly exuding false confidence. “But rush hour traffic on the 405 will make the trip exciting,” I thought. Accurately.
We zoomed down the 101 listening to the Volvo ‘read’ incoming text messages. The car wasn’t too good transcribing French or Arabic. Its ‘German’ sounded like mine — badly accented. Random text sounded like Dutch; a fact that may explain the challenges I had with Shell and ING. When, thanks to Google translate, Darius entered Chinese, the car sounded very Chinese. (I believe that it was assembled in China.)
It took 53 minutes to complete the final five miles. Amazingly, Dar and Family breezed through both the Alaska Airlines ticket counter and the TSA security checkpoint at LAX. I got back home at 8:45 — a bit late for dinner with friends.
As you can imagine, Darius’ rather dramatic departure threatened to overshadow all the other exciting events of the week. Arrow, for example, continued to rapidly develop his verbal skills. He can say his own name (‘ahwo&rsquo
and his brother’s name (‘Tigah&rsquo. Impressed that he could repeat most of what he heard, I tried some new, and longer words.“Arrow,” I said. “Can you say ‘Leandra’?”
“Baby,” Arrow replied.
“Clever,” I thought. “Can you say ‘Bougainville’?”
“Gohl,” Arrow replied. (‘Gohl’ is Farsi for flower.)
And, when Arrow sees a traffic light change from red to green he says: “Go, Dan, Go.”
And, of course, I had a few foibles and fumbles with my lovely spouse.
“You have lost your blue jacket, Dan.” Nazy claimed.
“I’m sure it’s..”
“I’ve looked in the car, at Melika’s, in Melika’s car and at Tiger’s school. I called the last three restaurants we visited. I checked under Tiger’s bed. And..”
“Did you look in the closet?” I asked. (Stupidly.)
“The closet? Did I look in the closet for your coat? When was the last time you used the closet?” Nazy asked. “I’d be surprised if you knew where the closet is located.” Nazy thought.
“Good point, my dear.” I replied. "I'm never going to wear a jacket again," I thought.
“When you take Tiger to swimming class, I want you to check lost and found and look into ALL of the lockers.”
“Nazy!” I replied. “I’m offended by your attitude. I’m not so stupid that I’d leave my blue jacket in a locker.”
“Just look, Dan. You will find it.”
“Yes dear,” I replied as I relied on years of husbandly experience. “But the jacket is not going to be there,” I thought.
I was, of course, right. My jacket was not in the locker.
“Your blue jacket was not in the locker,” Nazy interrupts. “But..”
“So — I found my yellow jacket,” I replied. “But I am a ‘yellow jacket’, my dear, a ramblin’ wreck from Georgia Tech.”
“Dan..”
“And you didn’t even notice that it was missing.” I asserted. (Inappropriately.)
A while later, I was having lunch with my friend Joel.
“… and, don’t let me forget, Dan,” Joel said. “I have two things in my car for you.”
“Two things?”
“Yes. A blue jacket and a child’s placemat that goes with the setting Christine gave Nazy for Tiger.”
“That will make me popular, thanks!” I replied. “Thank God he didn’t have two jackets,” I thought.
For last week's letter, please click here.
Nazy on her daily walk
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