The first time my husband and I flew together we were dating and headed down to Charleston to visit friends. We arrived at the airport, checked in and headed to security. My husband assessed the lines, assessed me, what I was wearing and the amount of hand luggage I had, and promptly announced he’d see we on the other side. At first, I felt a pang of hurt, “Our first trip together and he’s already deserted me!” I later realized that he gets quite stressed during travel, and it’s best that he not have me pointing out people’s outfits or accents. So, instead of protesting, I accepted we’d meet on the other side. That day was the beginning of a competition that I cannot lose.
You see, I am a born traveler. I don’t remember the first time I flew on a plane and I don’t remember the first time I ever went through airport security. But, I know I rocked it. It sounds conceited, but it’s simply the truth. Over our almost five years together, we’ve flown about a dozen times. As of yet, I’m undefeated in our race through the security line. What is exceedingly frustrating to my husband is I don’t even try to win.
For instance, on Friday, we headed to Charleston for another visit with our friends. We checked in, and with boarding passes in hand headed to TSA. We stood together in line until there was a split, and my husband announced, “We’ll see who gets through first.” I was already winning – there were only three people in front of me. I sauntered through security, stopping to talk to four TSA employees, waiting patiently for my turn. As I entered the body scanner, I turned to see my husband in a flutter. The man in front of him, obviously a first time traveler (or at least his first time in DC), was holding up the line and even managed to misplace his boarding pass. I retrieved my belongings, put my shoes on my feet and wandered over to the side. I then stood waiting for my husband for a good seven minutes. You see, my husband likes to wear very, very comfy clothes. Very, very comfy clothes translate to a huge hoody and enormous cargo pants covered in a variety of pockets. Therefore, he is always searched and patted down. On top of that, his name, Zoltan, triggers at least 5 TSA employees to raise their eyebrows.
I can’t be defeated. This fact seems to egg my husband on and drive him to win. Yet, I’m always the one waiting with a glass of champagne in hand, gloating, knowing it may all soon come to an end.