We were traveling to
Hoo boy, was I wrong. They quickly confiscated my Oil of Olay face serum, which cost me about $20 a pop from the drug store. In other words, I feel as though I’m slathering diamonds on my face when I use it, the cheap bastard I am. Since I’m known to be, errr, somewhat sensitive when ‘people of power’ (aka airport security hahahahaha) yell at me or look down upon me for ‘breaking the law’ I get all meek-like and obedient and repentant. TRUE STORY.
So I’m stammering like “oh I’m so sorry, yes it’s not in a quart-size bag, please, take my diamond-expensive face cream and throw it in your trash bin even though I know you guys go looting through it at the end of your shift” and I give it up without a fight. Up ahead, as we were putting our shoes on, my mom could see I was upset and down in the dumps, and asked what was wrong. I boohoo’ed to her that they confiscated my face cream, and she marched her pretty little butt up to the airport security and demanded they hand it back. This, if you’ve ever met my mom, is slightly out of character. My mom obeys laws. She makes us face the consequences for our actions. I admire this about her. Except that day, when she got all ball-buster with Airport Security.
“I’m sorry, ma’am” the woman said, pointing to the newly-placed sign “it’s not an a plastic bag.”
“Well what difference does it make if it’s in a bag or not, it’s still 3 oz?”
And so on, and so forth.
I got the face cream back, I cried tears of joy, did a little back-flip and break-dance in my head, and saw my mother in a different light.