The morning started with some last-minute, rushed packing and an unusually long car ride to Seattle. Morning traffic made things interesting and the electronic check-in even more so. Note to self: read bolded words Slide Passport Here before asking the hostile attendant where to slide passport. And saying goodbye before security warranted some funny stares. But I got in line (and stayed there, thanks to Abby on the other end of a train-wreck phone call).
Then, going through security, I provided everyone with a morning’s dose of entertainment. I loaded everything (shoes, jacket, computer, purse, and backpack) onto the belt, sent it through, and then attempted to walk through the scanner, only to be stopped by the guard who insisted there was something under my shirt. Yes, he had seen my money belt and told me to take it off and put it through. The rest of my personal belongings were long gone and, though I felt uneasy sending a small pouch full of cash and my passport alone to be examined, I did as I was told and began to remove the money belt. This thing was not about to cooperate. It clung hopelessly to me. I tried to unwrap the straps, only causing more knots, frustration, and questionable words under my breath. So I stood in front of this enormous line of people and practically stripped in order to find the beginning and end of the pouch. I was furious and about ready to rip off my shirt when the security guard laughed at me and suggested a pat-down, which I agreed to.
I suppose the moral of this story is that, while the purpose of a money belt is to hide and protect valuables, it seems to have the opposite effect for me. I basically screamed, “Look at me…I have a bunch of cash and a passport and other identification that I don’t want you to know about.” Even now, everyone can totally see the abnormal bulge through my turquoise shirt. Never again.
But I’ve made it to Dallas with all of my personal belongings intact. And I’ve decided that maybe I should just stay here in Texas for my dose of culture. Honestly. It’s a whole new language. Barbeque everywhere. Cowboy hats and boots instead of fleece jackets and flip-flops. Incredible.
Then, going through security, I provided everyone with a morning’s dose of entertainment. I loaded everything (shoes, jacket, computer, purse, and backpack) onto the belt, sent it through, and then attempted to walk through the scanner, only to be stopped by the guard who insisted there was something under my shirt. Yes, he had seen my money belt and told me to take it off and put it through. The rest of my personal belongings were long gone and, though I felt uneasy sending a small pouch full of cash and my passport alone to be examined, I did as I was told and began to remove the money belt. This thing was not about to cooperate. It clung hopelessly to me. I tried to unwrap the straps, only causing more knots, frustration, and questionable words under my breath. So I stood in front of this enormous line of people and practically stripped in order to find the beginning and end of the pouch. I was furious and about ready to rip off my shirt when the security guard laughed at me and suggested a pat-down, which I agreed to.
I suppose the moral of this story is that, while the purpose of a money belt is to hide and protect valuables, it seems to have the opposite effect for me. I basically screamed, “Look at me…I have a bunch of cash and a passport and other identification that I don’t want you to know about.” Even now, everyone can totally see the abnormal bulge through my turquoise shirt. Never again.
But I’ve made it to Dallas with all of my personal belongings intact. And I’ve decided that maybe I should just stay here in Texas for my dose of culture. Honestly. It’s a whole new language. Barbeque everywhere. Cowboy hats and boots instead of fleece jackets and flip-flops. Incredible.
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