I had been on vacation for the last couple of weeks staying with my inlaws and basically enjoying some family time. We had a blast, went to a couple of beach resorts, exchanged gifts, laughed a lot. But yesterday it was all to end ...drastically.
I've always hated traveling by airplane. I can't put my finger on it, but I truly get very anxious and nervous. Not the flight itself, I'm chill once I'm in, but the process before and after the flight gets me so tense that my family can't stand me when we're in the situation.
Anyways, make a long story short I crapped my pants at MIA.
In Detail: We're past security and the ridiculous task of claimimg our baggage only to drop it back with "them" (whoever they are) and we're now going again through security. We're past the metal detector, I feel the need to fart, but hold it in because I'm such a nice guy and don't want the people around me basically getting re-dressed to have to choke up on my world famous, award winning FatMan/Little Boy farts. That's when a security lady from the other side of the metal detector starts frantically yelling "who's bag is this?!?! this is unnattended!!!". I turn around, it's my bag ...PRRRRFT-SQUEAK! out it went, and it had company, and it's company was warm and wet, and it smelled like crap, and it WAS crap. Now I have to go back out through the metal detector, wait there until the new guy calls up the supervisor at least 4 times because he can't tell what it is that they have inside the bags that were ahead of me (I didn't know you had to stay with your bag until it goes INTO the X ray machine). By the time the big machine swallowed that little tray holding my shoes, hoodie and backpack/bag went in a line had formed in front of the metal detector and that took another 5 minutes to get through. Come out the other end, new guy is now checking out my bag and computer and again calls the supervisor a couple more times ...by this time I feel the little fart chaperone making it's way through the back of my upper leg. Finally everything comes out (the bag, not the fart's company), get the kids ready, everything back on us and shoot for the nearest restroom. Only this is MIA ...nothing is 'close by'. After about 15 mins walking through the maze of hallways that is this airport, alas, the picture of a little man on a door. Storm right in to assess the damage. The Lord Loves Me. It was just a little squirt that didn't make it past the boxer shorts to be soaked into my jeans. So I clean up (This is reason #58 to get married. My wife packed those baby-wipe type thingies in my bag!), throw away the boxers and fly back into DC commando. Let me tell you something ...there's nothing like flying commando.
Only thing I regret is that I didn't take one of those plastic bags they have at the security checkpoint to take the boxers with me as memento
Lesson learned: Always stay with your bags when at the airport.
I've always hated traveling by airplane. I can't put my finger on it, but I truly get very anxious and nervous. Not the flight itself, I'm chill once I'm in, but the process before and after the flight gets me so tense that my family can't stand me when we're in the situation.
Anyways, make a long story short I crapped my pants at MIA.
In Detail: We're past security and the ridiculous task of claimimg our baggage only to drop it back with "them" (whoever they are) and we're now going again through security. We're past the metal detector, I feel the need to fart, but hold it in because I'm such a nice guy and don't want the people around me basically getting re-dressed to have to choke up on my world famous, award winning FatMan/Little Boy farts. That's when a security lady from the other side of the metal detector starts frantically yelling "who's bag is this?!?! this is unnattended!!!". I turn around, it's my bag ...PRRRRFT-SQUEAK! out it went, and it had company, and it's company was warm and wet, and it smelled like crap, and it WAS crap. Now I have to go back out through the metal detector, wait there until the new guy calls up the supervisor at least 4 times because he can't tell what it is that they have inside the bags that were ahead of me (I didn't know you had to stay with your bag until it goes INTO the X ray machine). By the time the big machine swallowed that little tray holding my shoes, hoodie and backpack/bag went in a line had formed in front of the metal detector and that took another 5 minutes to get through. Come out the other end, new guy is now checking out my bag and computer and again calls the supervisor a couple more times ...by this time I feel the little fart chaperone making it's way through the back of my upper leg. Finally everything comes out (the bag, not the fart's company), get the kids ready, everything back on us and shoot for the nearest restroom. Only this is MIA ...nothing is 'close by'. After about 15 mins walking through the maze of hallways that is this airport, alas, the picture of a little man on a door. Storm right in to assess the damage. The Lord Loves Me. It was just a little squirt that didn't make it past the boxer shorts to be soaked into my jeans. So I clean up (This is reason #58 to get married. My wife packed those baby-wipe type thingies in my bag!), throw away the boxers and fly back into DC commando. Let me tell you something ...there's nothing like flying commando.
Only thing I regret is that I didn't take one of those plastic bags they have at the security checkpoint to take the boxers with me as memento
Lesson learned: Always stay with your bags when at the airport.
talkbass needs more stories like this
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