(L)OJ Runs thru the Airport

-or-
Did He Try to Take Shrimp on an Airplane, AGAIN?


This story starts last Friday in the Trinidad Airport. Well, actually the preceding Sunday afternoon. Pete and I decided to visit the Casino conveniently located next to our hotel. (Editor’s note: This is the first time Pete and I have worked together in several years. As one of our co-workers said, “Do your Probation Officers know about this?” How true, how true.) After they sent us home once to change clothes – no shorts and sandals for me, no sweatpants and crocs for he and no caps for either – we were able to enter. Classy place.

But, once we passed Go we proceeded to the one Blackjack table. You have to play with TT’s (Trinidad and Tobago Dollars), so I sat down with 400 TT’s (feel free to make your own joke) – or roughly $75. Hit a nice run of cards – rules were all the same – except dealer took her down card after all the players played, but who cares when she takes her card, the odds are all the same – and after I accumulated 800 TT’s walked away a winner.

Pedro also won some, so we decided Wednesday night we needed to make a return trip one last time since those TT’s were burning a hole in our collective pockets. The cards were even sweeter this time. I sat down with 400 TT’s and walked away with a 1,000 TT chip. Not a lot of money but winning always beats a kick in the pants.

But the point is: I’m really flush with local currency. And with not much time left to spend it. It was good for tipping our driver and hotel staff and buying lunch, but heading to the airport I still have plenty. (Editor’s Note 2: Yes, I could have gone to a bank and exchanged it to US$ but would have taken a small loss doing that. So, screw it.) My decision was to spend it. The Port of Spain (capitol city in Trinidad and Tobago where we were) Airport is actually very nice. And, has lots of shops. Perfect for spending money.

Bought a lot of small stuff – various hot sauces, chutney (go figure), chanas (a local nut product), trinkets (?), plus breakfast. Stuffed it all in my backpack – so that it’s now just as crammed full as my two previously checked bags. But the big purchase was 3 bottles of local rum. Their finest – a brand called 1919. Had sampled it prior and I knew it was a definite. Spent over 400 TT’s for it and it was duty free, so they packed gift boxes and double sacked it. Picked up my sack at the gate to the plane (bypassed local airport security) and life was looking good.

Okay, I know you’re wondering – is there a GD point to this story? I’m getting there, I’m getting there, but probably not anytime soon.

We fly to Houston where I will connect to Austin. I have an hour and 45 minutes between flights so I’m in no rush whatsoever. I’m looking forward to buying a U.S. newspaper – probably not the Houston Chronicle since that’s the worst rag this side of Philadelphia – maybe grabbing a Miller Lite (non-existent in T&T) and taking my normal leisurely stroll to gate.

Line-up at Immigration. I’ve declared my 3 bottles of rum since I’m carrying them in this separate wonderful double-sack. When officer sees them he says, “You must be thirsty.” I mumbled something about Thanksgiving and I’m off to the next stop. Have to pick up my checked luggage and go thru Customs. Guy’s about to waive me through when he says, “You are only allowed ONE liter of alcohol duty free, agitatedly slapped a booklet on immigration rules at me, but waived me through. Down the hall about 100 yards I re-checked my two bags to Austin. No problemo. Off I go with my sack of rum and my customary backpack stuffed to the brim and with computer inside.

This is when the s starts to hit the fan. I wait thru the regular US security. Try to remember to take my belt, shoes, computer off/out (don't have to overseas), but a little panicked, since I have tons of crap in my pockets and I have to completely empty my pockets because with the pacemaker I have to go through a separate pat-down which requires nothing in your pockets. Takes me forever, but I got everything emptied and out. All my crap goes thru the belt and the x-ray machine. They motion me over to the pat-down area. I go in and point to all my crap and they start bringing it over…except there’s 3 of them including one officer with my backpack. She says, “you got alcohol?” I go, yes, I have 3 bottles of rum. This big guy says, “you’re only allowed 3 ounce bottles of liquid in a baggie.” The woman goes, “plus you have alcohol in your backpack.” Knowing my possessions, I go, no I don’t. She pulls out my bottles of hot sauce…uh, that’s hot sauce not alcohol. Then she pulls out my plastic bottle of chanas (nuts)…uh, that’s not either. BUT, there was no denying the 3 bottles of rum. I was dead meat.

The big guy says, you can either leave behind the rum here or go up to Continental’s counter and check it. Says I can put it in my backpack. I go, “Uh, no, that’s where I keep my computer and it does not get checked.” I’ve seen the way baggage handlers do their job. So he says they’ll give you a box to put it in and check it. Well, these airlines don’t “give” you nothing these days. But, nevertheless, being the tightwad I am I ain’t donating my rum to these SOB’s – they were doing their job properly, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to fund their Thanksgiving Spirits.

So now I’ve got sweat dripping off of me. All my crap that I’m used to gathering and heading to the gate – now, I have to gather and head back to the Continental counter and start the process all over again! Oh by the way, I’m down to 20 minutes before my plane takes off. I get on the slowest elevator ever, go downstairs, find the Continental counter and get in line. In hindsight it was good there was a line because it gave me time to figure out what the hell I was going to do.

And I did figure it out. Took my computer out of the backpack and crammed 3 gift boxes of rum in there. Put the computer in the double sack. Checked my backpack. Lady at counter said to get gone. I was down to 15 minutes.

Took the slow elevator back upstairs, stood in line, patiently – and I had decided I was going to play it by the book – any time spent ‘begging’ for special privilege would cost me special minutes – and this time I proudly cleared security. Of course it was the big guy that did my pat-down and he took FOREVER. I think he was enjoying it if you know what I mean, and I think you probably do.

Now I had 10 minutes. Only one problem. I was at the farthest east side of Terminal C and needed to go to the farthest west side of Terminal E. Egads. I started out walking fast, but after the gates started going one by one and much slower than I wanted I needed to break into a trot – me and my rum sack with my computer in it- and I completely forgot what trotting meant.

But, huffing and puffing I finally make my gate one minute prior to take off. “Can I still board?” “Yes you can, Mr. Jefferson.”

Straightened my back, stood erectly and proudly boarded my plane.


Post-mortem: I thought if I made that flight I would order not one, but two Miller Lites. Unfortunately it was announced that the flight to Austin would take 27 minutes and there would be no in flight service. So, I just sat there and worried if my backpack would arrive: a) on time, since it was checked very late, and b) with rum in tact after being thrown around with the rest of the cargo.

Post-mortem 2: The backpack arrived on time and safely. Including my cellphone which I had kept in there because I would need to use to call Cindy to let her know when I arrived in the US. Since I wasn’t able to call her from Houston, she went on emergency alert, trying to find out if anyone could check on my flight status (she was driving from Dallas to Austin). When I finally was able to call her at the Austin Baggage Claim she was obviously happy but across town because she had assumed I wouldn’t be on time and so she had time to do other things.

Post-mortem 3: Monday after finally arriving home, I get a call from Citi Bank that someone in some town in India is trying to buy $6,300 worth of jewelry with my credit card number.

If it’s not one thing then it’s another.