My friend Matt just did a test so he could start working in the security department in the airport which is awesome because he needs to get some cash together to import me to the United States and I earn about as much as a junior rower on a Viking slaveship in South Africa. So next time a bomb goes off or someone releases cages of pheromone-crazy snakes on a plane and everyone goes, “How did they get past security?” you’ll know that it’s all his fault and you can point to pictures of Matt and say, “That’s how.” I don’t normally like to mock the people I love but if he let a bunch of pheromone-crazy snakes get on a plane he deserves it.
Anyway I’m going to the UK in September for a job fair with my colleague Kat. Kat was supposed to go on the trip alone and then she was freaking out and not wanting to go because she had a dream about engine failure and became convinced that she was going to die in a horrible plane crash on the way to England and as she was telling us this, she got an email and she got all excited and was like, “Hey, Ess, guess what? YOU ARE COMING WITH ME TO THE UK!!” and now I’m going to die. But then DW pointed out that it’s better to die on the plane than to escape Death and have him string you up in the shower like those Final Destination movies. (This is also the story of how I got back on anti-anxiety meds.)
And I’m nervous that they are going to lock me up for being a terrorist. Not that I am. But that’s exactly the kind of thing I would get arrested for.
So I asked Matt for some travel tips and he was like, “Don’t pack tampons.”
Apparently tampons look like C4 under the X-ray machine. And now I’m terrified that the security guards are going to think I’m packing explosives and are going to make me open my suitcase and they’ll find my travel size S&M whip, my porn-star bra, my self-help books and all the illegal meat and dried goods my aunt is going to send my cousin in Ireland just in case I manage to “swing by there” during my stay in London. And my C4.
I hate travelling.