First off, I hope everyone had a lovely and safe Thanksgiving. I made a quick trip to my parents' house, and it was very nice, except for the crap I got for taking two naps in 36 hours. ("Every time you come here, all you do is SLEEP!" they said. I HAVE been pretty tired the past couple of times I've gone. But the naps were only like an hour long! And everyone else took one too! And in my defense, I'm not anti-social about it. I don't go up to a bedroom like a normal person. I fall asleep on the floor with the TV blaring and people stepping on me and plates banging five feet away in the kitchen. So that counts for something ... right?)
Anyway. Back to the subject at hand.
Exhibit A: I'm in the security line at the airport and I get pulled to the side: "Ma'am, we're going to need to look through your bag."
Security guy: I'll wait for you to put your shoes back on.
Me, precariously close to missing my flight: No, it's OK. Go ahead.
Security guy: It looks like you might have packed something against the guidelines ...
Me (thinking this was just one of those random checks): Wait ... what?
Security guy: ... so I just need to go through and check everything.
Security guy starts pulling stuff out of my bag. Book, notebook, another book, leftover tampon from the last trip ...
Security guy: Maybe that's it.
Me: What? A tampon? Seriously?
Security guy: Maybe.
Me: Well, you can just get rid of it. I don't need it or anything. It's, like, you know, I just keep it in there for emergency or whatever.
Security guy starts going through my makeup bag and holds up a tube of Carmex: Actually, I bet this is it. This is supposed to be in a Ziploc bag, you know.
Me: For REAL?
Security guy holds up some mascara: This too.
Security guy: Yeah. We're going to have to send these through again in a plastic bag.
Security guy, handing me back my smashed tampon: The good news is, I think this is OK.
I'm tempted to blurt out one of the many potentially witty responses that come to mind, but I resist. Airport security guys aren't always known for their senses of humor.
Exhibit B: I get back into town and go shopping today with my friend Allee. We go to the rich people mall because I'm scared to go alone. See, there are regular malls, the ones with the Gap and H&M and Macy's, and then there are the rich people malls. The ones with Saks and Louis Vitton and just ... RICH PEOPLE STORES. I need Allee to go with me because I'm afraid I'm going to walk in and some invisible laser will scan my wallet and set off flashing lights and a blaring alarm and I'll be unceremoniously tossed out on my common, middle-class little ass like the fraud that I am.
Anyway, that's not why I shouldn't leave the house. It's because of the reason I wanted to go to the rich person mall in the first place. I went to the rich person mall to buy ... makeup. Yes, makeup, and, yes, I'm kind of cringing right now admitting it. I spent the most obscene amount of money on makeup EVER! It's really sort of embarrassing what I spent. Let's see ... put it this way. I went to Walgreen's and got buy-one-get-one-free Almay mascara for a total of $7.03. What I spent on two mascaras at Walgreen's was almost as much as my sales tax for two things at the rich person mall. My SALES TAX!
I swear it will last me like two years though. For real. I looked online and someone really said hers lasted that long. So when I think about it that way, it's not so bad. It's a LITTLE bad. But not, like, HORRIBLE. OK, when you think about starving children on the other side of the world, it's horrible. But ... OK, I'm going to stop now.
Exhibit C: I get home, I start winding down, and it occurs to me that, at some point in the next 24 hours, I'm going to want to eat the rest of the pumpkin pie my mom sent back with me. It HAS to get eaten this weekend, because I've got to start being good again on Monday. Only problem? No whipped cream. I absolutely cannot eat pumpkin pie without whipped cream. So I go back and forth on it, and finally decide to run to the store for whipped cream, just so I have it.
It's 12:30 a.m. I know the grocery store that's two seconds away closes at midnight, so I go to the next closest one. Closed. I go to the next one a little farther down the road and ... flashing lights in my rearview mirror. Shiiiiiiiiiiit.
Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over?
Me (thinking that it had BETTER not be for running a stop sign in an empty parking lot): Umm ... because my registration expired?
Officer: That's right.
Me: Yeah ... I've been meaning to do that. Sorry.
Officer: Can I see your license and insurance?
Me: Yeah. Here's my license. My insurance is definitely here--I totally remember putting it in here--but I have to find it. Hang on. (I start going through the stack of papers in the glove box.) OK, here's 2004 ... 2005 ...
Officer: I'm going to go run your license while you find it.
I find my insurance card two seconds later and wait for the officer to come back. And wait. And wait. He's seriously taking forever, but I'm scared to look over because I don't want him to get pissed. My phone rings. I pick it up and tell the person on the other line to get ready to bail me out of jail, because we're going on 20 minutes, and maybe the officer's mixed me up with some other Swishy with a criminal record and an outstanding warrant and he's calling for backup. I'm not really kidding. He's taking THAT long.
Finally, FINALLY, he comes back: "Sorry, we got this new computer system, and I don't really know how to use it." Fantastic. "OK, I'm citing you for having expired plates, and your court date is ... let's see ... where is it ... your court date is ... there it is! November 26. November 26 at 7 ... Wait. That's today. Well, it's on there somewhere. You can find it later." Super. "And this other one is a ticket for not having insurance."
Me: Whoa, wait a sec. My insurance is right here.
Officer: Well, you should have told me.
OK, last time I checked, you were supposed to stay in your car during a stop so you don't get, I don't know, SHOT AT. I don't say that, though. I don't want to put ideas in his head. Instead, I just hand him my card.
Officer looks at insurance: What's on it?
Me: What do you mean?
Officer: The blotch.
Me: I mean ... I don't know. Lotion, probably. I keep lotion in there.
Officer: Oh. Well, anyway, you should have told me you had it. It's too late now. You'll have to call the courthouse. They might waive the fine, but you'll still have to pay the court costs.
I find this very annoying, since last time I checked it wasn't against the law to take longer than 5.7 seconds to find your insurance card. But I really don't want to be arrested. Or shot. I will save my wrath for the poor lady at the courthouse.
Me: Allllll right.
Officer: What are you doing, anyway?
Me: What do you mean?
Officer: What are you doing out?
Officer: To the grocery store?
Officer: It's closed.
Me: Yeah, I sort of figured once I saw the parking lot.
Officer: What did you want to buy?
Me, thinking it is WAY TOO LATE to pretend to be nice and borderline awkward flirty, considering you just handed me TWO TICKETS when you could have let me go with a wave and a warning: Whipped cream for my leftover pumpkin pie.
Officer: You might want to try Walgreen's.
Officer: Really, you should.
Me: Yeah. Maybe.
Officer: You know, I could have given you tickets for not having a current inspection or emissions sticker, too. So, really, I gave you a break.
Me (dancing on the edge of Sarcasm Street): Well, thanks.
Officer: You're welcome.
Me: OK, well ... have a nice night.
Yeah. Now, not only do I finally have to go through the utterly ARDUOUS process of renewing my registration, I have to fight one ticket and pay another. All because I couldn't wait eight more hours to buy freaking whipped cream. SO annoying.
It could be worse, though. My sister called me while I was shopping and informed me that she went out to dinner and found a pubic hair in her food. Yes, I just said pubic hair. (Me: "Are you SURE that's what it was?" Her: "Um, what ELSE would it be?!?!")
So ... yeah. Definitely could have been worse.