Airplane Story #2: First 16 year old blonde terrorist

My Aunt Sherrie was married in San Diego. I was her maid of honor and was winning-the-lottery excited about the whole thing. I missed school for 4 days, flew to California from Baltimore, and was the maid of honor at a beach wedding. Most exciting of all, I had the world’s largest quesadilla from an authentic Mexican drive-thru restaurant at 3:00 in the morning and it was covered in sour cream.

Anyway, the fun had to end sometime. My dad, my grandparents and I drove to the San Diego airport to find it extremely crowded. We waited in line for at least an hour before receiving news that we were in the “C” boarding group. This was devastating, as it would probably mean that we would spend the 5 hour flight back to Baltimore cramped and separated. My dad decides to take drastic measures to receive “Preboard” status. We get to the ticket counter. 

“My father needs a wheelchair.” At this announcement, my grandfather, who is incredibly healthy and (like the rest of us) has absolutely no prior idea of my dad’s plan, immediately cannot stand on his own. He is hunched over on the counter, legs shaking with the threat to go out at any given moment. I am laughing hysterically through my nose, which sounds a lot like snorting. We get the wheelchair and get in line at security. When we finally get to the metal detector, the TNA agent asks my grandfather if he can get up to walk through the detector on his own.

“Uh, I don’t know sir, I will sure try.” He struggles out of the chair and hobbles through. Again I am laughing uncontrollably. The laughter will soon come to an end.

The guys in charge of the x-ray machine begin beating on each other and whispering. When we get through the detector, they tell my grandmother that there is a problem with her bag. They are swiping it and seem afraid to even open it. My grandmother and I stare at each other, wondering who snuck the bomb into her bag. We get our answer when they pull my purse out of her bag and say: “It’s in here.” My grandmother could have been the fastest draw in the west as she slung her finger at me “Oh that’s hers!” I mentally thank her in my own special way, gulping as I step forward. It is then I notice that the security station has been shut down. Completely shut down, no one in, no one out.

I am freaking. Two police officers come to join the TNA agents. 

“Is this your purse, miss?”

“Yes.”

“What is in here that we should be concerned about?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, but I have absolutely no idea.” I really didn’t. I didn’t think that I had anything dangerous in my purse, aside from my cigarettes, of course. They talk amongst themselves for another 10 minutes until the men in suits and ear pieces come to join the police officers.

“Is this your purse, miss?”

“Yes.”

“What is in here that we should be concerned about?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, but I have absolutely no idea.” I still really didn’t.

“Do you have a butane lighter in here?” Oh shit. At that exact moment I remembered the Uzi-gun shaped lighter my dad gave me months before. It had been rolling around in the bottom of my purse since then and had passed inspection at the Baltimore airport 4 days prior.

“Oh. Yea.”

“What is it shaped like?”

“A gun.” I whispered this part. It seemed like the right thing to do. He looked down, reached into my bag and palmed the lighter, sticking it into his pocket.

“We’re just going to keep this, okay?”

“Sure, no problem.” I then went with the police officers to give my information to the Department of National Security. Blonde sixteen year old, high threat, armed and dangerous.