New York City: The Rest of the Story

This morning my sister and I were exchanging emails regarding an upcoming trip we are taking to Florida.  We are going down to visit my grandparents and introduce Meadow to them for the very first time.  I suspect that meeting Meadow will be an experience, because, well, Meadow is an experience.

I digress.

Ashley and I were exchanging emails ironing out details with things like: do you need a bigger suitcase?  I’ll bring a hair dryer.  What shoes are you taking?  How much luggage are you carrying on?  Are you taking your ipad?  I’m taking my laptop.  Do they have free wi-fi?  


At some point during our conversation I wrote this: Will you be all right if I don’t bring my purse and just give you my wallet?  Clearly, I cannot be trusted to keep my own stuff. 😉 

If Meadow is an experience, well, I’m the stress in an experience.

Remember that beautiful blog post I wrote a few months back?  The one about our glorious dream trip to New York City?  When you read it, didn’t you almost see unicorns and butterflies?  It was almost like we were running through a field of roses(Chad thinks I should use “running through strawberry fields” here, but I think that’s one step too far.) or dancing under a rainbow, right?

Almost, but not quite.

The trip was great right up until the last couple of hours.  Bags were packed, hotel room picked up, rooms keys ready for check out.  I grabbed my coat just as Chad was grabbing the bags. We were ready to have a quick lunch with friends before we headed to the airport.

That’s when it happened.

I reached into my coat pocket, where during the previous four days, I had placed my hand and grasped two items–a credit card and my drivers license.  Granted, not the best place for these items. I vividly remembered each and every day, placing my hands on these items.  While walking through Central Park, taking in Times Square, experiencing the High Line, the 9-11 Museum, the subway, and street vendors, it was there.  Day light, night life, every single walk through the city and diner meal consumed, my hand rested and played with these two, very important, items.

But not this time.  This time I placed my hands into my coat pocket and felt just one item.  I pulled it out and stared at my credit card.  My mind quickly processed what was happening while my hand reached into the other coat pocket.  Then my hands reached into my jeans pockets and were met with emptiness.  I felt my face turning red and a lump form in my throat as I reached for my camera bag and frantically checked every nook and cranny for a small, flat object that held my picture, my eye color, my height and my weight.

My search was fruitless.  I looked up at Chad with my best pathetic puppy dog eye look and gave him the news. . .  I can’t find my license. 

For anyone who has even the slightest familiarity with airline travel, it is common knowledge that a drivers license is a  the golden ticket.  Chad looked at me with very little shock (we’ve been married for 13 years–this is kind of par for the course with me.).

After a quick re-search of my coat pockets and camera bag my utterly patient husband picked up the phone and called TSA.  (Aka: airline gods)

The lump made its home in my throat while I held my head in shame and listened to Chads end of the conversation. . . in New York. . . supposed to fly home. . . lost ID. . . only has one credit card. . . no other ID. . wait yes. . . she has a business card!  It will work?  Oh, great!  We are set.

I could barely believe my ears!  Seriously?  A trusty SummerK Photography business card will get me on an airplane?  It seemed too good to be true.  We made it in time to meet our friends for lunch and I anxiously awaited the process of boarding the plane without my drivers licence.

We took a car service to the airport and I felt my anxiety growing.  You know, when something feels too good to be true, it probably is.

When we walked into LaGuardia airport we were greeted by a chipper gentleman who genuinely seemed to love his job.  He smiled and made easy conversation, so we felt compelled to share our plight.

After hearing that I traveled to NYC with ONLY two forms of identification, he unsuccessfully hid his laughter and offered a few encouragements. . . don’t worry, they will probably let you through, they just might have to do a deep cavity search beforehand.  

Very funny for everyone who was not me.  After seeing my face go pale he changed his story, Don’t worry.  You shouldn’t have a problem, it really just depends on which TSA agent you get.

Truer words have not been spoken.

With sweaty palms and a heartbeat that I’m sure anyone within a 50 foot radius could hear, I made my way through the line and finally reached the official looking official in the blue clothes and badges.

Once again, with Chad standing by my side, I explained my plight and the official looking official stared blankly at me and repeated you must have two forms of ID to enter, and then preceded to list acceptable forms of identification.  I made another attempt to explain, while holding out my credit card and cute little business card, I do not have any other ID.  Two more times the official looking (and very cold) official stared stoically and explained that I needed two acceptable forms of ID to pass through security.

Okay, I’ll admit, this is when tears welled up in my eyes and I looked at the official looking official in blue clothes with badges and asked, what am I supposed to do?  He was unmoved by my puppy dog eyes and told me to step aside and then looked at Chad and told him to go through.  While Chad told the official looking official that he was not going to leave me, I was tearfully envisioning what my new life in New York would look like.

Chad stepped beside me and whispered, don’t cry.  Yeah, I wish it were that easy.  I’m basically jelly around anyone who threatens to hold me captive in New York City.

The official looking official then shuts down his line (yes, I’m sure the hundred people behind me appreciated the Ohioans at the front of the line) and left his station.  I stood there shaking while Chad repeated over and over, it’s going to be fine, don’t cry.  

After a few moments the uniformed agent returned and looked at Chad and I sternly and instructed us, I’m going to ask you a series of questions.  You have to answer these by yourself.  You can not look at your phone and he, he looked at Chad, cannot help you. 

My mind was racing just as fast as my heart.  I could feel sweat beads forming on my forehead and I’m sure that days deodorant had become completely useless.  What is he going to ask me?  The square root of 85?  The process of photosynthesis?  Or, God forbid, the meaning of life?

Nope, those weren’t the questions.  They were harder.

What is your email address? he asked.  (I have four email addresses)
What college did you attend? (I attended four)
What is your phone number?  (I think I got that one right.)
What was the make and model of your first car? (What?  I’m still trying to remember my email address.)

Thankfully, without a word, he let us through.  But wait–that’s not all.

We passed through the security checkpoint and removed our shoes and prepared to place everything in the bins to go through the x-ray scanner-thing (yes, I believe that’s the official term.)  That’s when another agent calls Chad over and asks him to come to a back room to check him for gun powder residue.  (Apparently, Chad and I are very threatening looking people.)  Chad, of course, does as he’s asked and quickly hands me his things to put through security scanner thing.

Did you know that air blows through those x-ray machines?  I’m not talking about a little breeze–I’m talking gale force winds.  Did you know that you probably shouldn’t place your paper-weight boarding pass on the very top of all your other stuff to travel through the wind-filled scanner thing?

I didn’t know that.

As I gathered all of our stuff from the bins on the other side of the x-ray scanner-thing I noticed that a very important paper was missing–yep, my boarding pass.

Seriously, you just can’t make this stuff up.  Yes, I lost my boarding pass.

By this time I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.  I imagined that God must be sending me a sign that I was supposed to stay in NYC.  I mean, certainly, it couldn’t merely be that I am an irresponsible person?

We made our way to our gate, at the very end of LaGuardia airport, and I was a hot mess of panic and anxiety.  I made my way to the gate desk and, once again, explained to a official looking official in blue, my similar, but new, plight.  He response was quick and to the point, I just need two forms of ID. . . . 

I could not believe this was happening.  This time, the tears just flowed.  I explained to the gentleman behind the desk what we had just gone through and begged him with the most pathetic look I could muster to just let us through.  He smiled compassionately, and printed me another boarding pass and sent us on our way.

I found my seat and cried like a baby.

The moral of the story?  Place your ID in a secure place.
The lesson learned?  It really does depend which TSA agent you get.  It’s the luck of the draw. 

The reason I wrote this story?  I’ve finally moved past the emotional trauma of the experience and can talk about it. (Kidding.)  I write about it because it’s funny and laughter is good.  (Even if you’re laughing at me.)

And, if by miracle there is anyone still reading this, a few photos from the week. . .

After months away from the creek behind my in-laws house, we found our way back.  We just couldn’t wait any longer before introducing Taza to one of our favorite places. . .

It was beyond cold, so we did what most people would do.  We built a fire. . .

The next day the sun came out and the temperature hit nearly 50 degrees.  In the summertime that would feel cold, but in the winter, it feels like summer.  The kids begged us to go back. . .

It was a beautiful winter afternoon. . .

And Taza fit in perfectly. . .

MLK day on Monday gave us a long weekend which always makes for a happy family.  We did a little nature exploration. . .

Puppy playing. . .

Snowball making. . .

Our freezer is now filled with two buckets of snowballs “to be used this summer”. . .

And we enjoyed a little bit every bit of downtime that is food to our souls. . .

And if you’ve actually made it this far, I celebrate your endurance (and hope you smiled.)

Have a lovely day!