“So your name isn’t Sally by any chance is it?” he asked me.
“No sir, my name is Kim.”
“I was just asking because I see that you drive a Mustang. You know back in the sixties there was a super popular song called ‘Mustang Sally’ “ I had to laugh that he thought he had to tell me about the song, as if it wasn’t one of my favorites.
“Sure, I got the reference,” I told him with a laugh. “I have a thing about Mustangs so it is actually one of my favorite songs. I also have a 1967 Mustang at home.”
“No kidding?!” he replied. “I used to have a 67 Mustang myself, but that was many years ago. It was a GT and had a huge engine in it. I’ll bet it would be worth a fortune today.”
“I’ll bet that kind of irritates you huh? Wish you still had it?”
“Nah, not really. It got to the point where you couldn’t get the leaded gas for it, and its performance suffered. These days they choke a car to death with all of the emissions stuff and you just don’t get the performance that you used to get.”
“Oh I don’t know. That little red Mustang there only has a six cylinder but it still has 305 horsepower AND gets 33 MPG on the highway. I’m pretty happy with its performance and I can actually afford to drive it.”
I think I’m gonna change my name to “Grace”. As I was entering the Austin airport, the wheels on my toolbox got caught in a joint in the sidewalk and I ended up dropping the handle. As I crouched down to pick up the toolbox, my suitcase fell over and damned near took me with it since I was crouched down and wearing platform heels. Yep – once again the very definition of grace and beauty here!
I was making my way through the long “premium” passenger line at the TSA check point when I noticed two older guys in front of me debating if they were in the right line or not. They both reminded me of my mothers last husband who had been the very definition of a macho man. Body builder, motor cycle riding, sports watching – you know the kind. Anyway, they apparently couldn’t decide on their own, and so they turned to me.
“So just what is a “premium” passenger?“, he asked me.
“When you fly a lot, you get status with the airline. Eventually you get enough points that they consider you a premium passenger and you get perks like this line.” I replied to them.
“So does this mean that we are premium or not?” He asked me, holding out his ticket and showing me where it said “Priority Boarding” on his ticket.
“No sir, that just means that you get to board the airplane before most people. This on the other hand is a really handy thing to have right now!” I told him, pointing at the “TSA Pre-Check” typed in large and bold letters on his ticket. “This means you get to use an even shorter line and you don’t have to take your shoes off, or take stuff out of your bag.”
“No way?!” he asked, not quite believing his good fortune.
“Sure. The TSA pre-check line is right over there, and if I were you, I would get out of this one and get in that one.” I told them, pointing to the other side of the security check point where there was a large sign saying “TSA Pre-check only”
“Hey that’s great – thanks!” they both told me, and then they did indeed get out of our long line to go to the empty TSA Pre-check line. Once I had made my way through security, I headed down the concourse toward my gate, and I happened to pass these two again. The one that reminded me of my mother’s last husband saw me as I was walking by.
“Hey! Thanks for helping us through the line . . .” he loudly told me.
“You’re most welcome.” I replied, but I spoke just a bit too soon, because apparently he wasn’t done speaking.
“. . . dude” he completed his sentence. Yep, no doubt about it that this asshole reminds me a lot of my mother’s husband because I never liked him either . . .