Trinitrotoluene

I have no luck with airports or cell phones (dead battery).

I missed my flight. This is my own fault. I should have been up earlier. I know we wanted to get more sleep but it was the wrong choice.

I got to the Denver Airport and saw the very long line for check-in. As soon as I got into the line that little voice inside me said, "You're going to miss your flight." Aw man. I get to the front of the line after a half hour runs by and the computer says I'm too late for check-in. Justifiable, it was 20 minutes before take off. The nice lady at the economy check-in desk told me to go to another line to rebook.

I make my way and behind me in that line was a very nice Japanise man. He was so nice that I knew what kind of soap he used that morning. I'm trying to smush my way away from the nice Japanise man but he keeps getting closer. He tries to strike up a conversation but his English is very broken.

I get to the front of the self-dubbed "Loser Line" and I inform the clerk that I missed my flight. What are my options? Stand-by. Great. The next flight for Salt Lake City boards at 8:30. It was 7:45 by now. I'm placed on stand by and I ask what the procedure is. I show up at the gate and wait. Great. I take my stand-by ticket and make my way to the most confusing cheese at the end of the maze security line I have ever seen.

I switchback my way back and forth. I hand my stand-by ticket and ID to the lady. Soon thereafter, I am then ushered to the random super security line. Little puffs of air infuse my body, almost refreshing. I remove my bag, shoes, jacket, scarf and hat to be sent through the x-ray machine. After the x-ray machine they take my bag and test it for explosive residue.

I remember when they were doing this just after September 11th. They take the little wand and that little patch of cloth and rub it on the contact points of the bags. Cool.

The lady takes the little patch out of the wand and places it into the explosives sniffer thingie. A buzzer goes off on my little patch of cloth. She looks at me. I'm reclothing myself. Then the question: "Has this bag been out of your posession since you packed it?"

My eyes widen. Bigger than saucers. "No."

She talked into her radio, "I need a supervisor at lane 11." A chipper older gentleman comes to her rescue. Looking at the printout from the explosivers sniffer thingie he informs me that my bag tested positive for TNT. Eyes widen more.

Come again?

Recall what is on my bag. First, it's an Army bag with a flag on it; printed on it are the letters US. What could those stand for? Second, I'm wearing an Army sweater, only the trained eye could see that one. The supervisor asked, "Are you military?"

"Yes."

"Have you been in contact with ammunitions that might have rubbed of onto your bag."

"Not lately."

"Have you been overseas?"

"Yes but that bag didn't go with me."

I think he saw the state of confusion on my face and that there is nothing I would want to do to hurt civilians of this great country so he filled out some paperwork and sent me on my way. I thanked him for keeping us safe and he returned the thank you. I'm not a terrorist.

I make my way to the gate and to the lady that is holding my fate on this flight.

"I've never been on stand-by. What's the procedure?"

"Is your name Sabo (pronuce SAW bo)?"

"Yep." What's the point in arguing?

"I have a seat for you."

Yes, this is my life.