That’s right, ole Merle’s a terrorist or at least that’s what them fellers in the white shirts with the Wheaties badges at the airport tell me. Time for a little explaining. Now I don’t like to fly. There’s something about having my tootsies 25,000 feet above mother earth that makes me a tad queezie. Every damn time we take off I'm inclined to holler “Lord take me,” which makes folks around me a bit nervous but eventually they get over it. Occasionally my company wants to send me some place to help some fellers repair their Caterpillar equipment, which wouldn’t need to be repaired if they'd just take care of it in the first place, but that’s another story! So now twice this past year I've had to get my butt on a plane and fly somewhere.
Now I do have a routine that helps my flying fear a little and that's to stop in to the bar there at the airport and knock down a couple of Jim Beam’s to numb my senses. It serves the same purpose as a tranquilizer, just tastes better. Anyhow, last Spring I had to fly to Wyoming to help some fellers do some repair work and I’ll be damned if I didn’t get into trouble going through security on account of my travel kit. I ain’t lying to ya. I get in the security line and take my boots off and right away folks start staring at me. Now, forgetting to wear your socks can happen to anybody, but at least on the bright side it did clear a path for me. So just like you’re supposed to I put my boots in a bin and set my travel bag on the conveyor belt. After a couple of tries getting through that metal detector thing, you know, belt buckle, change and bottle opener, I was standing there awaiting my bag.
Well the first thing I noticed was the feller looking at that little TV screen that shows you X-Ray shots of people’s underwear and such. He was in an ill humor and he shouts to one of his buddies, “Hey, damn it, we need to check this bag.” I pondered that and thought, “What the hell for?” So this young buck with a Wheaties badge strolls up like Marshal Dillon and says, “I need your permission to go through your bag.” So I said, “Hey, knock yourself out, “and he gave me one of them dirty looks. He opens my bag and pulls out my travel kit and says “You can’t use this anymore; I need to look through it.” Now imagine that. We’re talking about a travel kit for your tooth paste, razor, shaving cream and Old Spice cologne and he’s saying that’s not what it’s for. Anyhow I said “Sure, just don’t palm the tooth brush too much.” Next thing I know he pulls my tube of Colgate “Max Fresh with mini breath strips” toothpaste from the bag holds it up and glares at me. “What’s this?” he says. “Toothpaste," I says thinking he’s an ignoramus cause it says toothpaste right on the tube. “Well this is banned; it’s six ounces and you’re only allowed four ounces or less.” I pondered that for a second and then said the first thing that came to my mind, “You’re shittin me right?” Well I guess that was the wrong thing to say, because I got a two minute lecture on banned items, clear plastic bags, and he didn’t care to tolerate any smart asses. He was looking at me when he said that. Well, long story short he confiscated my toothpaste and I was allowed to go on my way. In the future if I ever see that commercial about “Fly the friendly skies” and I’m apt to throw my beer at the TV.
Well now I pondered that right after hollerin “Lord take me” when we took off and tried to imagine hijacking a plane with a six ounce tube of toothpaste and I was damned if I could figure it out. I mean what the hell would a feller do, stand up and scream, “Hey, I’m taking over this plane and we’re going to Havana! Try and stop me and I’m gonna squeeze my tube of tooth paste from the center and freshen everybody’s breath!!!!” Damn perplexing if you ask me.
But I’m not finished. It’s even more complicated than that this airport security stuff. I had to fly again last week on account some morons messed their perfectly good Caterpillar up by being ignoramuses so I made sure to comply with the rules this time. I bought them little tiny products at the Supermarket including that problem product toothpaste. I couldn’t find any of the Max Fresh so I settled on one of them baby tubes with “Extra Whitener.” Then I put all them little tad poles in a clear plastic bag and packed her away in my travel bag. Hell, I even remembered to put some socks on this time! I get to security and I proudly put my boots in the bin and set my travel bag on the conveyor. I even got through the metal detector first time through on account I packed my belt and beer opener in the travel bag. I figured it was clear sailing from there.
Then I noticed the guy watching TV was really in an agitated state of mind and I figured he’d probably been looking at X-Ray’s of people’s underwear all day and was getting tired of it. Sure enough he yells out, “I need somebody to inspect this guy’s bag!” What? So here comes some gal with the white shirt and the Wheaties badge on and she says the same damn thing, “I need your permission to look into your bag.” Well I wasn’t gonna say “Knock yourself out,” so I simply said “Yes Mam.” I’ll be damned if she didn’t pull my clear plastic bag with the chunk sized toiletries out of my travel bag and hold it up in front of me. She said the following and I’m not making this up. “This bag is too large, you’re only allowed 7” by 7 3/4” bags. They’re known as Texas Quarts. And you need to place them in the bin with your shoes.” Now what in hell are you going to say to that? That’s right, I looked at her and I said, “You’re shittin me right.” But no, she was as serious as a Priest. Well I begged her pardon and told her I’d submit to a toiletries rehabilitation program when I returned from my trip and she told me I had better shut my pie hole and I’d better make damn sure I followed the rules or I’d be doing some hard time next time through. Damn, there's them "Friendly Skies" again!
I’ve really been pondering this problem I have with airports and my subsequent choice of toothpaste. I even put this issue to the test the other night. I went into Hootie’s Bar and walked right up to Dave the bartender and I pulled out my 44 caliber tube of Colgate and pointed it at him and demanded all his money. He looked at my brother Byron who was sitting there hanging on to his bar stool for dear life and said, “Your brother’s acting like a dumb ass again,” and then he poured me my Beam and a Beer. I asked him if the toothpaste hadn’t at least made him the least bit worried to which he replied, “Well ya, I ain’t been to a dentist in twenty one years and one of my molars is bothering me. Seeing that tube of toothpaste reminded me I’ll probably have to go and get her yanked.” Well, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind. All I know is if I’m one of them there terrorists, I’d damn well better only bring the bomb and make damn sure and leave the travel bag and toothpaste at home. Now ponder that one!
Now I do have a routine that helps my flying fear a little and that's to stop in to the bar there at the airport and knock down a couple of Jim Beam’s to numb my senses. It serves the same purpose as a tranquilizer, just tastes better. Anyhow, last Spring I had to fly to Wyoming to help some fellers do some repair work and I’ll be damned if I didn’t get into trouble going through security on account of my travel kit. I ain’t lying to ya. I get in the security line and take my boots off and right away folks start staring at me. Now, forgetting to wear your socks can happen to anybody, but at least on the bright side it did clear a path for me. So just like you’re supposed to I put my boots in a bin and set my travel bag on the conveyor belt. After a couple of tries getting through that metal detector thing, you know, belt buckle, change and bottle opener, I was standing there awaiting my bag.
Well the first thing I noticed was the feller looking at that little TV screen that shows you X-Ray shots of people’s underwear and such. He was in an ill humor and he shouts to one of his buddies, “Hey, damn it, we need to check this bag.” I pondered that and thought, “What the hell for?” So this young buck with a Wheaties badge strolls up like Marshal Dillon and says, “I need your permission to go through your bag.” So I said, “Hey, knock yourself out, “and he gave me one of them dirty looks. He opens my bag and pulls out my travel kit and says “You can’t use this anymore; I need to look through it.” Now imagine that. We’re talking about a travel kit for your tooth paste, razor, shaving cream and Old Spice cologne and he’s saying that’s not what it’s for. Anyhow I said “Sure, just don’t palm the tooth brush too much.” Next thing I know he pulls my tube of Colgate “Max Fresh with mini breath strips” toothpaste from the bag holds it up and glares at me. “What’s this?” he says. “Toothpaste," I says thinking he’s an ignoramus cause it says toothpaste right on the tube. “Well this is banned; it’s six ounces and you’re only allowed four ounces or less.” I pondered that for a second and then said the first thing that came to my mind, “You’re shittin me right?” Well I guess that was the wrong thing to say, because I got a two minute lecture on banned items, clear plastic bags, and he didn’t care to tolerate any smart asses. He was looking at me when he said that. Well, long story short he confiscated my toothpaste and I was allowed to go on my way. In the future if I ever see that commercial about “Fly the friendly skies” and I’m apt to throw my beer at the TV.
Well now I pondered that right after hollerin “Lord take me” when we took off and tried to imagine hijacking a plane with a six ounce tube of toothpaste and I was damned if I could figure it out. I mean what the hell would a feller do, stand up and scream, “Hey, I’m taking over this plane and we’re going to Havana! Try and stop me and I’m gonna squeeze my tube of tooth paste from the center and freshen everybody’s breath!!!!” Damn perplexing if you ask me.
But I’m not finished. It’s even more complicated than that this airport security stuff. I had to fly again last week on account some morons messed their perfectly good Caterpillar up by being ignoramuses so I made sure to comply with the rules this time. I bought them little tiny products at the Supermarket including that problem product toothpaste. I couldn’t find any of the Max Fresh so I settled on one of them baby tubes with “Extra Whitener.” Then I put all them little tad poles in a clear plastic bag and packed her away in my travel bag. Hell, I even remembered to put some socks on this time! I get to security and I proudly put my boots in the bin and set my travel bag on the conveyor. I even got through the metal detector first time through on account I packed my belt and beer opener in the travel bag. I figured it was clear sailing from there.
Then I noticed the guy watching TV was really in an agitated state of mind and I figured he’d probably been looking at X-Ray’s of people’s underwear all day and was getting tired of it. Sure enough he yells out, “I need somebody to inspect this guy’s bag!” What? So here comes some gal with the white shirt and the Wheaties badge on and she says the same damn thing, “I need your permission to look into your bag.” Well I wasn’t gonna say “Knock yourself out,” so I simply said “Yes Mam.” I’ll be damned if she didn’t pull my clear plastic bag with the chunk sized toiletries out of my travel bag and hold it up in front of me. She said the following and I’m not making this up. “This bag is too large, you’re only allowed 7” by 7 3/4” bags. They’re known as Texas Quarts. And you need to place them in the bin with your shoes.” Now what in hell are you going to say to that? That’s right, I looked at her and I said, “You’re shittin me right.” But no, she was as serious as a Priest. Well I begged her pardon and told her I’d submit to a toiletries rehabilitation program when I returned from my trip and she told me I had better shut my pie hole and I’d better make damn sure I followed the rules or I’d be doing some hard time next time through. Damn, there's them "Friendly Skies" again!
I’ve really been pondering this problem I have with airports and my subsequent choice of toothpaste. I even put this issue to the test the other night. I went into Hootie’s Bar and walked right up to Dave the bartender and I pulled out my 44 caliber tube of Colgate and pointed it at him and demanded all his money. He looked at my brother Byron who was sitting there hanging on to his bar stool for dear life and said, “Your brother’s acting like a dumb ass again,” and then he poured me my Beam and a Beer. I asked him if the toothpaste hadn’t at least made him the least bit worried to which he replied, “Well ya, I ain’t been to a dentist in twenty one years and one of my molars is bothering me. Seeing that tube of toothpaste reminded me I’ll probably have to go and get her yanked.” Well, that wasn’t quite what I had in mind. All I know is if I’m one of them there terrorists, I’d damn well better only bring the bomb and make damn sure and leave the travel bag and toothpaste at home. Now ponder that one!
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