So, we’re about to leave LarryLand to head to North Myrtle Beach South Carolina.  As always with long flights, this entails having to travel in the early morning when we have the mental acuity of a small child (in other words, my normal state).

For that reason, I always leave the travel planning to my virtuous wife.  If I were left in charge, we’d be leaving on a plane for someplace like Kazakhstan where we’d be promptly sold for parts. “Look, there’s another clueless American. Let’s Sell Him for Parts.” they’d be saying upon our arrival.

In any case, we arrive at the airport bags in hands. We go to the check-in kiosk, and I realized that my wife has her TSA number for her boarding pass, but mine is not there. My initial thought is that my wife is smarter I think because she gets to go on vacation and I get to spend the next week here in line with Gen-Pop.

Do you remember that episode of Seinfeld (yes, dating myself because – let’s face it – who else would date me?) where Jerry is in First Class and Elaine is in Baggage?  Yep – it’s like that. We get into the line – her in TSA Pre-Check, me without in the longer, slower moving line. She sails through – shows her ID, smiles for the photo, breezes through security with shoes on feet. Me, well I stand in line behind people trying to board the plane using their luggage tags as ID.

I finally make it to the TSA agent who looks at me as I hand over my “Real ID” (my fake ID shows me as 16 still).  Then he solemnly looks at me and says, “your information does not match”.  Apparently, I have to go back to the terminal, wait through baggage line (which I’ll admit I cut through), and face down an agent at the desk. The agent will proceed to click on about 10,000 keys in some random order as required by FAA regulations.

And then Miracle #1 happens.  She puts in my real birthdate and not only does everything now match but my TSA number is now on my new boarding pass.  TSA – Yay!

So, now it’s my turn – I get into TSA Pre-Check line.  There are not many people here – about 10 smiling happy travelers.  An agent looks at us all carefully.  As if to separate the wheat from the chaff, she says “ok, now you all have your Pre-Check numbers, right?”  I proudly look at her and say “why, Yes I Do!”.

Her response was “Good, some people have been jumping in line.”  I cannot help myself. Keeping true to my ability to make an idiot of myself in public places, I look and say, “Can I jump in line too?” proceeded by hopping up and down. After all, why should they have all the fun, right?

Miracle #2 happens:  Instead of calling upon burly TSA agents to tackle me with the force of a professional football player, she actually smiles and says, “Where did you get that cuppa coffee?” I said something like “I’d buy you a up, but how do I bring it to you?” Her response – they’d probably kick us both out of line.

If you think this is the end of our story, then you apparently do not know me particularly well.

It’s time to pass my new boarding pass and Real ID (apparently ever other form of ID is not real) to the second TSA agent.  He has me stand in front of a “photo optional” screen. I suppose that it is optional only in the way that continuing to breathe is optional; if you do not, you’ll probably end up back in Gen-Pop for a security screening of your cavities.  [Side Note – cavities?  What, did they reach out to my dentist?]

The thing is this – NOWHERE does it state that you can’t photobomb yourself. Yes, somewhere in the bowels of Homeland Security, some poor agent is looking at a photo of me smiling while making rabbit ears behind my head.

Guantanamo Bay – here I come……