SSS

So I have considered writing a post about my wedding numerous times. I have a lot to say. I am not necessarily avoiding it. I just need a few more days to really wrap my head around the whole eperience. So, until then I have decided to simply recount a funny experience from our honeymoon adventure to the Bahamas.

Note: If you ever have three S's on the bottom right hand corner of your plane ticket, it means the airline safety folks have randomly chosen you to be extensively searched and patted down while going through security. This is vital information for my story.

On the way to the Bahamas, Cody and I flew out of XNA the following Sunday after our wedding. Every time I go through security at an airport post 9-11 I feel like I am in some sort of race. Get my shoes off (pray that you remembered to wear socks). Get out all electronics. Place them in a bin. I need a bin! Make sure all of your liquids, gels, etc. are no larger than 2.5 oz. Place them in plastic bag...you get the picture. It stresses me out. On this day, I happened to forget to take my Vera Bradley credit card holder out of my back pocket. I walked through the metal detector and was asked to "step to the side." Then a woman radioed to someone that she needed a "female assist" at terminal 2. When the "female assist" arrived, the other female told her I had "bolted." What the heck? I tried to explain that I left my coin purse in my pocket on accident, but that didn't fly (pun intended). I was patted down and gawked at by fellow travelers. I was looked at judgingly by the TSA employee and Cody didn't let me live it down for the rest of the trip....No, that is not the funny part of this story. Hang in there.

On our way back from the Bahamas, we again were forced to go through security. It seemed to be a little more strict. I assume because we were trying to get back into the U.S. Nonetheless, at 4:45a.m. we found ourselves being shuffled through the Bahamian airport with me much more cognizant of the security rules since my recent problem with "bolting" at XNA. We got to the security line and I made sure to get everything out of my pockets. My gels and liquids were all neatly tucked in my Ziploc baggie. My ducks were in a serious row. I did however forget to wear socks which kind of grossed me out. I was reprimanded by the worker at the metal detector who sternly told me to walk flat footed as I was trying to tip toe through the process so as to avoid whatever foreign filth that may be on the floor of the Nassau airport. Beyond that little mishap, I thought I really performed well. The detector did not ding and I assumed I was on my way to freedom when I was again asked to step to the side. What do you mean? I don't have anything in my pockets. My gels were correctly zipped. My electronics were all neatly placed in my bin. What did I do wrong???

My bags were immediately checked by some young man. He did a rather haphazard job of searching and told me that I had been singled out because of the "SSS" on the bottom of my ticket. He explained the random selection which made me feel a little better. However, my bare feet were still touching the floor and my security mishap wasn't close to over. A female attendant proceded to pat me down. I had to lift up my feet. I had to have my hands and feet swabbed with some sort of device that I assume checked for bomb residue (who makes bombs with their feet by the way?) I was groped and embarrassed and again gawked at by fellow travelers, including Cody. He loved it. Two out of two times on this honeymoon I was a potential terrorist. Real funny. Still not to the funnny part...stick with me.

We get through immigration. All is well. We start to board the plane and are walking toward the gate. Cody and I are among the first few to reach the wing (pun not intended) of the airport where our flight would depart. As we turn to walk to line up at the gate (keep in mind this it the Bahamas, so the airport was a little shady), a man is asked to step to one side and I am asked to step to the other. Cody also lines up behind me assuming all of us need to stop to have our bag reexamined yet again. No, no, no. Only myself and one other lucky traveler are apparently in store for the bag inspection of the century. Seriously, what is going on?

Cody walks on to the gate which is maybe another 20 feet down this wing. All of the other passengers also walk past the two lucky bag inspection winners. Here comes the sticky part...

As part of a gag gift before my wedding, some friends of mine put together a little gift bag of weird, humorous sex stuff. It included a pleasure pack of flavored condoms, some weird pills (I won't go into details), pain relievers, lubricants, things of that nature. Because I am not particularly familiar with sex and all that it entails, I had thrown a few of these items in my carry on luggage after our wedding. I only kept the logical items (condoms, lubricants, weird pills) because who wants to be caught on their homeymoon without all the right tools. Luckily, all of those tools were in the bags that were going to be checked in front of about 50 passengers headed to Miami...Goodness.

I get pulled to the side. The airport worker asks me to lay my bag flat on the table. Cody had walked to the gate and was turned around staring at me laughing like a crazy person. Others are again looking at me like I am part of a bad car wreck. The airport lady opens the first pocket and all is well. There is a book and passports. Very logical items for a traveler. I realize at this point that I am screwed. I knew that the condoms that the first inspector looked over were going to be discovered. I stood in complete terror. I was suddenly 13 years old trying to hide cigarettes in my backpack (note: I never smoked cigarettes when I was 13). There were women and small children passing by. And this woman was not just looking. She really took her job seriously. She opened the next pocket to find a box of condoms. Instead of steering from this awkward item like any normal person would do, she decided to take all 12 of the assorted flavored condoms out of the box and onto the stage for all to see. The condoms were followed by some lubricants, weird pills, and even some lingere from the trip. After about the third time she looked at me like I was the biggest freak in the world, I offered up that I was on my honeymoon. I thought maybe it would soften the blow of my suitcase of tricks. She continued to search straight-faced and serious. She covered every nook and cranny and displayed it for all the world to see. I was red. I was ashamed. I wanted to crawl into a shell and die. Cody all the time is almost rolling in the line to get on the plane. I am mortified.

She eventually finds my ticket in my hand. She looks at the bottom three S's and informed me that even if I wasn't the first one to walk down the ramp, she still would have searched my bag because I was inflicted with the scarlet letters. I told her those S's have really made for some inconveniences for me. I said they must stand for security, security, security (I am really trying to make nice with this stone cold TSA employee). As she zips my final pocket closed, she looks up from my bag o' sex to say with a sly smile that for me, the S's stand for "sex, sex, sex." Burn.

The Bahamians had the last laugh. I relayed this story to Cody and we couldn't help but laugh hysterically. It was a very fitting end to a honeymoon that we will always remember. We had a lot of fun and enjoyed a much deserved break. There was beach lounging and good food. There was dancing and relaxing. There was a week of goodness for two young people in love. And let's be honest, what else should the S's stand for on your honeymoon?