Monsters—from the Id!

After successfully performing my first marriage (ever) yesterday, we headed back to Chicago. Yes, two flights in one day. We had to get back to the cats. They’re special needs (especially Bubba, who has diabetes insipidus), and it was easier to do the trip in one day rather than have to teach someone how to watch him and Boo-Boo overnight.

Little did we know what I was in for as we approached the TSA checkpoint.

As I’d done in the morning, I stepped into their full-body scanner, and when I walked out, the agent stopped me. Not surprising; they’d wanted to check my waist area at O’Hare for the morning flight because the interface on my pump’s infusion set probably raises a red flag on the scanner. But then they swabbed my hands. What’s up? I wondered as I waited. They swabbed my hands again.

This was starting to get weird.

Finally, this male agent asked me to “step this way,” and I got my first pat-down while another agent looked through my bag. PJ and I initially thought that maybe MSP has an older system than O’Hare that coughs up more false positives, especially since I heard another agent telling someone that the scanners had been “acting up all day.” The pat-down went smoothly. (Of course it did. Why wouldn’t it?) It didn’t hurt that the TSA agent patting me down was kinda cute and very polite. I explained that I used a cane (which was sitting in my TSA tray), and he told me to let him know if I needed to sit down for a few minutes. But I did fine (I figured I could manage, since I hadn’t used my cane during the ceremony), and in short order, I was all done. The agent wished me a good flight, and I replied, “Thanks! I hope you have a good night!” He seemed surprised (in a good way). I guess that isn’t the usual reaction from someone who just got a pat-down for no apparent reason.

As I was reassembling myself (pump clipped back in—I’d disconnected it and put it in the TSA tray—shoes back on, stuff back in pockets—I’d worn shorts I didn’t need a belt with), PJ texted the couple we’d just married to let them know what was up.

Made it through TSA. Alan had to get practically cavity searched. Like all up in his business. We’re thinking it’s something with the shootings.

For anyone who might read this some time from now: According to the Associated Press, early yesterday morning, a guy dressed as a police officer shot Minnesota state representative Melissa Hortman and her husband, and state senator John Hoffman and his wife. Hortman and her husband died. And guess what? The suspect is a 57-year-old white guy.

So, uh, yeah, I get why they might’ve looked at me askance, even though I’m not 6’1″ and 220 lbs.

The plane took off way late (they were probably double-checking every flight to make sure the suspect didn’t sneak aboard, though they claimed it was an “unexpected maintenance issue”), which I wouldn’t have minded if PJ and I hadn’t been tired and ready to be home with our cats. But that touchdown at O’Hare…let’s just say that I thought maybe we’d landed at Midway and were taxiing all the way to O’Hare.

But we made it home, and needless to say, the cats were happy to see us, especially when I gave them tribute (a.k.a. “food plus love and attention”).