En Route

"Window seat or aisle seat?" the stewardess says to me at the check in counter. I think about it for a moment while she adjusts her neck scarf.

"Do they make you wear those things?" I ask her; and point to the ugliness that is strangling her. It looks itchy.

"Yep. It sucks. So...window?" she says and starts punching the keys. I tell her aisle. There's nothing worse than stepping over two other people every time you have to go to the bathroom.

"Are you checking both bags?" she asks as I lift the bigger one onto the scale.

"No, just the one." I tell her. My carry-on has my laptop, my scripts, and everything else I can't live without; like flip flops. I can't wait to kick off my winter boots and slip my stark white feet into some sandals once I reach L.A. It's been too long...

"OK," she says. "You're all set." and hands me back my passport and boarding pass. I tell her thanks, and watch my lonely piece of luggage meander down the conveyor belt. The next time I see it; will be 5 hours from now.

I walk towards Customs to be strip searched like a potential terrorist. I wish Consuela was here. Why isn't she here? She could be sourcing out Taco stands while I'm in my pitch meetings. Must remember to legalize her visa when I get back...

"Hey," I say to the guy whose job it is to wear a uniform that is two sizes too big for him, and monitor the garbage bin that we all have to throw our liquids in.

"Morning," he says and gives me a smile. I dig my water bottle out of my purse and swig back as much as I can before throwing it in the bin.

"You think if I can drink from it, then it wouldn't be an issue, hey?" I goad him with a smile and walk towards the metal detectors. He laughs, "Have a safe flight," and then turns to save the world from the next water bottle that is approaching.

I kick off my shoes and grab a bin while I wait for the fat man in front of me to take off his cufflinks...and belt...and cell phone pocket holder...and gold necklace...

This could be a while.

I start to look around and think about everything that brought me to this moment, and how the next few days may or may not change my whole life. I've got big dreams and bigger balls, and all I really need is for someone to take me seriously. I pull my carry-on a little closer to me. My hopes and dreams are in there. All I want to do is get paid to tell good stories; something I think I'm actually pretty good at. Words have always come easy to me...and besides, I've got a thing or two I want to share with the world before I say adios.

"Ma'am," the slightly plump and overworked Customs Official says to me, "please place your belongings in the bin. If you have a laptop, please remove it and place it outside of it's case. Remove all metal, including any jewellery and pocket change. Place your shoes in a separate bin along with any liquids that must be contained in a clear plastic ziplock-type of baggie that can be no larger than this one here," she says and holds up an example.

I smile as I pull out my own little baggie and waive it in front of her to see, before placing in the bin. The fat man is being wanded down by some little Customs Official who may or may not have a slight case of downs syndrome...or is he just cross-eyed? In any case, he has his job cut out for him.

And so, I begin to dismantle my carry-on, being careful not to disturb any of my scripts lest they crinkle or god-forbid, rip.

And I wait my turn, standing there shoeless; behind the fat man -- so the down syndromey guy can wand me all over too.