My sordid tale begins on that fateful day in September, as I prepared myself to leave Kirtland... The day started off well enough. I woke up, changed, packed the last few things left in my room, and got ready to head out. As the driver was approaching the gate, however, he realized that he left his wallet and ID in his room, meaning that he had to return to the dorm to pick it up if he wanted to get back on base. After that setback of fifteen minutes or so, I was on my way. Or so I thought. I arrived at the airport, and after making my way to the ticket counter, ran into my first troubles of the day. As I was trying to check myself in with my ticket numbers, the screen told me that I needed to speak to an attendant. So I did. After trying in vain for a few exasperating minutes, the attendant informed me that I was "not flying today" because there was no record of me or my tickets in the system. Great. So after a few moments, an attendant who I can only assume had more experience pressed a few keys and told me that they had a seat for me. They proceeded to print out a boarding pass. To Atlanta. Now, I understand that part of my trip requires a layover in Atlanta, but they didn't give me a boarding pass to get on the airplane from Atlanta to St. Louis. They told me to pick it up there in Atlanta. My small allotment of time that I had built in as a buffer in the event of a delay now dwindling dangerously thin, I dropped my checked bags off at the ticket counter and proceeded to hurry my way over to security for carryon screening. This immediately became a problem when I saw the line, which was atrocious. I manage to make it into a line that was moving at least somewhat compared to the others, and after abandoning several chemlights and a tube of toothpaste (apparently the stuff IED's are made of, based on the way TSA people act) I managed to make it through (relatively) unscathed. This of course, left me with ten minutes before my plane was due to depart. Running through the terminal as fast as I could manage with my backpack, paperwork, and other assorted articles, I finally managed to make it to the gate, which just so happened to be at the farthest end of the terminal. My relief, however, was shortlived due in no small part to the Albuquerque police officer who was awaiting me at the gate. "Are you Joshua?" "I'm Josiah." "Well, there were smoke grenades in your luggage. We've had to remove them." "What? No, there were no smoke grenades! Those were just empty canisters." "Well, by nature of what they are, you can't fly with them." "So what happens to them?" "They've been confiscated." Great. Just great. Not only do they freak out at two cardboard tubes in my checked baggage, but because they happened to be labeled "smoke grenade," but they cut the lock on my bag, rifle through my belongings, and dump the contents of these oh-so-dangerous toilet paper tubes in order to confiscate them. Yeah, it's totally the ones in uniform who are going to hijack and/or blow up your airplanes. I'm the last passenger to board the aircraft, and after quickly situating myself, I was off to Atlanta. I land in Atlanta, and get off the aircraft with roughly twenty minutes before my next plane takes off. Also, I don't have a ticket. I manage to navigate my way through the Atlanta Airport, and make it to my gate with a few minutes to spare. After a somewhat confused series of questions, they took my boarding pass from my last flight, and gave me one to board the flight to St. Louis. I'm not even sure what they did- I'm just thankful I managed to get on. The rest of the flight was rather uneventful. I did see an ad in the back of a magazine that disturbed me, though. In an aircraft based out of Atlanta, there's a page that says: "He was a simple farmboy. She was an Italian supermodel. He knew he only had one chance to impress her." The ad was targeted, I suppose, at "hardworking farmboys" who are trying to snare themselves an "Italian supermodel." The fact that the ad was so cliché and blatantly aimed at "farmboy" types is unsettling. Georgia scares me. So, somehow, I managed to make it back to St. Louis. It's good to be back. | 
