This morning I thinned;out my wallet before I drove to the airport. It’s no fun carrying around a brick in your back pocket. I left a pile of business cards and receipts on my night stand.

Since Thanksgiving is this Thursday, the airport was a madhouse. The lines downstairs at the ticket counters wrapped around airport and out the door. There were workers in matching uniforms shepherding the masses into order.

I hate missing my flights, so I sprinted upstairs hoping that the security lines weren’t as crazy. They weren’t too bad, but I couldn’t afford to take my time. I quickly checked in at the kiosk and got me ticket.

I winded my way to the front of the security line and opened my wallet to pull out my drivers license. I couldn’t find it. It was gone; I left it at home. I turned around and looked at the hundred people in line behind me. There was no way I could go back home and get it. I turned back and stared at lady. “I don’t have my drivers license. I don’t know where it is, but it’s not here.” She didn’t say anything, she just looked disappointed.

[ ! ] I felt like I had to justify who I am. I was ready to blurt out my name, where I was born, my Social Security number. I wanted to tell the story of why I was going to Orange County, what I do for a living–everything! It was so awful feeling like I wasn’t a person. I was ready to grab some high schooler in line to explain to the security lady that I was indeed Matt from MTV and that I was voted off a show this time last year. [ ! ]

After a long, awkward pause, she asked me, “You don’t have to ID?” It was as if she was in disbelief. “No, ma’am. I do not.” At this point, I thought she would send me home or zap me with a Tazer gun. To my delight, she didn’t do either. She sent me through intense security. They frisked me in ways I’ve never been frisked before. I’ve never let anyone touch me in those places.

The dude searching my luggage carefully unpacked everything. He looked at one shirt, then looked up to me. I felt like I had to explain my fashion decision. He asked me, “Why aren’t you wearing your ‘I’m not Famous’ shirt?” I was so startled he remembered what I wore last time, that I didn’t know what to say. Instead I smiled and helped him repack my bag. I told him I’d see him next week and I ran off to my gate.

:::

Now I am on the quick flight from Phoenix to Orange County, California. I hope they let me back through security to get home. Oh well, I guess that’s all part of the adventure.