Day 6: Outward Bound

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There isn't much to say about Day 6. I spent most of it at the La Quinta LAX, riding their free Internet and dreading the upcoming TSA inspection. I stayed in my room until checkout at noon and then, with the staff's permission, did my laundry at their guest laundry. Then I spent three more hours sitting in their lobby. It was freshly decorated for Christmas (the decorations had not, I think, been up when I arrived on the 3rd) and rather pretty.

At 5 p.m. I could no longer postpone the shuttle bus trip over to Terminal 2 at LAX. There was a long delay at the check-in counter, during which they tried to figure out whether or not I had already paid for my supplemental oxygen (I thought I hadn't; they thought I might have; it turned out I hadn't after all.)

I had to show my ticket and passport just to get access to the TSA check-in area, which was upstairs. Fortunately there was an escalator. I went to the "family line," which was advertised as being for new and uncertain travellers. Nevertheless, no one told me what to do. Drawing on vague memories from ten years ago, I put everything I was carrying into the bins provided and took off my coat. Someone told me to take off my shoes, and I did. It did not occur to me to take a package of Kleenex out of my pants pocket, since it was non-metallic.

Anyhow, I began explaining about the plate-and-pin, and about my other medical problems, and the agent assured me that I would not be patted down if all that was shown as wrong was where the plate and pin was. So I agreed to go through the backscatter machine, the less graphic of the two new scanners, and I would have passed with no search at all except for that Kleenex.

The TSA agent said there was something funny about my upper left leg and she would need to check it, but she had hardly started to touch me when she saw the Kleenex bulging in my pocket. She fussed at me a bit for leaving it in there, and asked if she could see it. Of course I let her, and she squeezed it really hard to make sure it was all Kleenex, which it was.

And that was it. My previous flights' security, back in 1997 and 2001, were actually *more* intrusive: in 1997 I recall having to take my shirt off (in a private room) so the guard could see my scar, and in 2001 I was never touched but I was wanded and wanded and rewanded and rewanded again.

I went on into the terminal and got supper at a Burger King, which turned out to have been a mistake -- would you believe $15 for a Whopper Junior, medium fries, a pint of orange juice and two bottles of water? The water tasted terrible too. It probably was natural spring water, as advertised, but not all natural springs taste good.

Of course my gate, Gate 28, was all the way at the back of the terminal. When my arms got tired, I resorted to kicking the blue medicine-bag along in front of me. Once there, I sat thankfully in the handicapped-seating section.

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Comments

[K.Freeman]

Whew. What a relief!
I was on pins & needles waiting to see how TSA would "handle" you (sorry, bad pun), & am SOOOO glad that is all there was to it. God was surely watching over you!