Moos I Have Known

I am petrified of chickens -which really has nothing to do with today's topic except to further emphasize that cows are my favorite farm animal.

Although big, they are mostly content, or stupid, or a combination of both. They don't want to bite, kick or peck you, and basically, as long as they've got cud to chew they're happy to watch the world go by.

When I'm riding my bicycle past a field of grazing cows, I like to moo at them. I share their contentment, happy to be out on a lovely day.

Last year, while waiting to go onto the Great Wall of China, I had to patiently plod through miles of metal fences. They so reminded me of loading chutes I let out a few "moos". Apparently cows in China moo in English. No translation was needed and a few Chinese chuckled at me. Whether my moo was reminding them we were indeed cow-like or they were just laughing at a crazy tourist is unclear.

I'm not a farm girl, but I did participate in a few cattle drives when I was a kid. Have you ever noticed that air travel is a heck of a lot like a cattle round up?

Here's the part where air travel resembles a cattle round up...

For international air travel check in is recommended 2 hours prior to departure except if you are going to the United States, which requires a 3 hour early check in. Fabbo and I split the difference and arrived at the airport 2 ½ hours prior to arrival. I checked in online and Fabbo went through the first class line up which took us about 3 minutes in total......

Then we hit the line up for US customs. More than a hundred people and their suitcases were lined up nose to tail in a narrow loading chute, I mean hallway. The line didn't move forwards – we all stood around and “mooed” at each other... “What's taking so long?” “Why isn't the line moving?” “Why is that guy cutting to the front of the line?” “What does under emergency measures – expect delays mean?”. We sounded like a herd of bawling cows....you get the idea.

Finally Fabbo and I arrived at the front of the line – only to be let into a waiting area – at least this one had seats. Maui left first, followed shortly by Minneapolis, and Las Vegas. Us poor souls going to Denver were the bottom of the pile. A sense of heightened excitement rippled through the crowd as they finally called all the Denver bound passengers up to the magic door – finally my trip was really starting....

Want to guess what was on the other side of the magic doors? About a mile long line up folding back and forth upon itself, separating the rows of people just like the loading gates at the slaughter house.

Trudge ahead two feet, wait, trudge ahead another foot. Look at all the people and try to guess who will get chosen for “special” screening. The line creeps slowly forward again. We watch people meet the customs and immigration officers – no one knows where to look – too much eye contact and you're not subservient enough, too little eye contact and you look guilty. The tall guys fidget the most, trying not to appear as if they are staring at the customs officer's bald spot, nor look down the cleavage of the female agents.

Once assured I am only coming into the country to spend money and not to steal the dish washing job at a Mexican restaurant, the guy waves me through.

Guess what...now its time to stand in the security screening line up. You know the drill by now, only instead of trudging forward two feet at a time, we now inch forward. Again we try to decide which idiots will think the screening rules won't apply to them Who is stupid enough to leave their belt on and change in their pockets? A teenager, thankfully three people BEHIND me, whines to her mom, “We don't have to take our shoes off do we?” Obviously she hasn't bothered to even look at the HUGE sign, complete with pictures, stating that very fact.

Its at this point, not even having reaching the security checkpoint yet, that we are informed passengers traveling to Denver must proceed directly to their gate – if you have to go to the bathroom you have to do it on the airplane and definitely no stopping for Starbucks. I've been up since 4 am, haven't eaten breakfast, and we didn't stop at Timmy's because we expected too be through customs and dining on overpriced pastries in the waiting lounge. I'm a bit choked at this point and Fabbo's not too pleased either – being the gentle women we are though, we refrained from all but the gentlest of curses.

Somewhere, in the miles behind us, Fabbo mentioned that fact she always gets chosen for secondary screening. This pleases me, if she gets chosen, surely, as someone of the same gender and skin color standing next to her, I won't. Wrong on that one. A very nice lady named Neela, got to personally paw her way through all my underwear. And for those of you who read my travel journal last year.... you all know I only travel with period panties.

Even with being told we have to rush to the gate as soon as we are through security – they still choose to screen Fabbo as well, including the explosives swatch test. Since I get through first, I go ripping through the waiting lounge close to the speed of sound (I'm a bit too out of shape to near the speed of light) and beeline for Starbucks – where, thank the universe, there is no line up. Since I'm about to leave the country of my birth, feeling patriotic and really because they are buy one, get one free, I add two polar bear cookies to the order.

Off to Denver...then to Tampa