I didn’t die
The guy sitting next to me on the flight to Boston crossed himself as the plane was taking off, and that kind of creeped me out. It’s not that I have a problem with Catholics or anything, it was knowing that through that action he was saying a little prayer asking that this metal tube hurtling through thin air at about 500mi/h does not fall out of the sky as would seem right for such a flimsy thing to do. It was unsettling. He crossed himself again when we landed, and that was a lot less unnerving.
I had a fun new experience while going through ATL security. As I was walking into the entrance of the security line, the usually empty turnstile maze that precedes the guy who checks your ticket and ID, a TSA agent walked out of the mass of poles and wires, handed me a yellow postcard and said in full authority voice, “SIR WOULD YOU PLEASE HAND THIS CARD TO THE SECURITY AGENT,” before walking away and disappearing. I assumed, as I think many would, that I had just been signed up for the random anal probe. There was an Indian guy next to me, and he kind of backed up a few steps and gave me a look as if to say, “The hell?” I shrugged and continued the march, resigned to my fate. While waiting in line I had a chance to take a better look at the card. The numbers scrawled on it weren’t codes; they were times. There was an explanation on the reverse side telling me that this card is used as a marker to time the length of the security wait. I was not probed. The wait was ten minutes.
I supposed I should have planned what to do with the three or four hours of free time I had on this trip instead of just driving around looking for stuff, since all of the kitschy museums in Massachusetts are closed on Monday. That GPS thing was useless.
The interview was exactly as horrible as Chris and David made it out to be. I hope I did ok.