Girls Write Out
Tuesday, December 12, 2006

It's a sad day when you realize how truly stupid you are. That happened to me yesterday. Any of you ever fly through the Atlanta airport? I've flown there before and not enjoyed the experience, but this time made the others pale in comparison. Did you know that once you go through the security checkpoint and head to the gate that you can't retrace your steps to the checkpoint, if you, say leave something behind?

I'd just gone through the horrendous security line. Laptop out, check. Shoes off, check. Jacket off, check. Liquids in a baggy and in the tray, check. I was so proud. I'd traveled by myself without Dave around to keep track of my purse. It stayed on my shoulder all day, incidentally. I wish everything else would have gone as well.

I retrieve my belongings on the other end and head down the escalator to my gate. About halfway down, I realize I didn't get my baggy of liquids. Now you have to understand, all the important things are in there. The makeup that livens up my dead and aging skin was in there. There would be no time to go to Ft Wayne and get more if I leave it behind. I gasp and say oh no. A woman on the escalator asks what's wrong and I tell her. She points to an elevator and tells me I can get back up to the security gate by riding that.

I believe her.

Then an airport security person tells me there is NO WAY to get back there. I'll have to go all the way through security. I'm at the airport early so I decide to give it a go. Without doublechecking my bag. Sigh. You're right. Just wait, you'll see.

I trudge back about a mile (I don't think I'm kidding either), tell my sorry tale to another airport employee who tells me to go to the head of the line. Even at the head of the line, there is another ten minute wait of the final go through.

When I get to the x-rays and begin to pull out the security items, what do I find? My baggy of liquids. SIGH, SIGH. I can't believe I was that stupid. To top it off, I'm in desperate need of an espresso. I ask another employee where to find a coffee shop. She sends me down the opposite wing where my gate is located. I can't see the end of the corridor and it literally takes me ten minutes to walk it. My feet are sore by now but I trudge down there to the Starbucks oasis and get my peppermint mocha. Ah.

I retrace my steps to the center then head down do my gate, at the very end in the opposite direction. After another ten minute walk, I arrive only to find---you guessed it. ANOTHER coffee shop.

I think I'll stay home next time until I grow a brain.
Colleen Coble  
posted at 8:43 AM  
  Comments (11)
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At 10:09 AM, Blogger Denise Hunter said...

LOL C! Rest assurred we've all checked our brains at the door before. Why is it there are always witnesses to our stupidity?

In moments like these, I comfort myself with these words: Blog material. This is good blog material.

At 11:10 AM, Blogger Diann Hunt said...

Oh wow, talk about stress!! Well, the good news is you got a peppermint mocha (my favorite!), so that helps.

At 12:19 PM, Blogger Kayla said...

Awww :( Geez. Those kinds of things make me overly frustrated.

And I have to fly through the Atlanta airport January 2nd on my way to LA.

I will so think of you. And go to the Starbucks.

At 12:42 PM, Blogger Kristin Billerbeck said...

This is why authors shouldn't travel. At least not without an escort. I have left my hairbrush at home for two important business meetins, and being too shamed to call downstairs, I've always gone for the "wild" look the next day. I'm an embarrassment to business travel too, don't worry!

At 3:55 PM, Blogger Jaime said...

Oh yeah ... this doesn't help my anxiety about air-travel to and from Europe next April!!! :|

At 4:33 PM, Blogger Colleen Coble said...

Kayla and Jaime, just remember there is a coffee shop at the end of each of those LONG terminal hallways. And doublecheck your bag before you decide to go back through security. LOL

At 10:10 PM, Blogger Ane Mulligan said...

ROFLOL! Oh yes, I can see it. Living in Atlanta, I'm used to our airport, but it's not an easy one. It's so huge it's confusing to say the least. Sorry, Colleen.

But the streets are just as confusing. What other city has 53 Peachtree streets? And none of them have anything to do with the other.

When I first moved here from LA, I was used to roads being sensible. I missed a turn, so I tried to go around the block. Bad move. I nearly ended up in Tennessee.

A town made up of cow paths turned to roads is bound to have a messed up airport. ;o)

At 10:13 PM, Blogger Colleen Coble said...

Are you kidding me, Ane? 53 Peachtree streets? Holy cow, no wonder I was lost.

I DID ride the MARTA though. That thing is a wonder!

At 6:30 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

You should win an extra Peppermint Mocha and a day off for riding Marta.

I sure hope you were in Atlanta for someting fun.

Just think in a few short months we will be back in Atlanta for ICRS. You can take another spin!

At 10:30 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

C, you're supposed to blame the terrorist. Not yourself! :)


At 1:44 PM, Blogger Pam S. said...

I saw some statistics recently regarding the possibilities of dying from various things:

heart disease: 1 in 300
gun shot wound: 1 in 9,450
car accident: 1 in 18,800
earthquake: 1 in 5,930,000
airline accident: 1 in 8,450,000
terrorist attack: 1 in 9,270,000

Does make you wonder if all the airport security is really necessary -- or whether the security is keeping that probability that low. :)

The last time I went through the Atlanta airport, there were so many people sprawled on the floor (due to weather-delayed flights) that it felt like a bus station in a developing country!

I feel for you...but Denise is right: This is good blog material.


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The Authors
Kristin Billerbeck
Kristin Billerbeck is a proud Californian, wife, mother of four, and connoisseur of the irrelevant. She writes Christian Chick Lit; where she finds need for most of the useless facts lulling about in her head.

Colleen Coble

Colleen Coble writes romantic suspense with a strong atmospheric element. A lovable animal of some kind--usually a dog--always populates her novels. She can be bribed with DeBrand mocha truffles.

Denise Hunter

Denise Hunter writes women's fiction and love stories with a strong emotional element. Her husband says he provides her with all her romantic material, but Denise insists a good imagination helps too.

Diann Hunt

Diann Hunt writes romantic comedy and humorous women's fiction. She has been happily married forever, loves her family, chocolate, her friends, chocolate, her dog, and well, chocolate.

Hannah Alexander

Cheryl Hodde writes romantic medical suspense under the pen name of Hannah Alexander, using all the input she can get from her husband, Mel, for the medical expertise. For fun she hikes and reads. Out of guilt, she rescues discarded cats. She and Mel are presently taking orders from four pampered strays.

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