The return flight

Not having my ID turned out to be way more of an issue on the return flight.  DCA’s security is definitely more on top of it, as compared to LAX’s nonchalant approach to check-in. 

On the cab ride to the airport, Kyle’s mom and I decided we wouldn’t bother lying.  If they asked me how old I was, I’d just be honest and then we’d go through the appropriate (read: legal) channels to get clearance to fly without an ID card. 

I don’t know what came over me, though, because that whole plan went out the window as soon as I got to the x-ray.

Like last time, we went separate from Kyle and his grandma.  But unlike last time, the person who checks your boarding pass and ID actually asked me how old I was (once she realized I didn’t have an ID).  And I straight up lied to her.  It was so bizarre.  I think I had an out of body experience. 

She asked me “how old are you?” and I said “17”.  What!!!?!?! 

And then she let us go to the conveyor belt.  But she was clearly still suspicious because I heard her speak into her walkie-talkie to request back up security.  EFF.  At this point, my heart started beating fast. 

As we took off our shoes and got out our liquids, a man approached me and asked to see my boarding pass.  Making sure my ring finger was still covered by my sweatshirt sleeve (I still forgot to take it off!) I handed him my pass. 

He looked it over and asked who I was traveling with and what our relationship was.  I pointed to Kyle’s mom and told him she was my mom.  Then he asked who bought my ticket.  I swear, time must have stopped in this instant because I felt like a full minute passed before I was able to get an answer out.  The wrong (but truthful) answer kept racing through my head – my husband, my husband, my husband – he bought my ticket!!  I was very aware of the fact that our tickets were not bought with the same credit card and I’m sure the confirmation numbers didn’t match because of that.  But what could I do?  Like an idiot, I’d started this freakin’ lie and had to carry on with it.

At this point we were at the very front of the conveyor belt.  I was sweating like crazy from the stress of the most basic questions, but I was praying they wouldn’t ask me to take off my sweatshirt (because of the wedding ring issue).  A nice distraction came when another security man told me to throw away my alba face wash (which was 8 ounces, not 4).  Ordinarily I’d have batted my eyelashes and begged for permission to save my pricey soap, but I was only focused on getting through security, so I welcomed the distraction and walked away from scary question man to discard my extra liquids. 

Unbeknownst to me, he had used that time to ask Kyle’s mom a few questions, including my birthday. 

When I returned, he asked me my birthday too.  Again, time stood still as I pondered my answer.  Tick tock tick tock.  A voice in my head was screaming at me to answer!  October 23rd, 1982, err, 1992 I mumbled.  I’d hoped the year was as inaudible as possible because I couldn’t think straight enough to do the math to make me 17 years old. 

Then he turned to Kyle’s mom and said you said February 23rd!  She assured him she did not.  Again he asked me my birthday and I said October 23rd (purposefully leaving off the year). 

This seemed to satisfy him enough and so he handed me back my boarding pass and let us through.

Holy moly was I a train wreck.  As we walked to the gate, my heartbeat slowly began to return to a normal rate.  We were both slightly appalled at the mess I’d gotten us into, but it sure makes for a good story.  A full hour passed before we could board, and I must have replayed the scenario a million times in my head as we waited.  We were both so paranoid about being watched we didn’t even tell Kyle about what had happened until the plane took off. 

Phew. 

The dumbest part was how nervous I was that they’d discover my lie – even after we had landed in LA.  Then I remembered I am actually Elise.  Impersonating myself can’t be a crime, right? 

We got home, starving, to an empty fridge. 

 

But our freezer is stocked with Falafel Republic hummus and salsa wraps. 

Kyle and I both had two to start.

 

There’s not much I can say beyond omgthesearesogood.  I don’t know about you, but soft fluffy tortillas from the freezer are a rare find.  These are thick and delightful, but the falafel is the definitely the feature ingredient. 

I wish there was a bit more hummus, but that’s probably just because I’m a hummus-a-holic. 

I took matters into my own hands.

Anyone else save the best bite for last?  I want to go out with a bang – with the perfect ratio of every ingredient.

Yummm.

Mexican burritos may be a thing of the past in this household because Kyle and I are both completely obsessed with falafel, hummus, and salsa right now.  Mediterranean fare for the win.  

If Falafel Republic had a king and queen, it would be us.