Off to a Bumpy Start

Tired and cranky, low in blood sugar, mind a little faded. This is before the flight, and the conditions that caused me to nearly have to break the window of Alannah's Jeep.

See, it was all planned out. I purposely slept very little last night. That way I could sleep on the plane for once. Everything was already packed way in advance. I got off work fairly early, we went to the airport with my mom, and checked in nice and early. That way, we could go have lunch, Alannah can get her nails done, and we could be back at San Francisco Airport in time to board our flight for London. Perfect, right?

Only that low blood sugar, fatigue, and my general absent-mindedness led me to leave the keys locked in the Jeep when we went to a mall to eat and get nails done after check-in. And it was just before boarding time.

I flagged down someone from mall security: "Umm, you probably can get some help from the guys at Sears Automotive."

My mom, calling from the car: "We need a really long pole or something to get through the window and push the lock button."

Sears Employee: "Auto? Automotive? No, I don't think we have."

(After finally tracking down the location of Sears Automotive) Mechanic guys: "No, dude. We don't have car break-in kits."

My mom, calling from the car: "I got a pole! Get here quickly!"

Alannah and I, from the other side of the mall: "A pole!?"

We run.

And run. And run. And run.

We jostle a pole through the crack I'd left in the driver's side window, trying to push the little lock lever on the passenger side door. Miss. Miss. Slip. Miss. Slip. Bang! Oww! Miss. Slip.

Alannah, frustrated: "Forget it. We're breaking the window!"

My mom, who's been manning the passenger side door, trying to open it every time we made an attempt at the unlock lever, pulls the door handle in a final futile tug of defeat.

The door pops open. Jubilation occurs. Everyone's happy. We make it to the airport after about 2 minutes of action film driving. We cruise through security. We're on our way. Drenched in sweat.

Oh, and I hereby predict that we're going to war with Iran within a month or two. The TSA official checking my US passport before check-in noticed that I was born in Iran.

"Where is your final destination?"

"London."

"Not continuing on to Tehran or anything?"

"Umm, no."

"Okay, good. Just wanted to check."

They never ask this.