We spent the weekend in Florida. Coming home, Levi reminded me of one of our first “discussions.” It was right after we had started dating, and we were in different cities for Christmas. On one of those long-distance/just getting to know each other phone calls, he told me that at airport security, he showed some “attitude.” He was pulled aside, taken to some sort of an interrogation room, and “inspected.” He missed his flight.*

He told me the story and then said how much he despised airport security. “But it’s necessary,” I insisted. “A necessary hardship.” Even if airport security is JUST ONE MASSIVE PACIFIER—even if its sole purpose is to make Americans feel safer—then I’m for it.

He laughed at me. Told me I was ridiculous. Called me a Fascist. Still I maintained: it makes me feel better; more secure.

This weekend, the security guard wouldn’t let me through because all I had was my student ID. “It has to be government issued,” they said. This made sense to me, because if there’s any one group of people we can all trust, it’s the friendlies at the DMV. The airport security guard had me stand to the side so another—a more senior—security guard could assess the situation. Between my Costco card and my student ID, and a little conference between the two security guards discussing said IDs, I was good to go.

Levi got stopped too. There was more than three ounces in his bottle of aloe vera. Suspicions arose (naturally) and they went through his bag. Busted. A full tube of tooth paste. She ceremoniously set it aside. “You’re going to take both of those?” he asked, incredulously.

“Okay, fine.” She said. “Pick one.”

Ahhh. Pacified.

*Not to feel bad for him on this one. He missed his flight so they put him first class on a non-stop. It’s one of the reasons I married him: even the lame things turn out well.