I just checked in to tomorrow’s flight, of course needing a window seat so I don’t fucking losemyshit at the ticket counter and the only thing I can think is,
I really, REALLY would just like to make it home tomorrow without getting detained at the airport. Or strip searched. Because while I don’t mind so much being strip searched, I really don’t feel like dealing with the international cops again. That being said, there is obviously an 86% chance that I am going to be dragged into a holding cell tomorrow somewhere between Maine and Germany. And by 86 I mean 92.
And this whole, she definitely looks like a drug mule thing is a bit much. Do I really look like I swallow heroine balloons and hide weed up my jage? Is that even what drug mules do? Or do they only swallow things? First of all, there is no doubt in my mind that if I ever swallowed a cocaine goody bag, that shit would explode within ten minutes and I would die before I even got on the stupid flight. Second of all, how long are you supposed to be able to hold going to the bathroom? Like a day? Because that would be awesome, really, but I have the world’s fastest digestive system on the planet.
I’d love to write about how I was detained in Amsterdam on Thursday for a speeding ticket that wasn’t even mine, which was four years old, and which can’t possibly warrant a motherfucking strip search, but considering I was still drunk and delirious and just trying to focus, I’m sure I had the, “Screw me as hard as you possibly can to teach me a lesson about traveling 15 hours on two days with no sleep and smelling aggressively like red wine and gin” look on my face again.
Come to think of it, I am now going to have to consider become some sort of international lawyer so the next time they pull this shit on me, I am going to drop some crazy ass law shit on them and make them wish they left me alone. I would say consult my own lawyer, but no, I am not adult enough to have one yet. But considering my luck, I really should.
Jesus, that is enough rambling. This post is starting to not make sense. Maybe after a little takeout, trashy tv and a nap, I’ll have enough energy to go round two and tell you all the extended story about my most recent stint in an airport holding cell.
Because in my life, all of this is totally normal.