Allison's Airport Tales of Awkward, Part 1

The above picture is me laying in a firepit contemplating the meaning of airports and, why did God make me so awkward in them?

I've flown by myself many times before, but no time will ever be as awkward and dreadful and awkwardly dreadful as my round trip to Winnipeg this Christmas. The awkward part was my way up there, when apparently I lost all my wits about me all day long. Such as, I found myself forgetting which way the line goes in Starbucks so I stood at the front and then this lady was like "what." and I was like "what." and it was a very uncomfortable moment that I'll remember thirty years from now when I'll be brushing my teeth.

Also, as my last flight came into Winnipeg at 1am, mostly everyone was sleeping but I thought hey, maybe I should turn off my reading light now and let the poor people sleep in darkness. So I pressed the light button and apparently I was just kidding because I pressed the flight attendant button instead and I was horrified that all the attendants would come rushing to my aid as if I were on fire, so I had to shout as quietly as possible in the most gooberish way you can think of me saying, "Uh--N-no! No, I meant to press the...the light button...!" And the guy sitting next to me was laughing. I saw you, Guy.

Most hilarious part, though, was when I had to talk to the Customs Officer (you know, so they can see if you're rational enough after 1am to let you into the country). So the officer's desk was fashioned in such a way where there was about a one-inch gap from the build of the table to the actual desk of it. Seeing as it was 1am and my eyes were glossed over, I thought there was perhaps a glass casing in front of the officer (you know, guns and stuff--a normal Texan assumption), so I had to pass my documents through this awkwardly-sized one-inch gap.

So I passed him my customs form, which he received quizzically. He asked for my passport, for which I began to struggle with trying to get it into the gap because I was so tired and the passport was slightly worn open. I kept poking at it until the officer put his hands on top of his desk and said, "You put it right here, ma'am."

I stared at his hands on the desk absolutely amazed--for I thought how can his hands go through that glass wall? But then, I realized woe is me, for there is no glass wall and I have proven to look like an unworthy goober to step foot into Canada. So I gave him my passport (sheepishly) on the desk--where it should have gone.

Then--get this--he asked me, "So where you goin'?" And I kid you not, my eyes slowly floated up and to the right, slightly parted focus and I had zero thoughts working for me for about thirty straight, quiet seconds. And then I realized for every second I was spacing out, so was my percentage depleting to get into Canada. My eyes clicked back together, I slowly brought them back to the officer and I said, "Um...Steinbach. Yeah. Steinbach." He managed to ask me one more question before realizing I was a lost cause and somehow let me into Canada anyway.

Then I realized my luggage got sent to Calgary instead of Winnipeg and there went my parka and snow boots for the first time I'd be stepping out into the winters of Manitoba (it was -1'F/-18'C that night). The compassion of my friend was the only thing that kept me alive.

There were probably thirty more awkward things that happened to me that day that the Lord has miraculously wiped from my mind, but my tale is only the beginning. I have only spoken of the awkward part, and not the dreadful part where I was trapped in Calgary as an ill little goober for a few days on my attempted journey back to Texas! That will be Part 2 of Allison's Airport Tales of Awkward.

Anyway, moral of this story is that if you're not Allison, you can be assured that your airport experiences won't be as awkward as mine. And that's a fine life! Trust me.