I haven’t traveled by air since the start of the COVID pandemic so I was completely unprepared for what happened to us when we departed Madison to fly to our son’s wedding in Denver last week.
We got to the airport early enough that there weren’t any people waiting in line, which was fine by me. The less time spent standing in crowded lines, the better. They still had the entrance roped off with those tapes that make you walk back and forth, back and forth across the room, though. Whatever, I’ll take the small victories.
I already had my ID out along with my phone showing my boarding pass, so when the TSA agent asked for them I was able to quickly hand them over with no delay. After he examined them both, though, he said to me, “Remove your mask.” He wanted to compare my face to the photo on my ID, but I was so absolutely gobsmacked that anybody would ask me to remove my mask. I not only hesitated, I’m pretty sure my eyes also told him to go eff himself until he repeated, “Remove your mask,” this time with enough authority that I snapped out of my surprise and pulled my mask down. But it was a close thing. I came within seconds of spending the morning in TSA hell.