Frankfurt Failure: Part 2

As we exited out of the hidden door we saw something scarier than Next Room: airport security.

Now, we knew a thing or two about airport security.  We had already passed through security three other times.  Once probably was enough, seeing as those men have quite the sense of humor.  My first time through I asked the man working if I should take off my sweatshirt and he responded that I probably should unless I wanted “to find out what the blue gloves were for”.  I, of course, took that sweatshirt off because I was not looking to find that out right then.

I wasn’t really looking to find out in the Frankfurt Airport either but that’s sure what I got. Maybe I got a little too confident in my security-passing abilities after the previous day’s three trips.  Or maybe the lack of sleep was starting to affect my thinking abilities.  Or maybe the machine malfunctioned. All I know is after I loaded the conveyor belt full of all my belongings, I stepped through a machine to find a German woman pull me behind a divider.  It was the sweatshirt!  In my rush, I had forgotten to take off my sweatshirt!  (Alright, you caught me.   Really it was the belt I forgot I was wearing.)

As I waited for my bags after bonding with the German woman, I saw them call Megan aside too.  A little part of me wanted for her to get a pat down in Germany as well, just so we could truly share our study abroad experience.  When I looked back, however, I saw her chugging the water out of her waterbottle.  We’d forgotten the “no liquids” rule and Megan’s water could not pass through security.  When I asked her why she didn’t just dump it out she said she had tried but was told it was “bad for the trash can”. 

I would have thought Megan’s experience was funny but I didn’t have a laugh at her expense and it’s not because I’m a good friend:  it’s because I knew that I was in for the same fate.

Surely enough, the hydration man called me over to his station.  He told me, “Get rid of it”.

So I did the only thing I could do: I chugged that water.   Now we could be done, right?

Wrong.

As my carry-on passed through, I saw it make the dreaded detour to the Hydrator.  Unless he just wanted help emptying some extra waterbottles he had around, I didn’t have any idea what he wanted this time.  Had I accidentally packed a sword?  Did I put my handgun in my bag instead of my blowdryer?  Were my new shoes actually made of some explosive material?

Not quite.  The Hydrator asked me if I had packed nails in my bag.  Nails?  What, did he think I was a professional roofer?  Did he think I was going on some big construction conference in my cheerleading sweatshirt and skinny jeans?  Sorry buddy, you may have forced me to chug a bottle of water last time but this time I’m going to win.  And I began to dig through my bag, worried that maybe I really had packed nails.

We did find the nails, if “nails” is the German word for “voltage converter”.  As I walked away from the Hydrator, carrying a random assortment of clothes, one shoe, and my nails in one arm and my overflowing bag in the other arm, I remembered that I hadn’t slept all night.

So there I was at 5am in a German airport, sitting on the floor with my belt still unbuckled, stuffing articles of clothing into my bag and I realized that I was about to begin the semester of a lifetime.

**Disclaimer: I really don’t have a problem with airport security.  I just thought describing my interactions with them would be fun for me to remember.