My kids are taking me to New Orleans for my birthday. I’m excited! What’s better than a NOLA destination party to warm the heart of a food blogger. This week a dozen, or more, family and old friends are taking time from their busy holiday schedules to join me. We intend to crisscross the French Quarter, savoring gumbo, jambalaya, etouffee, beignets, muffulettas, and po’boys along the way.
What’s more, the city has both a Southern Foods/Beverage Museum and a World War II museum of some renown. All right up my alley.
TSA lines, baggage checks and body scans are designed to weed out terrorists, the impatient, and the bionic. Since I have a hip replacement, I’m regularly viewed as a potential threat to my fellow passengers. I must undergo the airport “massage” and empty my pockets of rumpled Kleenex, throat lozenges, and old grocery lists. All of which I’m willing to do in the interest of national security and safe skies.
Still, I have little patience with the TSA agent, who thinks this bulk around my waist comes from carrying sticks of dynamite. On the bright side, I get to keep my shoes on, because it’s deemed unlikely that those of a “certain age’ have the agility to reach their feet to detonate a device.
In my self-interest, I’ve devised an airport survival scheme. I’ve found that if I act fuddy duddy, it expedites my security procedure. It’s amazing how good I’m getting at this. 🙂
More as the good times unfold—-or as they say in NOLA . . .