"Maam, Drop Your Weapon"

The airport in Antigua is…rustic. The lines are long. No one is in a hurry. You have to pay $20 just to advance to immigration from the ticket counter. I had a few moments where I thought I saw a rooster or a goat darting across my path. It’s entirely possible. We had arrived with about an hour before our flight to Puerto Rico. Plenty of time, right?

Well, factor in the lines…the goats…the general pace of the place and we filed through to security with about 10 minutes to spare. Admittedly, we couldn’t really miss our flight. The airport has six gates…which aren’t really gates. They are podiums. With cardboard signs attached to them designating which airline it represents. And then there is one exit…a door, really…which leads directly on to the tarmac…and you walk to your plane.

The ‘kids’ were the first through immigration and security. I’ve traveled so much I have derobing down to a science at security. Belt. Bracelet. Shoes. I’d rather prance through in my skivvies if it means I won’t be held back for a pat down. Charlie, Andrea and I had some extra currency to blow before boarding the plane, so we made our way to the store (the only one open) to buy sundries.

Incidentally, why does every foreign country sell Pringles? Not that I’m complaining. I, for one, love Pringles. But isn’t it weird? Which makes me think Pringles have some nuclear component to them that allows for overseas shipping, storage, pest resistance, etc. The only other product more prevalent is Oh Henry bars. No joke. I see those fuckers everywhere…

I realized a few minutes later that my parents still hadn’t been deposited on the other side of security. And there was some squawking coming from the one security station. Definite squawking. My dad appeared looking slightly defeated. And then they announced our flight. I wandered over to him…

“Dad, what’s going on? Where is she?” I asked.

Sigh. This seems to happen a lot to him.

“They are trying to take her knitting needles and a pair of scissors from her carry on.” he shrugged.

“You can’t take scissors on a plane, Dad. And knitting needles could make a pretty good weapon, I’m guessing.” I said.

More squawking and some sort of minor tug of war over her carry on broke out behind my dad’s shoulder. Three, rather large, security officers were looking a little exasperated by the squawking.

One thing that makes this scene all the more ridiculous is (and I’m going straight to hell, I know it…) that my step-mother is tiny and Chinese. She still has a fairly strong accent despite living here for more than half her life. There is a theory out there that the accent is actually used to get her way or confuse people…On the other hand, Antiguans have their own heavy Caribbean accent. So, let’s just say there were some major communication issues happening over these God forsaken knitting needles. And they were boarding our flight.

The whole thing eventually got resolved- primarily by security winning and sending my step-mother back to the check in counter to send the needles via cargo. She finally showed back up — fuming and somehow pissed off at my dad. You’ve never seen angry until you’ve spied a small, Chinese woman dressed in sandals and socks without her knitting needles people. Trust me on this.

Thankfully, I was about 6 rows in front of her for the flight.

Later, in San Juan, she barked “Those people…they didn’t even know what knitting needles are! Can’t you believe it?” (I can’t stand when people – other ethnic minorities, in particular- use the term ‘those people’…)

It was my great pleasure to remind her that the average temperature in Antigua is something like 85 degrees. Not a lot of demand for a hand-knit sweater, I’d guess.

Yeah. That didn’t go over well.