By Popular Demand: The Tale of the Airport, Alcohol, and one unfortunate Muslim Woman.

The day that we left D.C. for Singapore, we planned to arrive at Dulles 2 hours early. We wanted to leave plenty of time to get checked in, pass through security, and grab a coffee. Needless to say, when we arrive and looked at the line to get checked in we grew concerned. It seemed to worm its way back and forth endlessly from the counter all the way to the wall opposite the counter. We sat in line for a long time as the utterly understaffed United employees watched the lines grow as they slowly checked the baggage in and surely, although I didn't see this, took the requisite union-demanded coffee breaks. Gotta love it.

Anyhow, by the time we were through that line we moved to the next line where we had to drop our checked baggage off to go through security. Apparently, having just the one long line was too efficient. Finally, having checked our bags and entered them through security, we proceeded on a brisk walk around the corner to enter the third line, for security.

In the mad dash to remove all metal objects, take laptops out, remove shoes, remove belts, keep track of the wallet on the security belt, consolidate all 3 ounce liquids in the plastic baggy, and put everything nicely in those plastic tubs, Tom forgot something. He pulled out his Swiss Army Knife, which he intended to have for whatever southeast Asia might throw at him. In case you were wondering, post 9-11 airport security does not like people bringing knives on planes. That said, they were very nice about it and Tom ran off to the side to mail it home.

Watching the clock tick along, Margaret and Tom were becoming a bit more frantic as the mail machine did not recognize Tom's home address in New Hampshire. The knife was eventually successfully mailed, but time was running out. Reentering the security line, Tom tried to quickly arrange his things to go through the x-ray machine, and then it happened. As he swung his bag around, forgetting the pocket was open, the nip of Grey Goose neatly tucked away to ease Margaret's nerves on the plane launched into the air. Crash! Tom was startled and didn't even realize what just happened. Then, the smell wafted into the air. A woman, covered from head to toe in black turned to face him with the look of the Dickens in her eye. Alcohol, Alcohol, Alcohol! Ahh! Tom looked down and saw the woman's now-exposed feet sopping with delicious grey goose.

Heads all throughout security were turning to Tom and this disgruntled and slightly damp woman. Thinking quickly, and remembering that the Goose was sweetly flavored, Tom started yelling, "No, no, no. Perfume. Perfume!" A security guard came by and took an exaggerated sniff. For an instant, time stood still as the guard's nostril's flared. It seemed as if the moment stretched into minutes as the security-judge deliberated. "It's perfume," the security judge declared, just perfume. "Thank God! Tom thought. Then we--the knife-wielding, alcohol slinging pair of Wasps--brisked to the front of the line, past a forty-something Middle-Eastern-appearing man in khakis and a tucked in polo with two very American daughters in tow who was presenting a Virginia drivers license to two very skeptical security guards. Already, the trip had shown us some frustration, some adventure, a little bit of perspective on life.