I just came back from an exciting week in California after
attending the wedding of my fiancé’s son in the Napa Valley.

My first mistake on this trip was being a woman.

Tom got his week’s worth of clothing and other items neatly
packed into his carry-on, plus a folding garment bag as his “personal” item.
But try as I might, I could not cram everything I needed into one tiny carry-on.
For a woman attending a wedding and rehearsal dinner, plus casual clothes for
touring, it’s just not possible.

The fee for one bag checked-in at the United ticketing
counter was $23. It used to be you could check in 2 bags for free, but no more.

Then there was the food. Now airline food was never great,
but at least it was free.

Since we boarded around 5:30 a.m., and our flight was over
three hours long, we could buy selections from their breakfast menu.

I imagined something elegant with the panache of the west
coast as I spied the ham and Swiss cheese croissant, served cold with
Dijonniase sauce, for $5. But when
the flight attendant handed it to me, it looked like some kid had slapped it
together in 3 seconds.

They also had a chicken wrap, with Thai aioli sauce wrapped
in a tortilla for $9. Yeah, I could just picture that one too.

Thank goodness the coffee, of which I drank liberally, was
free.

Then there’s security. Now don’t get me wrong. I have always
been eternally grateful for all those men and women in the Transportation
Security Administration uniforms – until Tuesday morning on our flight home.

After standing in line for the honor of paying $23 for my
luggage again, I got in the other line to show my photo id and boarding pass to
another TSA agent.

The there was another line. Grab a gray Rubbermaid bin, take
off your shoes and jacket, put them in the bin with your carry-on and other
personal items, send them on down the little conveyer belt and step through the
body scanner for yet another TSA agent.

Then it happened. Another agent grabbed my backpack from the
belt and put it on a table for closer inspection, reached in and produced a
green plastic bag wrapped around a jar of …chutney!

My Mom loves chutney—a rich, spicy relish usually made of
fruit. I saw the peach chutney in
a store in the Napa Valley, and loving the local label, bought it for my mom.
And knowing how airport luggage handlers tend to throw bags, I wrapped it and
put it in my backpack.

“What’s this”, the TSA screener wanted to know.

“Chutney for my Mom,” I told him. He weighed it on his
little scale noting it was 10 ounces. “You can only bring on 3.4 ounces of a
liquid,” he told me.

I pointed out to him it wasn’t liquid, but chutney, a thick
salsa-like relish.

Obviously he was not impressed and gave me the choice of
walking back to ticketing, standing in line again and checking in the little
jar of chutney, or tossing it in the trash.

I thought about the cost of the chutney, all the lines and
the crabby lady at ticketing …

Sorry Mother…it really did have pretty label.

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