on the day after my birthday 2011, i hopped in a car with the hubster (i can’t imagine he’ll appreciate this nickname if he ever reads this post) and his father and headed south to bwi for to fetch his middle sister and her husband.
obviously, getting to see r & d again was the most exciting part of the trip, but i’d like to take a moment and tell you about another highlight of our outing.
we arrived at the airport a few minutes early and decided to take a little walkabout. somewhere near the tsa security entrance to the b gates, we caught sight of a jamba juice. and, as you may or may not know but now that i’m telling you (again) you better remember from now on, jamba juice is like, totally, my husband’s favorite thing in the world.
unfortunately for us, the jamba juice was on the passengers only side of tsa security.
what to do. what to do.
maybe we can ask that southwest airlines guy passing by to go buy one for us. oh no. we can’t he’s too busy to give us the time of day.
what about that other airport employee over yonder? no. he’s not willing to help either.
my dearest was willing to give up. it’s no big deal, really. but i was undeterred.
i scanned the area, my eyes flitting from person to person, looking for a friendly face and an employee badge.
and then i saw it. my solution. my salvation.
three men and a lady were standing around and chatting at the end of the airtran airways ticket counter. against my husband’s better judgment, i approached, my sparkling and beautiful smile spread across my face.
“what are the chances that one of you would be willing to go through security and get me a couple of jamba juices?” (of course, i was going to get something out of this, too.)
“slim to none.”
then i said something cute and charming about how MUCH i loved jamba juice and how hard it is to live somewhere without a single stinking one. i said that it would be a Christmas miracle if one of them could do me this solid. and so on and so on.
finally, one of the guys behind the counter started to crack.
“what if i could get you back there to get your own jamba juice? what would i get out of it?”
“oh, obvs i would bring one back to you. what size do you want? what kind?”
his buddies told him not to do it, that for sure he would never see me again or see a jamba juice from me.
“i would absolutely bring one back to you. do i look like i’m lying? how can you not trust this face?”
and then, right before my eyes, he wrote me a gate pass and initialed it. it really was a Christmas miracle.
i don’t remember his name. nor would i divulge it if i did. what if this got out? would he lose his job for being so fast and loose with security?
i still have the gate pass. my husband keeps finding it various places and wondering aloud why i don’t throw it away.
duh. my excursion through the b gates security so as to purchase 3 jambas (my father-in-law didn’t want one and yes, i did take one back to my ticket counter buddy) is a never to be repeated experience.
(until the next time the mr. and i are at bwi. because i will try again. definitely. the risk-reward equation is totally in my favor.)