Checkpoint Charlie

I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore...

All my items were in the plastic tubs passing through the x-ray machine. I stood there holding my boarding pass and I.D. with one hand whilst trying to keep my pants up at a decent level with the other. The T.S.A. officer... agent?... The member of the T.S.A. lackadaisically motioned me through the metal detector. I hopped through it and presented my I.D. and boarding pass with a friendly, relaxed, and open smile.

"Mr..." (How he knew I was a mister I wasn't sure but my paranoid mind was awhirl with all the secret information compiled on me from open source resources). He checked himself before attempting to butcher my last name.

"Mr. Vale..." he made his attempt.

"Valenzuela, like the old pitcher for the Padres," I cut him off.

"Or like the singer Ritchie Valens, except he Americanized his name..." he looked at me dryly.

"Funny, Valens doesn't sound Native; I wonder which tribe he was affiliated with..." I smiled politely, innocently.

"Yeah, I liked his music." He was opening up to me; this caught me off guard. Usually you don't see the human side of the security checker people.

"He died in a plane crash!" I blurted out. I think it was the topic and the fact that salient thoughts of me getting on an airplane bubbled up from the guarded 'Don't make a joke about this' part of my brain that caused me to state something so obviously unspeakable at the time and place that I was.

He squinted his eyes and waited to see what I would do next.

"HAHA!" A strangled, nervous laugh escaped me. It is one of my worst habits: laughing at the most inopportune moments.

"He died with Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper and the pilot! They crashed into frozen Iowa farm country!" A torrent of information, that normally would have been useless conversation fodder or an interesting historical tidbit in the right social circles, was quite detrimental to my being on a plane.

"Yeah, if only the pilot had pulled that little knob to allow more heat into the engine..." He was impressed by my knowledge of the event, but wasn't sure if I was more infatuated with my family name-sake's history or of crashing planes.

His hesitation was my cue: I smiled a sad little smile and slowly shook my head. I raised my eyebrows, "The brilliant ones always fade out the quickest..."

"You got that right, partner." He handed me my ticket and I.D. and waved me on.

I put on my shoes and belt and gathered my things and thanked the mean looking T.S.A. lady that was eyeballing me and made my way to the lounge.

I'm just glad he didn't try to pronounce my Iranian first name...

Camden, New Jersey here I come!