Colorado was beautiful. Good friends, good food, good weather. What’s not to like? On the way to Estes Park, I was introduced to cherry cider. It’s liquid cherry pie (and we all know how I feel about pie). Patrick and I loaded up on peach syrup, strawberry rhubarb jam and other cherry paraphernalia (thanks, Jenny!), figuring what we didn’t eat would make a great gift.
Despite the fact that I fly relatively often, in my post-wedding fatigue, I somehow managed to forget the liquid rule this time around. I headed through security only to hear the dreaded words: “Bag check.” This was followed by the next dreaded words: “Who’s bag is this?” The officer dangled a black sack precariously over the conveyor belt. Mine.
After being chastised by the security lady who gloved my peach syrup with suspicion, I had to make a choice. Keep or toss. There was no way I was about to throw away more than $20 worth of fruit products. It was time for the mad dash back through the giant Denver airport to check my bag.
But first came the walk of shame. I rearranged my items while The Preserves Police held my bag and waited impatiently. (They don’t let you have your items back when they find something “banned” from carry-on inside until you have left the security area.) I was then escorted by the guard through the weaving line of security stations, past all the other guards and the wondering eyes of all the other passengers in line. I could feel the redness creeping up my cheeks. One guard even half-jokingly asked me as I exited, “Have you been bad?”
Ultimately, I made it back to Southwest’s check-in counter and then back down to security. I was on time for my flight, and am now back in swelteringly hot Texas. Colorado was fun, but that peach syrup had better be good.