Be Prepared

Welcome to week two of running amok in Miami intensive and diligent training for our proud future doctors.

I've always been a fan of airports and flying. Most people I know find it stressful and taxing; I've always adored travel. Except for packing. I've never been particularly good at packing, I either neglectfully under pack (It's Africa! Who ever heard of it being cold in Africa?!) or neurotically over pack. This time around I chose the latter, though I believe I may have justification. Hear me, oh people, and judge accordingly.

I spent last Thursday night/Friday morning in an exhausted delirium, lugging a 25 pound duffel bag through the bowels of DIA, trying desperately to make it to my car in Utah the economy lot before my legs gave out from under me. Yes, it was that pathetic. During the drive home I swore by all things good and holy that on my next flight down I would be accompanied by something with wheels and a collapsible handle. Enter my parent's rolling suitcase.

It was big and beautiful. It had wheels and a collapsible handle and so much space! I lovingly braided an ID ribbon around its handle, and fell to carefully filling it with everything I brought with me last week. And maybe a few extra shirts. And the MCAT homework book. And the new fancy accordion folder I bought to keep my notes and receipts straight. But that's it, and I swear on all my life.

When I heaved it onto the scale at DIA the readout started blinking furiously. Now I remember enough from childhood StarTrek marathons with my father to know that blinking lights = bad news. I checked to make sure I wasn't wearing a red shirt, and then glanced at the clerk who was eyeing my behemoth of a bag suspiciously.

"It's overweight, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"It's going to cost extra, isn't it?" Wince.

"$125 please."

This is how I know I am not a good person: For a brief, fleeting moment I actually considered it. I eyed my credit card and wondered if Princeton Review wouldn't notice that my baggage fee had mysteriously increased five-fold.

"What can I say, American just charges way more than US Airways."

And then the poor-decision-recognition center kicked in (I think it's somewhere by the pre-frontal cortex) and I dragged my bag off the scale and glowered at it. I considered pulling a Poisonwood Bible, but decided that I really didn't want to land in Miami wearing three shirts and an extra pair of pants. Instead, I wound up pulling all my MCAT books and folders out of the bag. It met weight, but just barely, and I was left toting a stack of print the size of the Gutenberg Bible through the A terminal of DIA. In the end, though, we both made it to Miami International Airport, and on the same flight, which is even more of an accomplishment.

So, assume what you will about my packing capabilities, but should a blizzard hit Miami while I'm here, I'm sure I will be the only prepared person in the city.