The Day The Air Force Lied To Me

Every year, two of the local Air Force bases, Randolph and Lackland, take turns hosting an air show. This year it was Lackland's turn, which happens to be the one near where I work. I have never actually officially been to an air show, at least not in the sense that you drive a distance in traffic, park far away, take a crowded shuttle bus and stand out on the hot pavement looking into the sky, trying not to blind yourself by the sun or pass or pass out from heat exhaustion. That's why I've never bothered going. Usually, if I'm going to "go", I watch from a distance, be it the home of a relative living nearby, a close-by park, or a freeway I happen to be driving on that goes by the base at the right moment. And after all the visitors we had last month, and all the drama, I was looking forward to spending a weekend sitting at home doing absolutely nothing. Fighting crowds in the hot sun was not in the cards.

On Thursday they parked a NATO AWACS jet on the ramp right next to the street I use to drive to work every day. That piqued my curiosity. Then, Thursday afternoon, the Blue Angels began practicing and I found myself in a golf cart parked as close as I could get to the runway without getting shot...a front row seat to the weekend aerobatics to come. On Friday when the F-22 was flying ear shattering, window rattling, car alarm triggering maneuvers 1000 feet off the ground with afterburner, I was sold. I came home and told Jen we were going to the air show on Saturday. I am an idiot.

We arrived at the air show to a line of traffic, as expected. We parked two miles away and took a shuttle to the front gate.  No surprises so far.  When we got to the gate, Jen went through the metal detector first.  She had our stroller and diaper bag filled with dangerous weapons.  The machine beeped like a dump truck backing up, but nobody cared.  

Kaitlyn and I went through next, but before we did, I emptied my pockets of all metallic contents: my cell phone and the car key.  The car key was on a $30,000 key chain (came with a free car!) with my Swiss Army knife that I purchased in Geneva back in 2003.  The pocket knife would be the point of contention, as the astute MP who just let in three Uzis and a blender informed me: "the Army Swiss knife is not allowed."  

Dammit.  If only I had placed the keys in the diaper bag, next to the grenades.  I was given two choices: 1) return to the car and secure the item there or 2) drop it into a box and pick it up when I leave.  

The trip back to the car was definitely a one way proposition at this point, I had no intentions of making more than one round trip.  The no-brainer here was to drop the knife into the box and pick it up on my way out.  Thinking it would make the knife easier to find later, I asked the guard if I should leave the key on the ring.  This is where I think I really went wrong.  Here's a woman who just let 25 pounds of C4 onto a military base disguised as a stroller, calls my knife an "Army Swiss", and I'm taking her at her word.  I must be a sucker for a woman in uniform.  She responded, "you probably shouldn't".  

Now, I spent six years in college, passed all the AP English classes in high school, and consider myself to be a halfway decent writer.  I'm not trying to toot my own horn, but I like to think I have a mastery of the English language most people just don't have.  If you tell me I "probably" 

shouldn't do something, that to me indicates that I could do it.  We could call it option A even, and option A would be a perfectly valid option because it would accomplish the end goal, but you're suggestion is that we consider option B.  Again, I could drop the key chain, $400 laser etched key, and $30 pocket knife with sentimental value that makes it priceless into the box and pick it all up later, but you're suggesting an alternative.  You're wearing a uniform, a sidearm, a funny looking hat, I'm going to go ahead and pursue option B.  

So thankfully, I removed the key from the $30,000 key chain and pocket knife with priceless sentimental value.  I dropped the latter two items, attached for easy visual identification later, into the box.

Kaitlyn had a blast, although I don't think she really cared about the planes.  She likes to be outside, people watch, and sleep in the stroller.  I like to take pictures of the sky where, moments before, jets were flying by.  By the way, the Blue Angels performed with only five of their six jets. You can read why here.

At 5:00, the air show was closing and we were hot, sticky, sunburned, and ready to go home.  I stopped at a port-a-potty to pee.  When I came out, I walked up to the portable sink, the kind with one of those foot pedals you use to pump the water.  I dispensed soap on my hands, rubbed them together, and pedaled. Air hissed out onto my dry soapy hands.  I tried the other sink.  They were both out of water. With dry soapy hands we walked back to the gate from whence we entered.  

There was an officer standing at the table where just a few hours ago I dropped my $30,000 key chain and pocket knife with priceless sentimental value into a box.  There were now several of the boxes on the table.  Upon seeing me, and before I had a chance to say anything, the officer asked “are you hear to pick up a knife?”  

How Nostradamus of him.  I told him I was.  He told me, in so many words, "tough shit". I honestly thought he was kidding and said as much.  He told me that he was not kidding; entering a military base is like entering an airport and he is not able to return anything surrendered to the “amnesty box”, as he called it.  He apologized for the "miscommunication".  I was speechless.  

Suddenly the box that I "shouldn't" drop my car key into had become an admission of guilt and a means of reparations and absolution--amnesty, if you will--for the high crime of buying a pocket knife in Switzerland five years ago and attaching it to my key chain.  I almost cried.  

I found the guy's supervisor and pleaded my case to him.  I expressed my extreme dissatisfaction at the situation only to be "reassured" that it had been happening all day to lots of other people. Celebrate your incompetence.  Good strategy.  We use it a lot where I work, too.  Now I sort of felt a kinship with this asshole, and it was clear to me by now that I was never going to see my overpriced key chain or priceless pocket knife again.  So I did the only thing left to do; I thanked the man for his service to our country, and I shook his hand.  

In retrospect (hindsight is always 20/20, isn't it?) I should have also told him to check the water supply in the portable sinks.