Olivia ’12 RSS feed

About Me:

My name is Olivia and I am a senior at Butler University. I spend most of my time in Lilly Hall as a BFA Dance Performance major. When not in rehearsal or ballet class, I write papers for my English Literature second major. In my super-abundant, never-lacking, this-is-highly-sarcastic spare time, I attempt to cook in my apartment kitchen, watch Youtube videos of ballet, knit sweaters that never seem to come to an end, and read books both silly and serious. If I could take any class at Butler just for kicks, I'd go for DiffyQ.

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Olivia

Cream is a deadly weapon

I know TSA makes the country safe, etc. I’ve never been unduly inconvenienced by new luggage restrictions or the screening process — until security stopped me as I tried to fly back to Butler.

After rummaging around in my carryon luggage, the TSA employee took out nail polish (didn’t realize that should have been a liquid), a bag of Christmas candy, a bunch of CD cases, and a grapefruit for re-screening. After all, we wouldn’t want anyone to suffer grapefruit juice burns, now, would we?

Joking aside, I’m glad the TSA takes its job seriously enough to re-screen items like to this to ensure they aren’t weapons. That’s fine. What I do take offense with is citing my jar of Nutella as a forbidden item. Well, my off-brand Nutella.

Does it look more dangerous because it's in a foreign language?

“It’s a cream,” the employee explained to me. Not the cream, NOT THE CREAM!

Back I trekked to my dad waiting outside security, unwilling to waste a jar of perfectly good hazelnut spread. I gave him the jar, said good-bye for a second time, and went through security. Again.

Of course, the line had doubled by the time I went through the screening process a second time. I must admit, I was hardly the most cheerful traveler when I arrived at my gate, ten minutes before the boarding time.

However, however! The nice Delta flight attendant asked me covertly if I wanted something else to eat with my sandwich during the drink service. So I had, in addition to my cranberry-apple juice and lightly salted peanuts, some pretzels and goldfish. She liked something salty with her sandwiches, she explained.

Actually, both flight attendants complimented my sandwich. Maybe they were hungry? Perhaps my dad makes the most awesome sandwiches in the world? Both are plausible explanations. Regardless. They restored my faith in air travel and helped fill the sorrowful abyss in my heart, rent asunder by the forceful separation from my apparently deadly Alpella Krem.

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