Bringing my knife to the airport: now on my list of Things To Never Do Again.
TSA guy: Okay, you need to step over here, please. *pulling on latex gloves, opening my laptop bag* Do you have anything in here that may harm or cut me?
Me: *kind of confused* Um. No, not in there.
TSA guy: In either of these bags.
Me: Oh. Yeah, I have a razor, I think.
TSA guy: What kind of a razor?
Me: Just a plastic disposable one.
TSA guy: You have a knife.
Me: What?! Oh. Oh my God, I have a knife! Oh, shit.
My roommate gave me this pocketknife a while ago because she was worried about me always walking or biking around by myself in the dark. I've been carrying it around ever since, but I've never had reason to use it and had in fact forgotten it was there (which sort of defeats the purpose of carrying a knife, doesn't it?). Luckily, at the Portland airport there's a storage service called DJ's (it's on the lower level, by the baggage claim) where they'll hold onto small items for you for a mere five bucks. The TSA guy had to escort me back through security so I could go there. When I laid the knife down on the counter at DJ's, the guy who was working squinted at it, then took his own out of his pocket. He had exactly the same knife. I wonder if he was allowed past security with it?
Anyway, I eventually made it onto the plane, and now I'm in San Francisco! I'm chilling with idealisms, his roommate, and his roommate's friend who's visiting from San Diego, the former having graciously offered to let me crash at their place in the Mission on extremely short notice. We went to Sparky's earlier, where the guys had breakfast and milkshakes and I had some excellent apple pie. Tomorrow I think we're going hiking. Hooray for spontaneous vacations. Hooray for pie, and open wireless networks, and finding my way here from the Oakland airport all by myself with no map and a dead phone in a city I haven't set foot in since I was ten. And without a knife.