Spring Break 2007: Finding the Me I never knew I was...

at least according to the Department of Motor Vehicles of Utah. But I'll get back to that. Let me first go into how it all began:

Spring Break 2007 began with a flight to Las Vegas to visit my sister Sallie, her husband Brandon, and their four children: Maggie (5), Navy (3), Jack (2?) and Elizabeth (10 months). Upon my arrival they took me to a restaurant famous for ribs. Big, massive ribs of mammoth-like beasts. I engorged without shame, eating all of it— impressing our lovely, young waitress, Stephanie. But I don't think it really did. I think she thought it a bit odd that the guy sitting next to the newborn was asking her to take a photo with him and his empty plate of ribs….but my Brandon got her number for me anyway.

As I left the restaurant with my sister, Sallie, there were four dressed up girls my age, (ok probably quite a bit younger) in a booth. One of them caught my coddling eye and began to look me over---but then saw I was carrying the baby in its car seat seat in one hand…and quickly looked away with a twisted, disgusted look…I didn't stop to explain (note to self: no checking out girls when carrying baby behind sister. That probably only works with dogs).

After Vegas, I flew to my hometown, Logan. There I stayed with family and golfed a horrible game, losing a gigantic bet to my dad. I cannot portray the extent of my frustration with words of black on a white computer screen. I would need audible sounds and perhaps some vivid color.

The next morning I went to the Utah DMV to replace my lost license. Stupid terrorists made it so that the government now coordinates DMV records with the Social Security office. I am not sure how good that is at catching terrorists, but it caught me: my social security number didn't match the social security number listed on my license…great.

So I went and dug up my social security card, which I'd previously never seen before…and was shocked to find that on the card there was a 9 where I always thought, since getting my license 10 years ago at the age of 16, was a 4. Oh no. Oh just %&*# great.

Verdict: I've been using the wrong social security number for 10 years. Nobody, including my bank, knew. Goodbye, bank account, goodbye credit cards, goodbye Wednsday afternoon and Thursday morning. Hello phone calls to credit agencies, DMVs, tax accountants etc….not a fun way to spend ¼ of your spring break.

Later that week we had a family project to cut some trees down and clean up a property downtown, say goodbye to Friday and Saturday….I was put in the crane 40 feet up with the chainsaw to cut branches…With cutoff sleeveless shirt, orange helmet, jeans and a chainsaw I looked like a cross between Paul Bunyon and that guy on the Village People. I suffered a near death experience climbing out on a limb, 50 feet up with a chainsaw running in one hand, and ended my day Saturday driving a 1960 era dump truck to and from the Logan landfill when suddenly the brakes went soft. No brakes, no problem…that's how I roll I guess (cue MTV's Guns & Roses "You could be Mine" video...but replace Arnold and his Semi with a Village Person look-alike in a Dump truck).

At 4am this morning I awoke to rush to the airport to catch my flight home. After waiting in the United Airlines line for 40 minutes I realized that I was flying US Airways…and walked over to their booth, where there was no line. Unfortunately, they had no record of my being on the 6am flight to San Diego via Phoenix. "None?" I asked. "nope, youre not in our system, maybe you are flying United." The ticket man replied. 'Nope', I thought to myself, 'tried that already.' I then used my Blackberry to bring up the Expedia itinerary and showed it to him. He was as not impressed as he should have been (at both the coolness of the blackberry and the existence of my flight itinerary. He said, "That's odd, but you're still not in our system. I can transfer you onto the 6am for only a $100 transfer fee. But you better hurry, it leaves in 20 minutes." (cost of original ticket $90, ten less than the 'transfer fee'). With no other choice, time or credit/debit cards, and only one check remaining of the three given me upon establishing my new bank account, I accepted, wrote, signed and ran. By then it was 5:30am and of course the line for security was stretching outside the building and noone would let me butt in. So I ran to the Delta terminal where there was no line. Lucky for me, the US Airways guy who issued me the ticket also alerted security to give me an extra thorough screening, with less than 20 minutes before my flight was to depart.

After a series pleasant violations, I sprinted to the gate and made it there seconds before the door closed. "Hey 1F, cool! Front row window seat!' I thought to myself upon glancing at my ticket. But as I entered the plane I saw one of the largest women I've ever seen sitting in 1E/1F. She was an elderly Polynesian who took up every millimeter of 1E and about 2/3 of 1F. I went ahead and contracted myself to fit in the remaining 1/3 1F. During the flight she sweated profusely, probably because of her effort trying not to spill over onto me so much, so I sweated too trying to contort my body so I wouldn't be sweated upon.

I arrived in San Diego at 9am. But my bag didn't. While filling out a lost bag form, I noticed that the form pleasantly stated that US Airways was happy to compensate any of their valued customers for any items included in lost bag , but demands a receipt for all items claimed to be lost, subject to a minor list of excepted items for which they are never liable, which include: all electronics, cameras, ipods, books, documents, jewelry, watches, precious stones, purses, wallets, cash, heirlooms, art or animals. I figure that covers everything except clothing…which I unfortunately didn't think to keep receipts for after thier purchase.

Fortunately, the bag was found and arrived at my house at 10pm this evening. I am grateful for that small thing, especially after noticing that over the break somebody stole the antennae off of my car where it was parked in Nithin's complex' garage.