First off, can I just say that I am tired of dealing with machines instead of people. So I get it. Most airlines have gone to automated check-in kiosks. For the most part this is a stride forward with decreased waiting time and more efficiency--most of the time. But how often we forget that computers can only take us as far as our brains are willing to go. It's all fine and dandy really, but today, why does it now take three times as long to check-in then it did when there were real, life, breathing, trash-talking individuals. I want my rude ticket agent back please!

Then there's security screening. I LAUGH in the face of anyone who is actually banking on their ultimate safety being held in the hands of any human being when they fly. I am truly thankful that I call myself a child of God and walk in His divine protection because I wouldn't trust those jokers to keep me safe even if I was back on vicodin again (and before you email me, no I haven't taken any since the swollen cheek).

The enemy's not going to come the same way by air again anyway, but even if he (used grammatically here) was, he would have his manipulative way nonetheless because the essence of hijacking a mass of steel full of 150 burly citizens is essentially more a mind/power game than anything else. So go in the bathroom and brake the mirror and BAM, you have a weapon. I don't care how much strategic intelligence we have, without discernment, evil would surely find a way. But anyway....

Considering the fact that the security screeners generally fit the "I hate my life and can't believe I'm stuck with this crappy job" persona, I can't say I put a great deal of trust that they are keeping an eye out for suspicious activity, let alone that they even give a care that the guy in the leather jacket over there just stole homechick's laptop off the x-ray belt.

Then there's the gum-chewing. It exudes unprofessionalism. Hey you! Aren't you supposed to be a trusted security professional? Would you mind spitting out the gum? This is not the set of Cheers and you're not Carla.

And I'm not getting all hot and bothered because by coincidence I'm sure, I get stopped and searched every. single. flippin'. time. I fly. I know I know, I just have that "dangerous terrorist" look about me. And I can hear the popular opinion now saying, "Well it should do your heart good to know that they're actually searching people". Maybe, but I'm not that much of an optimist in that regard. It sure doesn't do my heart any good to know that the nerdodic, wholesome, Bible-toting, square who's barely got a blemish on her driving record, and is such a girly girl that she jumps at the shot of a BB gun, consistently gets frisked by the butch female officer, beeped by that dumb beeping thing, and gets her laptop examined with rubber gloves like it's hiding contraband. Let's get a little DISCERNMENT HERE PEOPLE. Trust me, I'm not the one you're looking for. I can however, show you how to cheat on Tetris.

I think I must wear the wrong clothes. That must be it.

"Do you have any metal in your shoes?" inquires the half-awake security agent.

"Huh? What? No I don't think so," I reply sarcastically as if I know the inner workings of every pair of shoes I own. Oh yeah sure and let me tell you the other ingredients used by the shoe manufacturer. Please.

"Well you're beeping. I'm going to need you to remove your shoes please. Step over here, spread your legs, and stand with your feet on the mat."

Did he just use the word "spread"? You mean to tell me that you want me to put my bare feet on that there mat where some 90,000 other fungus-carrying, hermataphite-ridden peds have been placed a couple hours earlier? Au contraire mon frere. Ambra doesn't do common barefoot areas.

And lastly, I'd like to briefly address a couple of the airplane "passengers" who have the audacity to call themselves American citizens:

Just what in tarnation would posses someone to start PAINTING THEIR NAILS on an airplane? Yes, she did, and we all could smell it. The air is CIRCULATED my dear, thanks for the whiff.

I also hereby declare that alcohol purchasing limits should be placed on passengers. Being seated next to the drunk gang of guys on their way to the Stanley Cup gave me a lifetime's dosage of offensive misogyny.

And lastly (for now), when the airplane lands and we taxi to the gate, and the pilot turns off that nice little seat-belt sign, indicating that we may now unbuckle our lap-belts, stand up, grab our carry-on luggage and go NOWHERE, could all of you calm yourselves the heck down? THERE IS NO FIRE. WE WILL ALL GET OFF THE PLANE EVENTUALLY.

[Past Monthly Rants: July June, April ]