Fly Airport Fly

I am a proud student of a university, flying home back to land and nation. Walking past the glass sliding doors with my head held high, I feel like a swan. A beautiful white swan. So beautiful I almost started dancing. In fact, that's what I did, a little dance. A graceful sweeping ballet of beauty across the white marble floor of the airport terminal.

No, I was queuing up for my air ticket. But I did have my head held up high. 

I answered the stewardress woman at the cashier in a clipped, competent tone and smiled charmingly when she said, "have a nice flight." Oh yeah babeh, I am smooth like a dolphin's backside. 

Then, with a noble student-of-uni walk I marched towards the escalator. I was a picture of competence and culture. Like Brad Pitt in some movie about walking while looking cool-as-beans. I took the escalator up to where the airport security was. 

Hah. The airport security. I may be scrutinized, judged, investigated, and searched. But I am not guilty of anything. I am a student-of-university. 

I approached the guard with my handphone, lappie and belt in a tray. Then I looked him in the eye. "Is that all?" I asked. He pointed at my pant zip. It was gloriously open. 

Complete, resounding victory.