At 9:10AM on December 19th, I loaded up my bags and headed out the door to catch a bus that would take me to the coach station, then a National Express coach that would take me to Heathrow. Despite my usual anxieties about timed travel, I made each interchange easily and efficiently, patting myself on the back for work well done. Yes, it was a bit more of hassle to find my terminal as, having (wrongly) assumed that Terminal 4 was connected to the terminal I was dropped at from the coach, I found myself waiting 25 minutes for the next underground to take me to Northwest Airline's check-in station. No problem, however, as I had left *plenty* of time, and sailed right through the line to check my large rolling suitcase, take my boarding pass, and wander off towards security. I had 45 minutes before the plane was due to board and the line for security was nonexistent. I would have plenty of time to get something to eat - I hadn't eaten breakfast, as I had conducted the massive purge of the refrigerator the night before - for breakfast I had the choice between chicken nuggets with peanut butter and jelly or frozen ravioli with maple syrup.
Ummm... Yep, that's my duffel bag being hauled away to the side. I dutifully put back on my shoes, my coat, put my ziplock baggie of purel back in my purse, and followed the woman with my carry-on. I was amused that I had been selected for a random inspection - I was obviously just making up their quota of caucasian girls. She pulled out my laptop and swabbed it down. She pulled out my camera and swabbed it down. We started chatting about how I was a student down at the Arts Institute, working on Costume Design, and how - yes - sewing was a lost art nowadays. About this point, she had reached my sewing projects bag (placed in my carry-on so as to allow me to get stuff for my group crit done whilst home, even if my checked luggage ends up halfway across the world); she pulled out paper patterns with the corresponding fabric shapes pinned on. She then pulled out a metal case with "Gingher" written on the side.
Oh, shit.
She gave me a sympathetic smile as she heard me say it - "this is what I was looking for, isn't it?" Yep. She opened it up to reveal my 7" extra-sharp dressmaker's sheers. Which, incidentally, come with numerous warning to not let children even touch these. For all the joking about confiscating nail files and bottled water, these scissors could do a pretty serious amount of damage. She had only my word that I would never get blood on them, lest they stain. Fortunately, as I'd only checked one bag, I had the option of going back to the NW Airlines desk and checking this one as well. With my "plenty of extra time" flying out the window, I raced back to the desk to see that the line had increased tenfold, and was now filled with families carrying tons of baggage, skis, oversized packages, etc. Grumble.
Worse, when I was about six groups from the front of the line, we received our holiday greeting from the head honcho: "This flight has been oversold, so many of you are going to get bumped." Merry Christmas. Fortunately, as I had my boarding pass and seat number, I was fine. We were all offered $1000 if we'd switch and take the same flight tomorrow - if we didn't speak up now, however, we would lose the compensation. I briefly considered - the money was to be in travel vouchers, but that would easily pay both for the current Christmas trip and some fun trip later next year... As quickly as I thought it, I dismissed it. I was already here, I was ready to go, and we were going to be making Christmas cookies for Andrew's birthday the next day. Hells no, I WILL go!
By this point, the evil Christmas gremlins started making trouble - as I rounded a corner, I saw approach in the line an old British grandmother/fatherly couple, obviously on the way to Seattle to see young relatives; they were met, however, by airline personal who informed them that they had just been bumped. The grandmother started crying. I was overcome by horrific feelings of guilt and imagined myself turning into the grinch when I had to turn away. (If I had watched her another minute, I would've bounded forward and declared, "HERE! She can have *my* ticket"... only to regret it a moment later) When I finally reached the first in line, they decided it was time for a shift change, and I had to sit as every single person behind the desk handed theirs over to someone new - and explained what was going on. During this time, my watch showed that they were officially beginning to load the plane. I handed them my new second checked bag, raced over to security (which, was now choc-a-bloc full of people, nearly all of whom reached the front of the line without any inclination towards taking off shoes, taking off coats, taking liquids out of their bags, etc before they finally ambled up to the conveyor belt and looked about in surprise when asked to do so) 2:35 - ten minutes passed the start of loading... I passed through security quite easily (I had placed my coat into my carry-on-now-checked bag, so I had only myself, my shoes, my purse, and my laptop - pre-swabbed and all); when I went to catch my tub coming out of the X-ray machine, the TSA bloke grabbed it and pulled it back - 'haha, little Christmas humor there', he said as he let it fall through. Thank God they had already taken my scissors away.
Once again shod and carrying my bags, I raced for the departures sign to see what gate I would need to sprint to as though all hell's demons were chasing me.
NW Flight 105 - Seattle - DELAYED / WILL BOARD 15:00.
So... I *may* have mentioned... a few times... that I'd be happy to get back to Seattle where it's ... (ahem) warm. Where's it's never this cold, absolutely never. And, in answer to the question posed, it never ever snows. 
