To go West, sometimes you must go East first

35, 000 FEET, OVER NEVADA - By some miracle, the normal sardine-can crush on the American Airlines flight from San Francisco to Philadelphia was less so today with probably 1/3 of the seats vacant - including the center seat next to me.

And that means my seat mate (a quiet sort with a decidedly Spanish accent) and I are sharing the table and seat space, spreading out our papers, books, glasses, sweaters, hats and all the other crap that you normally keep sitting in your lap (or on the floor) on a full flight.

The crap pile will be joined by several bottles of breakfast wine in moments.

The SF Airport was its usual chaotic, frenzied place. And for the first time, there were a number of service dogs going through, too. (It's odd to hear a dog howl, bark or growl on a plane, but the low pooch-generated moan from six rows behind me seems almost soothing compared to the incessant metal creaking of this over-the-hill aircraft.)

Very early in the morning, with my pre-printed TSA pre-check boarding pass in my hand, I expected to bypass the lunacy and breeze to my gate.

Expectations are a REALLY a bad thing to cling to when going through airport security. 

With the TSA pre-check, as you transit the x-Ray/metal detector, you keep your shoes on, and simply have to take all metal things out of your pockets and put them on the conveyor with your bags ... ALL metal. And so I did - wallet (with chain) glasses, sunglasses, change, car keys... But I set off the alarm as if I was carrying something from Clive Bundy's collection of automatic weapons

So I searched and searched, eventually finding more change, a tiny flashlight - and I took off my belt. 

Problem solved! 

Not.

By now, the young TSA guy working the metal detector started getting a little nervous - like maybe I was related to Clive Bundy. And I got more and more agitated. Kee-rist, I had sipped only a single cup of tea and my caffeine level was dropping like Crestwood's stock. I needed to get to the gleaming Starbuck's I could see just on the other side of security.

Then I found the fancy case I keep my glasses in. My NEW glasses - the glasses that came in a new - apparently metal - case.

As my amiga Laura McCartney says in such situations, "Santo Crappo."

No worries now - I just got handed a cup of lukewarm tea by a hacking, wheezing flight attendant who says he's allergic to dogs.

But the wine cart will be by shortly, he promised.