When the flight to Detroit started boarding, the concierge told me to keep quiet and he would take care of the check-in. The US State Department agent asked to see my passport, and the concierge explained that I was a Somali refugee. So she looks at her computer screen and says, "um, I'm afraid there's a problem, this passenger's name is on a watch list." Oh, great. Looks like my dad is playing Mr. Buzzkill again, just because I took that semester off from Oxford to go backpacking in Yemen. So I showed her my official State Department visa.

So I'm like, "honey, do I look like I'm a US military veteran?"

"No."

"Do I look like I'm some sort of right wing anti-tax teabagger?"

"No."

"Do I look like anybody else on the DHS terrorism danger list?"

"No, but..."

"Then I suggest that unless you want a nasty anti-discrimination lawsuit on your hands, you'd best give me an aisle seat. With extended legroom."

That shut her up.

via iowahawk: Man, Do I Hate Holiday Travel. Read the whoel thing; hilarious and insightful.