Datebook: Sunday, January 20th ~ 2008

Every competition is different. Every venue has its own culture.

We packed (by we I mean she) heavily for this trip. Perhaps she didn’t need to pack ten black shirts, but she did. Perhaps she didn’t need to pack a sweater shaver, but she did. Perhaps she didn’t need to pack eight schoolbooks, because chances are she won’t open any until the flight home—but I am looking at a Business Stat text, a Theology book, an Annotated Bible, a macro economics notebook—the list goes on, stacked on the nightstand.

But, she did select some very special gifts to throw on the ice to her friends. And she can’t. This venue has a policy that all stuffed animals must be purchased at the arena, and at this point the pickings are slim. No Aardvarks, or light-up frogs to be found. No “more cowbell” T-shirts, or illuminated Frisbees.

And if we can’t throw them, we’ll have to take them home. Since we didn’t plan for this snafu, we are acting like bootleggers trying to sneak homemade hooch past the revenuers.

We may not be proud of the plan, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The bag check at the door involves a quick open of the purse or skating bag, and skim and feel on the top layers, and an “Okay, thanks ma’am”.

We have discovered that a feminine hygiene package on top eliminates any further inspection—so contraband toys and gifts can be secreted into the Excel Center for the good of the cause.

The cause being the space needed in the suitcase for the trip home.

Mombo