Facts

Did you know that the baggage handling staff at LAX hates musicians? It's true!! I stood in this really long line for a really long time waiting for my checked luggage to be examined, and then a baggage handler said "Anyone leaving at 1pm, give me your luggage NOW." So I gave him a rolling suitcase that had cds in it and then I tried to give him my guitar, which is packed in a keyboard case of prodigious size, and he cocked his eyebrow and slowly began shaking his head, nervously asking, "What's in there?" "A guitar," I said. As soon as the words left my mouth, it was on. He shouted into his walkie talkie: "Come in, come in, we've got one! Sector 5, Gate 2!" Suddenly metal walls descended on all sides of the room. A team of baggage handlers, donned in rubber suits and masks, poked tasers suggestively in my direction. The rest of the travelers were ushered hurriedly out of the building through a secret sidedoor. "Put the guitar down!" one of them yelled behind his mask, "NOW." Like a frightened fox, I made a break for it. I sprinted futilely toward a metal wall when I was tackled by a group of handlers and repeatedly tased. From the bottom of the dogpile, my guitar was stripped from me. I came to, then battled my way to a standing position, only to witness a strange, disturbing ceremony: the baggage handlers had formed a semi-circle around their baggage handling leader, who removed my guitar from its case and held it in triumph above his head. The handlers softly began to chant: "Levitate...Levitate..." And to my amazement, the baggage handling leader (let's call him Senior Bag) floated slowly toward the ceiling. His rubber suit transformed into willowy silk that blew dramatically around his body. He still held my guitar high above his head. Before he reached the ceiling, his body came to stop. He held his position for a pregnant pause before speaking. When he finally said, "We have gathered here today..." the reverb on his voice was so heavy one could hardly understand. He spoke slowly: "We have gathered here today to show Ms. Davidson exactly what happens when one decides to check a guitar on an airplane." The baggage handlers below bellowed with glee, snorting and wiggling around like hogs. Senior Bag laughed an enormous echoey laugh, then fell silent. The next thing that occurred was so grave of a sight, it seemed to happen in slow motion. Senior Bag cocked his arms backward, then hurled my guitar at the ground with ferocious force. My guitar turned 360 degrees through the air, a model on a runway, displaying its grace for a final instant before smashing into twenty pieces on the tile floor. The baggage handlers scurried for the pieces, grabbing them, ripping, tearing, and finally devouring them. I held my head in my hands, yelling, "NO!!! NO!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Suddenly the entire scene vanished and I was in Sydney, Australia.