PDX Pot

"Marijuana is not seized from a passenger who holds a valid Oregon Medical Marijuana card when boarding an aircraft at the Portland International Airport as long as the passenger is not carrying a quantity that exceeds an amount that he or she is lawfully authorized to possess," she wrote.

Still, I braced myself to be whisked away to some dark, windowless room to have my bags and body searched.

Over and over again, I reminded myself exactly what I was carrying, which was three Squibs and a packet of Shrapnel from Lunchbox Alchemy. Packed in my see-through toiletry bag with all my liquids and OMMP card, the products were in their original packaging because transferring them to prescription bottles felt like I was exposing myself to the kind of debacle that befell an Oregon woman who was arrested in Japan, where she lives, for mailing herself prescription Adderall in non-original packaging. I figured my best bet was to be open and honest.

But I didn't feel open and honest. I felt scared. I worried that my wife, also at the airport for a flight, would get in trouble with me. All I wanted was an enjoyable, pain-free plane ride, followed by a few days of relaxed fun in the sun.

The relatively short line, previously a welcome sight, made me worry that security agents would be bored and have plenty of time to teach me a lesson about carrying cannabis.

I waited and hoped I didn't sweat too much.

After seven excruciating minutes that had me picking prison nicknames and promising myself that I'd learn to fight on the very first day I did time, I made it to the boarding-pass check.

Carry-on-sized bag in hand and laptop bag on shoulder, I passed this next guard and heard him tell me to keep my shoes on, keep all my items in my bag, to put both bags on the conveyor belt, and to take out my cellphone.

Oh no, this was it. I was fucked. Not only did they know I was carrying cannabis, they probably assumed I had cannabis in my system and didn't want to even bother with the formality of checking my bag before showing me that windowless interrogation room.

I stepped forward, and what next came out of my mouth shocked even me. "But what about my toiletries? I have some med—" I said, while fighting the urge to go all Tyler Durden on myself.

The guard cut me off, repeated his previous requests, and I froze. Was this for real? Did he know? Oh my God, what was about to happen?

I walked through the standard metal detector, took two steps, turned left, and grabbed my two bags and phone. Next, I walked over a bench, unzipped the outer flap, removed my see-through bag, looked through it to make sure everything was still there, and repacked it in the main compartment. After texting my wife, I walked to my gate, and took a small bit of Squib in preparation for a long flight.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen.

Why can't every flight be like this? 

WWeek 2015