A few years ago Felix, Charlie, their buddy Sexy, KY and I took our annual guys trip, this year we went to Iceland.  What better way to escape the Chicago winters than by heading to ICELand in February, the unofficial home of hot chicks, 36 ounce beers, geysers, the Blue Lagoon and elves.  (Seriously the Icelandic people think there are elves living in their yards.)

Those guys all live in Boston, so travel will be simple enough.  Icelandair has direct flights to Reykjavik out of Logan.  I’ll take a cheap Southwest flight from Midway, KY can fly in from L’ville and we’ll all meet at the airport.

We get to Logan and all meet in front of the Icelandair desk.  Everyone else checks in.  I’m last in line and walk up to the counter.
Agent: “Passport please”
Chip: “Oh, crap… No way.  I forgot my passport.”
Felix: “Stop fucking around and just give her your passport.”

I’m not one to blame other people for my stupidity… but no one, not one single person even so much as mentioned the word “passport” since we started planning this trip.  It never once came into my brain to pack it.  Like if one person had mentioned “passport” I would have remembered it.  No one did.  I’ve traveled to over 30 countries, so I think everyone just assumed a “seasoned traveler” like myself just wouldn’t forget it.  They were wrong.

Chip: “I’m not fucking around, I don’t have it.”
Agent: “Well you can’t fly if you don’t have your passport.”
Chip “There’s nothing I can do without a passport? Can I just fly there and have it shipped to me?”
Agent literally says: “Once you get to Iceland, you would be stuck in the airport and couldn’t clear customs.  And… it doesn’t help that you kind of look like a terrorist right now.”


I’m sorry but terrorists don’t wear North Face jackets.