In which the Virgin performs a miracle

On Friday night those of us who had never been to A Day in Rock City before were awarded Virgin candles from the Mexican store.

On Tuesday I was late to the airport. I'm somewhat notorious for being late to the airport; when leaving from DC I arrived 50 minutes before takeoff. But I had the impression that it took 45 minutes to get from Niffer-bur's to O'Hare on the El; in fact, it took an hour. A very long hour, involving many stops and much inching along. I hadn't had anything to eat that day, and given my love of breakfast, by the time I got to O'Hare I was quite irritable and worried. More than missing my flight, I was worried about not having time to grab a bite to eat before boarding.

I arrived about 40 minutes before takeoff and speed-walked through the airport to security, which I found wondrously line-free. Relievedly, I took off my shoes, put my bag on the conveyor belt, and heard those dreaded words: "bag check!"

I searched my conscience and, hoping for quick redemption, confessed my sins to the middle-aged TSA employee assigned to my bag: "I know, I forgot to take my liquids out."

"Which pocket are they in?"

I pointed to the front pocket, where he found my carefully-packed quart-sized zip-top bag of quasi-contrabands.

"It looked like you had a spray can or a bottle..." he said, replacing the baggie.

I thought, and realized what it must be. If he searched the packed main compartment of my bag, it would take forever. But I felt calm, resigned to my fate of missing my flight. "I have a candle," I said.

"You have a candle?" he said, handing my bag over. "Ok, thank you."

I took my bag slowly, unable to believe this stroke of luck. As I hoisted it onto my back and headed through the terminal, I glanced at the clock: still enough time to hit the bathroom and a fast-food joint. I was saved.