You don’t mess with the TSA folks. They’ve swabbed my hoop with their explosive-detection wand and now they demand that I hoop for them, to “prove it’s really a hula-hoop.” I can’t tell if they’re joking but they don’t seem to be, so I hop to it. Like a trained monkey… with pigtails.

For a moment the grim specter of terrorism fades, and most every uniformed body in sightshot is watching me, smiling. Afterwards they applaud. It’s nice to see they do remember how to smile. That happens in the Raleigh-Durham airport, and again at JFK.

I’ve heard tales of hoops that were not allowed to board and instead cost their guardian the rates for extra luggage. One friend of a friend allegedly spent $150 getting her hoop home when her three connecting flights unanimously forbid the boarding of the hoop.
But this trip—to North Carolina for the Hoop Path retreat—marks the third time I’ve flown with my hoop, carrying onboard successfully every time—8 flights total.

Right before boarding my outbound flight from SF, a waiting passenger–the LL Bean type, hair wound two tads too tight (and not just her hair, I’d speculate…)—points at my hoop and archly asks “and where will that go?”

Ever the charming ambassador of Hoopdom, I smile and tell her that it usually slips right into the first class closet.

“Jetblue doesn’t have a first class. They don’t have closets either, do they?”

She’s managed to unnerve me, but I’m all breeze back to her. “I’m sure I’ll find a place.” I leave MYOBB* unsaid.

I realize I have yet to do jetblue with a hoop. Fazed, I make the mistake of asking the greeter flight attendant if there’s a closet. “No, we don’t have closets onboard. That’s going to be a problem.”

But my pleazant breeze blows with renewed vigor and I tell her I’ll try it in the overhead bin. She grabs the telephone as soon as I move off, and I feel a stirring of dread that my hoop will be confiscated to the cargo hold.

“Frack,” I mutter when it blatantly fails to fit overhead. But- eureka!- I have a window seat, and there between my seat and the wall is a small gap perfectly suited to hoop-holding. I slip my baby in there, wrap my scarf around her as a safety belt in case of turbulence, and promptly close my eyes and pretend to sleep, willing the flight attendants to accept my neat solution. And the hoop and I fly unmolested. Take that, LL Beanie.

On the following 3 flights (serendipity!: I’ve booked window seats for all legs) I sweep past the staff without a word and pop my hoop into the very same spot. And that, dear Reader, is really the trick**. Walk onboard as though you’ve done it a jillion times. Don’t ask permission. Act as though you’re a member of the privileged classes, as though you own the place. And spend a few moments inserting a calm acceptance into the minds of the flight attendants.

If you try this method and it fails you, please accept my unwillingness to take responsibility, my condolences, and my invitation to share your story here for the benefit of others.

*Mind Your Own Business Beotch
** I think having a 33” hoop helps—I’m not sure you’d be able to pull it off with a 40” plus diameter.