I pride myself on my backpack. I think it has the necessary components to survival- seriously, I do. I am; however, on a constant search for a new backpack that doesn’t ruin my dresses, but for now I will survive out of my Workday Patagonia and use it as an excuse to constantly buy new threads.

I am “That Girl”. The one who brings a back pack into bars, restaurants and grocery stores even on the weekend (facepalm). It is my little home in a bag. As hard as it is to admit, I got out-backpacked last week. For those who know me, this is a hard pill to swallow.

Let me explain. First off, I sat down on my flight, and immediately my seatmate pulled out a honey cough drop from his backpack. It’s a funny thing to love, but I love honey cough drops. “Cough drop?” he asked. +1 for the middle-seater. The ordinary runway take off delayers took place…. 30 minutes later we still sat there. This was a week where I had come off of 2 weeks home with my daughters (spoiled), to a crazy multi-city week.

There I sat, too much time on my hands without wifi, too many sappy songs on JJ Grey and Mofro Spotify, and without control, I started to cry. I tried to force myself to stop, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t particularly sad…well yes I was, but not ‘cry in public sad.’ I couldn’t stop. Instantly, I became the subject of my own blog. “Dear Diary, Today I sat by  a fairly normally looking blonde chick who couldn’t stop crying….” Sheesh! Get it together MER!

Anyway, Backpack Guy (that’s what we will call him) reluctantly slides a travel pack of tissues from his backpack over to my tray table. Embarrassingly, I accepted, and as soon as I got my emotional self together, I inhaled my snot and said “thank you and I am sorry.”  Back to his backpack he went. “Buffalo Jerky?” he asked as he offered me some luxurious jerky from a vacuum-sealed pack guaranteed to taste delicious and make everyone around you think you tooted all at once. Over my tray table of tears, I accepted and finally started to get myself together. I looked at my seatmate, and I said “Thank you. Thank you for giving me good things from tissues to cough drops to jerky. Thank you for not judging me. Thank you for not jamming ear buds into your ear when I started to cry.”

After I got myself together, I started to admire my seatmate. He had a damn solid backpack filled with contents I did not have in my backpack- contents necessary for survival. I turned to Backpack Guy, and I said “I will trade you straight up ….my backpack for yours…no sneak peeks.” To no surprise, my offer was rejected.

As we began to descend, when my crazy ass finally pulled it together, Backpack Guy said, “I won’t trade backpacks, but I do have something you need.” He then gave me a “pen” also known as a heavy death weapon that consistently makes it through security. Sure, it writes, but if I were to write with it in a meeting, I feel certain my peers and prospects alike would be terrified of me. He continued by giving me a demo on “How to Use Said Pen”. I feel honored and terrified all at once. Cheers to “Backpack Guy”!