Ah, the Illinois Lotto. What better way to spend a hard-earned dollar than on a piece of paper that gives me a one-in-a-trillion chance of seeing some cash? It's the American Dream in action, wherein the self-made man, the champion of his own destiny, the one who affirms the fantastic possibilities of life in this country – but only for those with true grit – takes home more money, in a single day, than the Sultan of Brunei spends on hair gel in his lifetime. Which is still a lot.

Think about it this way: If you're not working on closing a major business deal or going over that career-saving presentation while you're in the air, you may as well channel the spirits of your dead – and very lucky – ancestors while on the plane. Many meditative Eastern religions use a mantra, repeated over and over until the words themselves become meaningless, to serve as a link between you and the transcendent. We'll adapt it slightly for our purposes, so repeat “money money money money money money money money,” ad infinitum , until there is a seamless blending of the Lotto ticket you hold, your inner being and the random-number generating computer at Lotto headquarters.

Return abruptly to the world of the living when Uncle Charlie asks if you've ever been to Miami , which is incidentally where this particular plane is heading. So much for the transcendent.

Getting your boarding pass, or, an exercise in futility. Rating: 2.4
For some reason – call me crazy – I don't think these particular airline employees are trained very well. The last time I attempted to get a boarding pass, I was told that the particular flight I was attempting to board was full, and I was getting bumped because I had purchased my ticket only the day before. Nevermind that the particular flight I was taking – Chicago to Dayton, Ohio, in the middle of a weekday – didn't seem like the most popular route, but I had purchased my ticket at least one month in advance. Which seems like more than a day to me.

Girl at counter: “Oh, sorry, I have you as standby.”
Me: “That's not possible.”
Her: “No, it's ... oh, wait.” (to manager) “What's that mean?” (points at screen)
Manager: “You need to manually enter his name.”
Her: “Oh, so you go ahead and do that.”
Me: “...”
Her: “Look at that. You're all set to go.”
Me: “...”

So much for being discreet about your belongings. Rating. 9.0 (mostly for fun).
This is the reason that, post-9/11, we've all had so much fun at the airport. Not only is there some jackass who refuses to fly without his lucky Bowie knife, but there's also a humiliated grandma who has airline security rummage through her purse to make sure granny isn't packing heat. And they're both in front of you.

And finally! It's your turn! Wait. Take off your belt. Take off your shoes. Did you pack these bags? Guess what, sir? You've been selected as the random guinea pig for the security grunts behind the scenes.

Why couldn't you be this lucky with that Lotto ticket?

The questions only escalate during those random, seemingly unprovoked personal searches. I'm glad that when they do this without your prior authorization, like on your checked baggage, they leave a nice little note thanking you for your (as I mentioned, not given) authorization. Score one for the airport security craze.

Final rating: 7.8.
While people-watching at the airport is still a good time, it's just not as easy as it used to be. You'll have to pull some James Bond – or at least Mr. Bean's interpretation thereof, Johnny English – moves to get away with it, which can be a good time in itself.