[If you’re new here, 1. welcome, 2. get yourself up to speed by going back to Day 1 where I explain why I’m playing 101 levels of Donkey Kong in 101 days. You good? OK. Let’s move on.]

There are two things that I love about the airport. Thing one: I love going through airport security. I honestly do. I know it’s a cool thing for everyone to complain about. It’s fun to say things like, “…Ugh, and then I had to take my shoes off.” I myself have said such things in the past.

No longer. Now, I gladly take off my shoes. Even when I don’t need to take them off, as when I am flying domestic, I take them off anyway. I find it relaxing to get down to the socks. And I like the idea of my shoes taking a private journey along a rubber conveyer belt, and then getting a through X-ray-ing.

But what I love most about airport security is the ta-da moment when I finally pass through the metal detector. Every time I go through that thing I have to use all of my will power and strength not to say the word “ta da” to the man/lady standing on the far side. Because it is one of the few real life, through the looking glass-type portals I ever get to pass through. On one side is The Land Where People Have Metal On Them And Enjoy More Than Three Ounces Of Liquid At A Time. But on the far side is a land of metal- and liquid-free people who can now embrace the privilege of buying a $4 Mounds bar and a Hustler magazine from Hudson News.

And when I get the “you’re OK” nod from the man/lady waving me through the metal detector? I almost always want to nod back and say, “Guess what, pal? You’re OK, too.”

But I don’t. Instead, I quietly put my belt back on while smirking and shaking my head at anyone who has set off the metal detector and is now being pulled aside to have the you-set-off-the-metal-detector-dummy wand waved over them. Me? I haven’t set off a metal detector is almost five years, a streak which I am more than a little proud of.

The other thing I love about airports is going through customs. Some people I know always get nervous going through customs, even though they have nothing to hide, and have not been near any livestock lately or visited any farms, or have over $1,000 in cash on them or are carrying any firearms, etc. Something about the line of questioning–“What were you doing in Canada?”–seems to cause some people’s minds to suddenly go blank.

I never get nervous. I enjoy it when people ask me questions about myself, a.k.a. my favorite subject in the world. You want to know what I’m doing in Canada? How much time do you have? Because, sir/madame, I could go on all day on that subject.

On one side of the customs line, I was in Canada. But after having a brief conversation with a man/lady sitting in a booth, and answering several, hopefully personal questions about myself, I would technically be in the U.S. Over the holidays, the customs agent, a Chinese man, held up my passport and squinted at me. “You do not look like this picture at all,” he said.

I wanted to say, I’m glad you brought that up, because I have recently lost a substantial amount of weight. Instead, what I said was this: “I did lose a little weight recently. Maybe that’s it?”

The man kept squinting at me, then back at my passport. I lowered my head, trying to produce a double-chin for him. “What type of work do you do?” he asked.

“I work on a TV show,” I said.

“As a writer or behind-the-scenes type person?” he asked.

“Well, I do those things too. And I host the show.”

“YOU’RE ACTUALLY ON THE SHOW?”

Why is it so hard for people to believe that, yes, I am actually on the show? Do I not look like I belong on TV? Am I disfigured in some obvious way that I haven’t realized yet? “Yes, I’m on the show,” I said.

He took a moment to deliver two or three more stink-eyes in my direction. Then he stamped my passport, and looked at me with an expression that seemed to say I’ll let this bullshit slide this time. He then waved me on to the U.S. side of the airport, where I was now free to enjoy a ceremonial Mounds and Hustler.

Welcome everyone to level 1-6, or, as I like to call it, Portable Bridge & Ladder Hijinx. There are three portable ladders and one portable bridge power-up to use here. Portable ladders feature arrows that point up and down; portable bridges feature arrows that point left and right. Know the difference, people. As for enemies, there are two, both of the flames-with-faces variety. And, per usual, there is a sombrero, an umbrella, a ring, and a 1-up to collect all enroute to the locked door where Pauline’s speech bubble featuring the word HELP! is coming from.

Mario’s at the bottom, at what I like to call girder level 0. The locked door is at the top. Enemies are on the move. Let’s begin.

Portable ladder 1 must be positioned to get Mario up the lefthand side of the screen, from girder level 1 to girder level 2. Things can get dicey here, as the flames-with-eyes enemy is tall, and must be jumped at least once as he continues along his route. Jumping him requires careful timing. The five beat jumping-the-enemy Donkey Kong theme rings out–you know the one–when I clear the flames-with-eyes enemy, a sound that never fails to make me happy.

Once I’ve reached the top of the girder system, I tap the conveniently placed ladder power up–again, note the up-down arrows–and use the temporary ladder to safely descend back down to girder level 0. You’ll need to make haste down the ladder, too. I was goofing around during my first descent and wound up falling from a high enough point to cause Mario to 1. break his leg (it twitched briefly), and 2. die.

Back on girder level 0, I discovered a ladder and bridge power-up sitting side by side. The ladder can be used to collect the umbrella and the sombrero, but only on separate occasions, as the ladder power-up timer expires too quickly for you to collect both. I did experience my first bit of gameplay ambiguity here, not entirely understanding how the ladder works with the bridge and vice versa. I put the bridge where I assumed it needed to go–next to the key and exit door–but when I’d try to deploy the ladder, the game would make an “ernt” buzzer-like sound, not allowing me to deploy the ladder where I thought it needed to be deployed (i.e. next to the bridge). (After two more ernts, I did eventually manage to create a ladder-bridge set-up that the finicky level approved of.) Grabbing the key, I took a moment to say my goodbyes to this level, like the rejected people do at the end of a rose ceremony on TV’s The Bachelor. Level 1-7: It’s your turn tomorrow.