I knew things had become stressful when I bought that drink.

It was a pomegranate mango sparkling water inside a metal bottle with gradient colors ranging from a peachy orange to sunny yellow. I don’t usually buy flavored drinks like that.

I drink my coffee black and my whiskey neat. But that day, before 10 a.m., I had already depleted my mental capacity, so when the option presented itself, I reached inside the case and without knowing what I was doing (but also being acutely aware I was doing something I don’t typically do), I walked over to the cash register and bought it.

It wasn’t even 10 in the morning, and that day of travel had already been shaping up to be a nightmare.

It began when when we were dropped off at the airport, and my wife, Justine, realized she had left her ID at home.

My rule of thumb is out the door four hours before the scheduled takeoff time — but it does assume showing up with your ID.

When planning for a no ID event, I’d suggest giving yourself seven hours to three days, and maybe more, depending on how much you enjoy your hair falling out at the airport.

Growing up, my mom — a seasoned sales veteran — drilled me on the family motto.

“Just ask the question.” That’s the motto.

In this case, the question I needed to ask the Department of Homeland Security was, “How bent are you on having people travel with identification?”

Admittedly, it’s a question that feels ridiculous even to think about.

I cut into American Airlines’ first-class desk and acted like I was desperate — which was very easy because I was desperate. As crazy as it may sound, we did ask the question, “Can my wife travel without ID?”

The American Airlines agents said, “It is not likely, but we will help you with checking either way.”

This made no sense to me since there was no point in checking in if I wasn’t going anywhere. So I asked the question again, “Yeah, thanks, but can my wife travel without ID?”

What I got in return was a bunch of nonsensical answers. I couldn’t understand much of what they were saying since I was also feeling the stress bearing down on my spine. This is how people age — every setback they experience makes their spine want to reunite with Mother Earth.

The agents talked to us about budget cuts and about lines taking two hours now because of the Trump administration, and they talked about not knowing what TSA was doing anymore.

Then they said, “You may have time to go get your ID. Your flight departs at noon … and not 10.”

Okay, respite! Worst comes to worst, Justine could have her mom pick her up, drive her the hour-plus back home, and then come back while I tried not to lose my mind taking care of my daughters at the airport all by myself.

I texted my family in Dallas to let them know there was a good chance I would be missing the flight. Of course, they are Hispanic, so they overreacted, “No!! What happened? You guys got hit with the big one? Is China finally invading? What did Gavin Newsom do?”

“No, mom. Justine left her ID at home.”

My mom did not take the news well because, she made my text about missing the flight mean my family and I might never see her again for the rest of our lives. She was upset, so she used her emotional chancleta! “Do what you want, Carlos Eduardo.”

I told Justine, “Let’s ask TSA.”

We headed to the line, and we met with a very nice young man who looked like Bad Bunny in a TSA uniform, and we asked the question, “Can my wife travel without ID?”

“You are all under arrest.”

That is not what he said, but is what I half-expected him to say.

Instead, he said, “Yes, but it takes a lot of time, like 30 minutes.”

Wow. 30 minutes. This goes to show that these days, despite everything, you don’t need an ID to travel. All you need is a ticket and, of course, the disposable money to buy said ticket. And by disposable, I don’t mean the money we need to buy eggs or anything else that has skyrocketed over the last three years, but anything we don’t use to sustain our expensive existence.

I was relieved to know that there was a screening my wife could do that would put her on the plane with us.

So I texted my family about it.

“We are coming. Justine is doing a screening. It takes a long time because it is very comprehensive … it even includes a Pap smear.”

Then I felt a presence hovering over my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw the TSA agent conducting Justine’s screening.

“Can I have your phone?”

“No. I mean, why? I mean, what for? I mean, yes, please, Mister Agent, help my wife get on that flight.”

As he took the phone away, I thought of telling him, “Please don’t read my texts — but if you do, know they had nothing to do with you but with my inability to deal with anything remotely stressful without cracking a joke.”

My wife later told me, “He wasn’t reading your texts. But even if he was, the messages were in Spanish.”

“Yeah, but the last message only said, ‘Incluye un Pap smear.” He might not go through a rigorous training like any other soldier in a different branch of the military would, but I bet he could’ve cracked that one out.

We made it past the line, and we dragged our bags to a grocery store inside the airport to get some food.

This is why when I saw the fruity drink bottle, I didn’t think, “Carlos, you don’t drink that. You won’t like it.”

Instead, I thought, “Woooo, creamsicle colors.”

And I bought it.

Carlos Garbiras’ column runs once a month in the Petaluma Argus-Courier. This extra column appears while columnist Harlan Osborne takes a few weeks off. Osborne’s “Toolin’ Around Town” will return in September.