Insecurities About Airport Security
Posted: Friday, February 26, 2010
by Brianna Popsickle
We were on our way to visit friends. It was a slow drive as we found ourselves behind a snow plough. The weather forecast came on the radio.Brace yourself for more snow as we can expect flurries of up to fifteen centimeters, and the temperature to drop to minus thirty.'
The forecast was grim.
Earlier that week my husband had mentioned taking a trip. White sand, blue sky and an endless supply of fancy drinks with little umbrellas in them, sounded good to me. That was, until I caught a documentary on airport security.
How could he get through with weapons, when I couldn't get through with a bottle of moisturizer?
Two years ago security stopped me, rummaged through my bag and confiscated my face cream. I know it may not sound like a big deal to you, but after a week of sun with no moisturizer, my face no longer resembled my passport photo for the trip home, which we all know can have serious ramifications.
Last year my husband was checked through before me, and as usual, had no problem. I stepped forward and it was like a flashing light went off. I must have one of those faces that look like I've got something to hide, because I'm put through the demeaning interrogation every time.
Where are you going, how long will you be there, what will you be doing, what's in your bag, what was the maiden name of your father's uncle's mother? ' I was bombarded with questions but smiled and answered politely expecting to be moved along. Instead, my luggage and handbag were opened and the security officer started to shift through my things.
I made small talk with him to lighten the mood but the more I talked the deeper he rummaged. I glanced at my husband. He rolled his eyes at me and shook his head.
An orange, lace camisole dangled from the side of the suitcase. The security officer held it up, looked it over, then looked at me. I felt my face go red.
We're going to the islands, I thought . What's he expecting, flannel?
He was starting to tick me off. My husband sensed it, and just as I was about to speak up, he leaned in and whispered, "Brianna, just stop talking, you're making it worse." Eventually the officer placed my things back and closed the luggage, but not before confiscating a bottle of massage oil.
I'm sure he and his wife will enjoy it, I fumed, as we moved to the boarding area.
It's at this point of the trip when I feel like I'm airport security. Hours of sitting with the people you're about to fly with can be unnerving and I tend to stare them down, as if to spot any terrorist intentions. I give them that, I'm on to you look, paying particular attention to the guy with the briefcase cuffed to his wrist or the too jovial guy in the Hawaiian print shirt. That happy-go-lucky faade can't fool me.
I snapped back to reality as my husband swerved to pass the snow plough we'd been following. We arrived at our friends a little late, blaming it on the weather. They commented on the snow and my husband told them we were contemplating a trip. I told them about the documentary I'd seen on airport security, or lack thereof.
Elaine was quick to share her airport experience with us.
She was making her way through the airport having just returned from visiting her mother overseas. A security officer with a sniffer dog walked towards her. The dog stopped beside her and began sniffing her bag.
"What a sweet dog," she said to the officer.
"What's in your bag ma'am?" he asked.
Flustered and a little dumbfounded, she replied, "I don't know. I don't know what's in my bag."
He asked her again. She got nervous.
"Coke. I have coke in my bag." she blurted out. Realizing how that must have sounded she quickly added, "Little cans of coke, coca-cola for my grandchildren."
He took her by the arm and said, "Come with me."
She said everyone looked at her as though she were some sort of drug mule, as she was escorted to a private room. Once seated, an officer began taking notes as another began his interrogation.
"Here's what we'll do. We'll run through the alphabet and you tell me what's in your bag," he said.
"A," he began.
"Oh! Apple!" my friend shouted. "I have an apple in my bag." Her mother had packed her a lunch. She had eaten everything but the apple.
It turned out, that's exactly what the dog had detected. To her relief, they confiscated the apple and she was on her way. (You can't bring fruit into the country, it turns out. Good to know.)
Hearing Elaine's story reassured me. Who says airport security isn't all that it should be? I couldn't get through with a bottle of moisturizer and my friend, a mild mannered, five-foot, one hundred pound grandmother with a sweet English accent, couldn't get through with an illegal apple.
I'd say security's pretty damn good!
Throwing caution to the wind, I turned to my husband and said, "Book the trip!"
"But be prepared," I added, "this time the lingerie's going in your bag."
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)"expect flurries of up to fifteen centimeters"; where in God's name do you live where meteorologists use the metric system in forecasting snow?!!Guess you didn't notice the little red and white flag next to my name eh? :)Thanks for reading Paul, can always count on you.You're the reason we get so much cold air!Well that's a first. I've never been accused of causing cold air. :)
Funny, enjoyable, and well written as usual. Good idea to put all the lacy, girlie, sexy stuff in your husbands bags but look out if they go through his stuff, he'll be the talk of the flight.I'm glad you enjoyed the article Steve. Thanks for the comment.
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