AIRPORT BLUES
“ Security has been elevated to code orange” the harsh voice reminded me yet again, jarring me back to the stark realities of the world as I made my way home after a week of respite at a Buddhist retreat. Unfortunately, as I was about to discover, this heightened stated of panic had spawned an entire new breed of security devices and yet another level of annoying and anxiety producing experiences for that most victimized and harassed of species…the airline passenger.
No longer content with having us pad around in our socks while watching everything but the shirt off our backs roll by in a gray dish pan while intense looking men in uniforms scrutinize x rays of our half eaten sandwich and the inner workings of our I-pod.
No, not content with herding us through archways that beep embarrassingly if you’ve left your watch on or making us stand with arms akimbo while someone of the opposite sex runs a metal detector over every nook, cranny and bump that we usually try to conceal.
Not content with dragging the elderly from their wheelchairs to search the interior of their canes and walkers or making chronic pain sufferers surrender their back supports and TENS units while they probe them for gelignite. Yes, my friends, for the contemporary airline passenger life has suddenly become even more interesting, something which my husband and I found out only too soon.
It began when we were told that we had been selected for and an “extra security check”. Meekly we allowed ourselves to be funneled off the main line of travelers where we discovered that as well as the dishpan /barefoot line we were entitled to spend time in a specially designed archway where sudden puffs of air were whiffed up our pant legs and under our shirts, simultaneously sending our hair into orbit. Someone subjected to this bizarre experience looks like they’ve momentarily touched a live electrical wire and their clothes are about to blow off and feels like you’re suddenly standing over a cold air vent. It’s a bit like the test for glaucoma they give you at the optometrist when blast of air is jettisoned onto your unsuspecting eyeball only this is over your unsuspecting body instead. Lovely.
Then you wait for what seems like 5 min but is probably 10 seconds while some computer calculates whether or not you have the slightest atom of anything remotely explosive on your person. If you’re in the clear the door slides open to allow you access to the next test, if not, I ‘m not sure what would happen. Maybe the floor would slowly sink down to some underground FBI interrogation station where you would be awarded a life time vacation to Guantanamo Bay.
Anyway, just when you think this annoying diversion is over and you can finally be reunited with your stray possessions you are told that you are not to touch them. No, they are destined for even more advanced scrutiny. I sat waiting wearily while a man wearing plastic gloves carefully took a swab of the inside of my purse. I began to feel squirmy. He placed the cotton swab into an immense machine which to my dismay started beeping. “We found traces of nitroglycerin” he explained in a matter of fact voice, “ but it might just be from the time before”
The time before?! Who did he see the time before and was he on my flight? Or just as disturbing had I been walking around with a purse that could have self destructed itself along with half the airport at any moment? They tested again. Would I be shuffled off to some sterile, claustrophobic back room to be interrogated? Surely they wouldn’t do that to a Physical Therapist who works with blind children ? “We’ll have to go through your things” he continued in the same oddly impassive tone.
I watched feeling somewhat distanced, as this rather unreal scenario unfolded before me. “OK you can go,” he announced suddenly.
I stared at my personal effects now in a disorganized heap next to my deflated and traumatized purse and feeling like I’d just escaped from starring in one of those films where a totally random run of the mill person is accused of a heinous crime and spends the rest of the movie trying to prove their innocence.
So the next time you’re tempted to travel here’s a few more things to add to your “don’t list.” Don’t get your hair done and don’t wear a skirt.
Now that will make traveling in robes interesting...I'll have to wear pants too just in case :) thanks for the heads up Ozer LOL
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