A Little Problem at Airport Security

I love the people at TSA security. They do such a great job protecting flights at US airports. They are professional, courteous, quick, friendly, conscientious. They execute their procedures flawlessly. They are responsible for having increased the travel safety for all of us in this post-9/11 world.

You see what I'm trying to do, of course. I'm sure a governmental computer will flag this post. I just want them to know that I'm sorry for my past mistakes and I promise never to do them again. I will never say bad words about security when I am at an airport. I promise that I won't grimace at their procedures while I'm standing in line. In Dog Whisperer terms, I shall be calm-submissive.

We flew from a regional US airport on Saturday on our way to a major hub to catch our trans-Atlantic flight. Check-in was quick and courteous. We arrived in plenty of time and had a nice chat over drinks at the restaurant until boarding time. We could see from the restaurant the security line was completely empty. No need to rush. The airport has six gates total -- 30 second walk to any gate after passing the security procedures.

We waltzed up to the checkpoint, as both of us have done dozens of times before at airports all over the world.

I try to brazen my way through security with my shoes on. I find the single most irritating part of current security procedures is having to take off my shoes. No chair to sit in to take them off, no chair to sit in to put them back on. Dirty floors. Stone-Face on the other side of the metal detector takes my ticket and says,"You'll have to go back, sir. Take your shoes off and place them in a container on the belt."

I grimace, grind my teeth, pout, frown, and after putting my shoes on the belt, I glare at Stone-Face and say, "Do you EVER find anything in shoes?"

For the record, my saying that was a mistake. I'm sorry I did it. I didn't mean it. The voice in my head, that normally TELLS me to do bad things, this time says, "You idiot. You said that out loud."

Then the fun began.

At least ten security people are on duty. This in an airport that probably only gets 60 passengers in an hour at peak. I'm guessing 'training exercise', but I don't have any evidence for that.

While my shoes are making their x-ray trip, the security people make me wait next to the belt and decide to frisk Wife even though she doesn't ding in the metal detector. Something about "airline has selected you". She's very cooperative. Smiling. Chatting with them. All this does is to make the contrast to me panting and showing my teeth even greater.

When they've finished with Wife, they wave me through the metal detector and thankfully not a peep. But, my passport then needs secondary checking.

The voice says, "See."

Security has become very interested our bags. My bag goes through x-ray twice. They open Wife's bag and purse. They pull everything out, swab everything and run it through the detectors. I'm pacing just beyond security, hackles raised. Growling under my breath, "I've never seen such a thing. Who's going to hijack a plane from this airport? There's nothing within 200 miles to fly it into."

My small voice just sighs. Maybe I didn't actually say it under my breath, I'm not sure.

While they are pawing through her things, we're called for our flight. That's the first time I've ever been paged for being late at an airport. Being late for a flight is a recurring nightmare of mine. This is real. My heartrate goes up another notch.

Shoes on, passport safely back in my pocket, clutching boarding pass and carry-on, I rush to the gate and tell the attendant while looking over my shoulder to see if Wife's escaped: "I'm here and my wife's coming. She's hung up at security."

Attendant: "Final boarding. You need to get on board."

Me: "My wife's hung up at security. I'll wait for her."

Attendant, curling her lip: "I need you to get on board. I'm not going to leave her."

Me: "I'm not going to leave her either or I'll be a dead man. And it's your airline that caused the problem."

Not-so-small voice in my head: "You f***ing IDIOT. You did it again."

Some three-minutes-feeling-like-an-hour later, Wife comes bustling up the corridor. We board without further problem.

We arrive home after 11 more hours of travel -- all incident free. When we open our check-in suitcases we find both have been ransacked. A nice pre-printed card inside each bag from the security people says, "Your bag was selected for security procedures. Yada Yada Yada." They tossed her bag pretty good. Mine they put back in relatively reasonable order. I know what the cards in the bags really meant though: "We know who you are. We know where you live. Don't let us hear you talking nasty about us ever again."

I understand. I'm really sorry. I promise. Please read this post and believe me. If I had a tail I'd lay on my back, wag it, and show you my neck.

I love the people at TSA security ... the ones that do such a great job protecting flights at US airports. They are professional, courteous, quick, friendly, conscientious. They execute their procedures flawlessly and are responsible for having increased our safety in this post-9/11 world.