Lately every time I fly, I get randomly picked. And not for anything fun like a free hotel room or an upgrade to first class. I get randomly picked to be personally violated. How come I never get randomly selected when I play the lottery?
While standing in line this past weekend for my flight home, I was pulled aside to stand in one of those new-fangled Plexiglas cylinders to be x-rayed for weapons, scissors, and box cutters. I thought maybe I’d worn too much clothing, and given the impression I was concealing something more than the glazed donut I’d scarfed down before checking in. So when I flew back last night to Utah I dressed sparsely, as naked as any sixty-something would dare be in public. I wore flip flops, no jewelry, no belts, no jacket, no makeup. And I still got picked! Maybe it was the no makeup. Terrorist-scary looking.
The big burley TSC agent pointed to a glass room with a lone chair in one corner. The glass door on the opposite end was locked. A small decal of a blue rubber glove and a Billy club (at least it looked like one) stuck to the window over the door knob. You could almost hear the rubber glove snap. I wasn’t sure which image scared me more. I would have taken a picture to post, but obviously, I had no camera or cell phone; they were being x-rayed on a revolving belt.
Freely roaming about on the outside, with the point of his hairy finger and a look of power, the agent insisted I sit down. The guy with the shaved head and the tattoos, who had trailed me in line, proceeded on his way to his gate. The agent turned to me and mouthed, “Yours?” He pointed to several gray plastic tubs coming into view from the x-ray tunnel after careful scrutiny by other TSC agents, containing all my worldly possessions, less, of course, any liquids in bottles of more than three ounces. I nodded. He removed my purple flip flops, dipped what looked like a wand with a sponge on the end in something, and ran it over every nook and cranny of my flip flops. I had no idea why, out of everything in my purse, the agent chose my flip flops to investigate. I’d never seen suspicious flip flops before but what did I know.
When he was satisfied that my flip flops were free from any bubble gum or C4 explosive, he handed them to me and dismissed me from the isolation booth. “Why’d you pick me?” I asked.
“Random selection,” he answered.
I scurried to my gate and sat in the waiting area. I glanced at the boarding sign. It flashed a delay of two hours. Well, yeah, what do they expect if they’ve got to interrogate every passenger. But then again it was bound for Salt Lake City, Utah, and you know how scary those Mormons are!
Related posts:
Print This Post
More than anything he was wondering what kind of person wears “flip-flops” when traveling commercially. I know I have wondered . . . but I got in trouble when I asked my daughter.
Speaking of Flip-flops, did I ever tell you about the time we were having “Water Day” my first year of teaching, and I accidentally sent home a parent newsletter calling them “thongs”? (hahhaa) Yeah, big mistake!
So what you need to do next time, Penny, is order up a wheelchair to take you to the gate–I NEVER get searched, and I think that’s why!!!
I like the wheelchair idea but I also think you should try decorating your arms and legs with rub on tattoos! Maybe spike up your hair a bit…. Gotta know if it happens on your return flight!
I must look like a serial killer too. I get x-rayed, strip serached and my bag dumped and gone thru and with the explosive wipes-everytime. I’m going to do what my sister does (which by the way she works for an airline). She always asks for a big hunk to do the pat down and then says she enjoys it so then they are afraid to touch her. HAHA
Good one. I think they pick us because we look mild-mannered and won’t put up a fuss… but little do they know!
You look dangerous to me. But, I like dangerous looking friends. It makes me feel young again. ha, ha, ha