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That Airport Security Clearance: It Ain’t Easy!
Take a hint from my last trip.... There was a little trepidation, of course, when I arrived at the airport. There were long lines where I first had to fumble with my luggage and sport jacket and whatnot because a security agent asked to see my identification almost the minute I got in the door (if your ID’s not in that top pocket, “fumble’ becomes a key word, especially if you’re holding up a line of people behind you). Not that big a problem, I thought, as I got past that first agent. She was nice enough, if not totally, totally bored with her entire day (and she can’t really be blamed for that!). Okay, with the first barrier passed, I headed for one of the big, metal phone-booth-without-a-back affairs jutting up from the floor like Verrazano Bridge toll booths. There was a huge crowd gathered in front of them waiting to get onto yet another line that snaked its way to another agent who said, “Take off your jacket and put it on the rack and then empty your pockets and put your stuff in the tray provided,” like he was reading it from a teleprompter. The rack is one of those moving surfaces like they have in supermarkets at the cashier’s stall (I hope the cashiers and airport security agents don’t mind if I call it a “stall.” That’s what it is, you know. Stalls aren’t only for horses...are they?) I fumbled again, of course, with the person behind me going, “tsk, tsk” about a million times with each fumble. Then came the disaster word: “Shoes!” “What?” “Shoes, I said,” yelled the agent. “Now take off your shoes!” It was a command. The person in charge was telling me to take off my shoes in the middle of a crowd of people! Like a commander of a ship — or a bus driver. “Are you sure you want me to do that?” I asked. “This might not be too pleasant, you know.” I thought that was a good little joke between the agent and me — probably one he’d never heard before. “I’ve heard that one before,” he said in a monotone voice fit for a funeral director. “Now the shoes — and put ’em in the bin with your jacket.” Well, now, that was the furthest thing I would want to do! First of all, the shoes were black and the jacket brown. I wouldn’t have been wearing the jacket in the first place if it had fit into my suitcase. I mean, even my brother-in-law doesn’t wear clothes that clash like that. “Well, if you say so...” “I say so!” And the guy behind me was still going “tsk, tsk” while I was untying my shoes. Of course, he had loafers. All he had to do was slip ’em off and the big deal was over. I bet he uses deodorant in them too. My bag got through the line okay and then I had to go through the “toll-booth” affair, which, don’cha know, rang like a fire alarm in Macy’s. The heads of security agents at about six of those booths in the area popped up like prairie dogs out of burrowed holes. “Whazat?” one of them yelled. “Ya got one?” questioned another. “I heard the bell go off,” declared yet another, his voice echoing throughout the building. “Didja get a terrorist?” “Hold it!” said my agent. “We gotta wand ya.” “Ya gotta what?” I asked, fearing the Wicked Witch of the West was about to visit me. “We gotta go over you with this wand ’cause the bell went off when you went through the metal detector.” Ah, that was it. A metal detector. It’s not a toll booth. He proceeded to take this two-foot long metal stick and pass it over my head and up and down my left and right side like a conductor rehearsing for the New York Philharmonic. Meanwhile, this “ping” noise was emanating from the wand. “Aha!” he exclaimed. “I found it!” and he pointed to my belt buckle. “That’s it! That’s it!” I mean, he was ecstatic! “Take off your belt!” That was it. I went through the booth and passed without a sound. As I exited, we were all smiles. I could hear a smattering of applause from a few of the agents at the other booths and one, “damn, I thought we had one” from another. The agent said I could put my shoes back on and winked that he thought I really didn’t need a deodorant and wished me a bon voyage. Then he turned to the “tsk, tsk” guy behind me and said, “Hey, captain, how ya doin’? Good to see you’re gonna be the pilot on the flight tonight.” Then he pointed to me and said, “He’s all yours now. Lotsa luck.” The next time you want to take a plane somewhere and you’re worried about how you’re going to get through all that security stuff beforehand, just listen to a bit of advice from someone who’s been there... Don’t.
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