Having recently traveled, it is time to bring up the painful subject of airport security.  The entire process fills me with trepidation, most of it founded on bad experience. Something always goes wrong. It’s as if some gremlin swoops down to make mischief.

Going through ‘customs’ (as I call security) evokes the fear I will miss my flight and then what will happen to me? I don’t recall this ever happening to me, so this isn’t a PTSD flashback. Perhaps it is a reincarnation memory. In some previous life I must have missed a desperate departure, equivalent to the Fall of Saigon. I tend to get to airports long before necessary to avoid this neurosis.

Invariably as I enter the point of no return I get behind someone who is either slow, confused, bedecked with metallic jewelry, or carrying a 5 litre bottle which they aren’t willing to surrender*. As an experiment, I usually send Someone through a different line to prove my point: he always finishes ahead of me.

The multitask jobs of disrobing and disassembling combined with my hummingbird mind creates chaos and lost objects. By the time I get to the other side, I am surprised I still have anything left or a stitch on.

There is something sinister about the scanner. I’ve heard tell the TSA is abandoning these dastardly things but they are still there. I read one can request a ‘thorough pat down” alternative, but I would want to choose who does it “That, one, the pretty one, the one with the arms!” I sense this would draw out the ordeal even more, like ordering a special type of burger at McDonald’s.  Also I worry I will be seen as a perv or worse a clown with goodness knows what sort of aftermath.  So I go through the demonic device with the other sheep.  The TSA staff can be as jovial as they please; they are not going to elicit a smile.

But, as Someone points out, I get through it without drama or too much delay. Thanks to several OCD-like rechecks, I haven’t left anything behind. Nor have my pants fallen down when I remove my belt.

And I’ve learned not to say “Mercifully, there was no shooting” when it’s concluded.

 

*I find it fascinating people get sullen with the TSA staff, particularly over things for which they should know better “What do you mean I have to take off my shoes?”  I view this as playing with fire. Perhaps I am merely too Midwestern in my ways.

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