So,
it’s been some time since I have flown, since I’ve been subjected to the rigors
of the post 911 stringent security measures.
In fact, it was several years ago on a trip to NJ where I was fortunate
enough to discover the dubious perks my new status as the bionic woman garnered
me.
It
was on the return flight, just becoming better acquainted with my newly
installed parts, that I realized the attention they would bring me. Funny, that part of my anatomy never got me
that much attention before. This could
be interesting, I remember thinking.
The
alarms went off as I merely approached the scanner and the security officers had jumped to attention. Despite the fact that I had already removed my shoes,
glasses, belt, jacket, scarf, jewelry, and displayed the entire contents of my
life contained in a carry on bag and a purse at that point they grimly escorted me to a side room, if you can call a
plexiglass fishbowl such, and proceeded to determine the extent of my
perfidy. I was beginning to wonder where the bamboo splinters were.
So
I wasn’t terribly surprised this time as I approached the security checkpoint
with Sophia at the airport in Nashville, that the sensor began buzzing and
vibrating as I approached and the nervous security guards converged on the lane. I could feel the frustrated tension of the anxious passengers behind me as I held up my
hands in a modified internationally recognized sign of surrender, explained
my condition, and that I was merely escorting my daughter to her gate.
“Wish
you would’ve told me that sooner!” the uniformed agent blustered. Then, what?
They would have waived me through with their magic wand? Invited me to leap over the entire crowd
waiting to get through security on their pink flying unicorn?
Once
a female had been secured to "assist", with what I've not determined,
nothing went undisturbed. I’m still trying to figure that verbiage out,
since I didn't need help with anything.
And
this time there was no privacy of the fishbowl. No, I stood spread eagle while a panel of judges determined my sentence and Sophia watched casually from afar in amusement.
Remind me to discuss that with her later. In her defense, the young woman did
offer to move the party off to the side, a suggestion I waived away.
“I’m
a nurse,” I said, “we stick people with sharp of objects in unfortunate places all day long. I’m
pretty sure there’s nothing you can do here that’s more fun than that. Just do what you gotta do.” She
gulped slightly and stepped back, and Sophia choked ungraciously and pretended she was traveling alone.
Regaining
her composure, the young woman continued her inspection, because I truly could
be hiding something in my hair, and one can never be too careful. And my
waistband, well, who knew the possibilities could be so nefarious. Of
course, the hem of my jeans were a definite possibility. And as the
"assist" started to stand, I gingerly inquired as to whether she had
checked between my toes yet. She looked up at me quizzically, wondering
how to do that with my socks on. I suppose even security has its
limitations.
I'm
inclined to agree with another traveler's opinion on the matter. Next
time, I'm going to the airport naked and getting dressed on the other side of
security. And I won’t have to stand in any lines, I’m thinking, or call in any
favors from the magic unicorns!
