Sunday, January 6, 2008

Why bother with TV when there's airport security!

We arrived bright and early (6:30 AM) at the airport for our trip to Boston. Luckily we were on time and didn't miss our flight, like the time we did in Puerto Rico because someone, who shall remain nameless, (HANS) dawdled (his name for it not mine, and it had nothing to do with my being a jinx!).

Things were going smoothly until we got to security. Suddenly we went from being normal citizens to possible terrorists, because we were sent to the 'special place.' The place with rubber gloves, probes, and big scary machines that blow on you.

Being the lowest on the totem pole, I got to go first. All of my gear was thrown onto the conveyor belt but shoes were to remain ON! I was then directed into a security archway, that looked like something out of Star Trek, and told to STAND STILL!

Before you could say, "Beam me up Scotty", the machine went WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, blew air up my butt and in my face, and scared the living bejesus out of me.

From there I was told to take my shoes OFF (thank God I'd put on socks with no holes), and then I was thrust into a corral to await the meat inspector. All of my junk was brought over to a table and my heart lurched when I saw a woman boring down on me with rubber gloves and a cattle prod.

I watched with relief as she started in on my luggage and not me. But then something caught my eye. Standing on tiptoe so I could see better, I watched a couple (whose clothes and demeanor screamed wealth) get yanked aside because something suspicious in the woman's luggage had been caught on X-Ray.

Unzipping her bag, the security person pulled out what looked like a missile. But in reality it was the biggest, honking can of hairspray I've ever seen.

For those of you who don't travel by plane, I've got to tell you; this is a big no no. Items that can be spread, spilled, or spewed must be in containers under 4 ounces and even then, they all have to fit into a quart size baggie. (Don't even get me going on that fun rule).

Tsk, tsk, tsk, went the security person, shaking his head.

With thin lips disappearing and eyes narrowing, the lady tried to grab her hairspray back.

No, no, no, went the security person, who then went on to explain why it wasn't allowed.

I saw her executive type/hen pecked husband step back in hopes that they'd throw her in the brig or at least wear her out so she'd leave him alone for awhile.

The guard took the hairspray and put it behind him. Even though hardly a muscle moved in her face (most likely from the obvious botox and plastic surgeries), you could feel her fury.

Hurriedly I looked for Hans. I wanted him to enjoy this also, but now he was in the wind tunnel machine and quite frankly, sometimes we aren't on the same page when it comes to humor anyway.

At this point I was yanked out of the corral and Hans was tossed in. Now it was his turn for the cattle prod.

But before the prod lady sent me on my way, she pointed at my purse and said, "Nice bag."

I almost wet myself.

Finally Hans was done and as we left (with admonitions of: "We know where you live"), I saw the hair spray lady stomping away, without the hairspray, but with her husband who looked more than a little disappointed and a whole lot frightened.

Now folks, this is what I think.

That lady was not going to blow up the plane with her hair spray. She needed every ounce of it to keep her lacquered hair in place.

Secondly, do you really think a terrorist was going to say, "Hey lady, give me that big, honking can of hair spray, I need to blow up this plane."?

No, because if a terrorist had said, "Hey lady, give me that big, honking can of hair spray." Do you know what would have happened?

There would be one less terrorist on this earth today.

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