THAT streak came to a crashing halt on the tail end of my business trip Friday evening. My team had ventured into Nashville, survived (and by survived I mean made Rachel VERY jealous because we went out on the town basically every night while she had to stay at home with the urchins-- the sad part is that I'm the introvert and this meant far less to me than it would have to her), and were limping our way home, ready for our own beds and to see family. We had two quick hops on an airplane to get back home at 11:00 pm and crash. I knew that I had jinxed myself earlier in the week by commenting to my friend that I had never been strip searched (ahem, sorry, 'patted down') or had my bag searched since that incident fifteen years ago...
so it was no surprise when I walked through the funny machine (and by funny I mean creepy) where you walk in, stick your hands straight up like you're about to get arrested, wait until the robotic eyes analyze you in 360 degree glory, and have someone bark at you, "Sir - get out!" like you are wasting time enjoying feeling virtually undressed by some artificial intelligence...
"Walk this way." (oh-oh) But I had completely misunderstood. They really just wanted me to pull my best Aerosmith and not go back into the 'officer needed' line. (I was ok with that!) Exhaling, I went over to grab my bag, which was not there. NOT THERE. Hmmm... I walked back up the line and went to look for it, but it was not anywhere in the line where I had left it.
"Excuse me, sir," came a voice from my right. "We're going to need to do a bag check. Is that ok with you?" (First off, I want to know if anyone with an IQ over 80 has ever answered no to that question.)
"Sure, go ahead." (Because the alternative makes me look even more like a terrorist than my Lebanese heritage already provides.)
"The scan picked up some irregularities in your bag. Did you remember to take all devices out of your bag?"
"Yes."
"All right, I am going to need you to stand right there as I open it." The gentleman -- who was, truthfully, one of the most cordial members of our fine security agency that I had ever met picked up the bag and started to open it slowly. "G--d---, son. What you got in that bag?"
This wasn't going as planned. "Um, just some stuff from my business trip."
"Alllll right, take it easy. What are these?" His voice took on a slightly suspicious tone.
**Any guesses?? **
I kid you not -- he had opened up my bag to the three giant hardcover novels that I had brought for the plane ride and was looking at them suspiciously. I think he had located the 'suspicious objects' the machine had alerted on.
"That is just the books that I was reading on the way down," I said. "There's a couple more too."
He looked them over one more time, riffling through the pages, All of a sudden he stopped and looked at me. "Oh, man, I'm sorry," he said, and a look of concern came into his eyes. "These are pretty old, aren't they?"
They were about thirty years old, but in the era of the Kindle/ Nook/ whatever else electronic book is now in vogue, these well-read beauties probably seemed like they were from late antiquity. "I think they'll be fine if they don't get smashed any more."
He tucked them back in like they were made of Egyptian papyrus and bid me a good day. It could have been worse. At least I didn't get 'wanded' (there's another term that doesn't have anything to do with reality) like some of my team did.
But just a tip --if you ever want to confuse someone in the 21st century, read real books!
(Join us next time when I have a whiny rant about
why Mother's Day almost ruined my favorite thing to do with the kids... hasta luego!)
No comments:
Post a Comment