south end security
I took a flight recently out of Stanwood International. Being a citizen of the 21st century digital world, I got my boarding pass online and checked my bag. $20 for the bag. One way. Nobody said things would get cheaper just because computers control the world now. The baggage checklist asked if I was carrying explosives, firearms, flammables or radioactive material. I answered NO and I bet the terrorists will too. Honesty just isn’t high on the Values Chart for would-be mass murderers.
At the aerodrome I went through the cattle fence where shampoos are duly confiscated. As are small penknives, fingernail clips, scissors, razor blades and any grenades we inadvertently slipped into our carry-on. TSA agents are hired, primarily, I think, for their complete lack of any semblance of a sense of humor. Not that most of us are laughing…. By the X-ray machine we are pretty much shoeless, beltless, hatless, walletless, keyless and clueless. I doubt many of the Jews lined up for their shower at Dachau cracked wise either. These are not joking matters.
My TSA guy, a middle eastern looking fellow who, if our positions were reversed, would have been profiled as TERRORIST: PROBABILITY HIGH, was pondering my pack. In particular a harmonica I’d carried on. “What is this?” he demanded, no doubt alerted by its multiple barrels for small caliber ammo. I gave him a bad blues demonstration. This made him smile. Okay. Music, the universal language of terrorists.
When I arrived home a week later, having repeated all of the above minus the blues harp investigation, I opened my suitcase and discovered a full box of 12 gauge shotgun shells. Since I don’t own a 12 gauge, this was baffling. The TSA had thoughtfully left a calling card that they’d opened and inspected my luggage. And apparently added some explosives as an apology of some sort. I know I sleep better knowing gunpowder and buckshot are being offered to nearly naked passengers. That harmonica wasn’t a lot of protection — even if I could bring people to their knees squalling on it. Next trip I’m hoping for a shiny new shotgun. Security, it’s for our own good.
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