Professional Service, My Ass

As H offered up in last week's post, I had a troubling encounter with airport security. More of an embarrassing inconvenience than anything, but we felt I should tell all. The event occurred after I checked my bag and had made my way in line for pre-boarding screening.

I was paired up with a delightfully pleasant security officer who began looking through my carry-on bag. That's expected. What wasn't expected was his horrified reaction to my travel-sized sunscreen, sample mascara and lip balm, flouting the required clear plastic bag. OK, I'll admit that I should have checked the sunscreen (at least) but I did ask the first security officer about my "contraband" and she did confirm I could take it with me without a baggie. (Yes, it was an actual security officer; no, it wasn't someone who looked like one.)

When he questioned why it wasn't bagged, I told him the first security officer said it was fine, and even pointed her out, feeling a bit like a tattle tale as I did so. But that didn't wash with the petty bureaucrat, because he lectured me about "security protocols, travel safety, and dangerous, liquid goods" and condescended how there are signs posted everywhere, why couldn't I read? He placed my sunscreen in a baggie, then the lip balm (after opening it and sniffing it – ew) and then the tiny tube of mascara, but not before shaking it in my face and saying, "This is a liquid!"

Honestly, if I hadn't been so angry, I would have been laughing.

Before I was moved on to the metal detector, he mused that I seemed "perturbed", and asked if there anything I wanted to say to him. Not wishing to get detained, I kept my thoughts to myself and told him I was "fine".

After the metal detector, I went to grab my bag, but another security officer stopped me and asked to look through my belongings. I told her to go ahead, then she called yet another security officer-in-training over to the station and said, "I don't know what I'll find, but I know I'll find something."

Fantastic.

So I watched as she pulled everything out, as she took each magazine by the spine to shake them out, opened my wallet and examined each coin, opened each pocket, opened my key chain light (a present from my dad!) and peer inside, and finally, poke my almonds (that is, my snack food).

Then I was free put my stuff away, and wait for my plane. Oddly enough, nothing about me or my identical travel contents (minus some almonds) flagged security on the way home. And even though she'll take every bloody opportunity to tell me "I told you so", it's worth noting that H became righteously pissed off on my behalf. That was nice.

Two inches of TERROR!