More adventures with airport security

There are two types of rule-breakers.

There are the folks who break a rule, consider themselves lucky if they don’t get caught, and never do it again.

And then there are us habitual offenders who, like velociraptors hurling ourselves violently at an electronic fence, constantly test the system for weaknesses.
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This time I’ve got the standard-issue baggie with three 3 oz. bottles of blah blah. There’s a fourth bottle that, at 4 oz. is slightly over the limit, but has somehow made it through at least four of these silly airport screenings unscathed.

I approach the security checkpoint at Orlando International Airport with a smile on my face and a 12 oz. bottle of Extremely Dangerous & Illegal contact lens solution ($10!) stashed beneath a thick-soled sandal in the bottom of the wheelie bag.

Exciting, eh?
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I know.

The Jurassic analogy was probably a bit much given the fact that I’m an aging and somewhat arthritic office worker whose biggest thrill is watching Boston Legal Tuesday nights.

I’m like Walter Mitty with tits and a less irritating spouse.
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Since that last airport security adventure I’ve developed a system.

First bin: Shoes + jacket + baggie with liquids. Next: Black wheelie bag. Second bin: Mac. Last: The backpack.

Here’s my logic: If the security folks see the baggie first, they’ll assume I’ve attempted to comply with their inane rules and check the wheelie less carefully.

Ah, the mind of a career criminal.

Fascinating, eh?
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Why the hell do you have a 12 oz. bottle of anything, Hedy?

It was yet another mad dash to the airport on Saturday and I had to leave my over-the-limit liquids in the car with Jim, who was kind enough to drop me off at Midway.

Arriving in Orlando with no hairspray and nothing for soaking the contacts while I sleep, I was back in business after a quick trip to Albertson’s.
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A short, roundish security lady reaches into the first gray bin and grabs the baggie.

“Nice form,” she says with a stern smile. “But this bottle is too big. It’s four ounces, see? Over the limit. You’ve gotta try harder next time.”

There’s a brief moment of anxiety while I assume she’s about to confiscate the offending Mary Kay Moisturizer.

But she tosses it back in the bin with a wink and lets it slide on through.

Uh-oh, I think.

If she’s such a stickler on the 3-1-1, she’s gonna be uber-pissed when she finds that contact stuff.

I hold my breath walking through the metal detector, always waiting for it to beep for no good reason.

But once again, the airport gods smile as the illegal wheelie sails through the x-ray like a small miracle and I wander off to find a smoothie.
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"Was it the Aosept stuff we use?" Jim asks on the way home from the airport last night. "There's irony there, because it's got hydrogen peroxide in it -- the stuff those guys were gonna use to make a bomb on the airplane in London."

If the fierce velociraptor felt any remorse about her most recent attack, it is eliminated by this revelation.

Now, no one will be safe. She growls a little in satisfaction.

"What'd you say?" asks Jim. "Are you tired?"
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What about the hairspray, Hedy? Where o where did you hide that?

Nothing sexy or mysterious there, sadly. It was left behind in the hotel room.

I’m working my way up to smuggling two 12 oz. bottles of blah blah.

In a year, I figure I’ll be zipping through security with a gallon of gas stashed beneath my shoes.
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I am listening to: Gromit breathing
I am reading: Leads from the Hyperion conference
And I am: A vicious dinosaur with pointy teeth and nice tits