Wednesday, April 25, 2007

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.
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?
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.
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?
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.
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.
"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?"
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.
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



not unlike the many gallons of gas I experience on a daily basis from my darling hairy Jewish least yours is prolly less potent.
The airport would go into EXTREME LOCKDOWN on the scents of his magical wonder..At least I know how he gets all his back hair. :)


P.s. Yes, your tits are nice..if I was a lesbian, I'd do you. :)

PhatDoggy said...

More airport security fun...

Going to Cooter Town (some call it Little Rock, AR) last week, I put my three liquids/gels of choice in a regulation baggie, and dropped it into my backpack. I went through security, leaving the baggie in my backpack and NOT proudly displayed in it's own grey bin, and I came out the other end without a thumb in my other end. No mention of my bad form.

I think they're just there to scare you into compliance. They don't actually check anything.

Good luck in your life of crime.

-Mr. Uk

Dave said...

Ah Hedy and Mr. Uk, they do check.

Coming back from Dallas week before last I checked a bag and carried on my laptop. I realized, after checking the bag that I'd forgotten to put a lighter in the checked bag, so I stuffed it into one of the many zippered compartments of the laptop bag.

Not having nice tits, and not having stalking horses to draw attention from the offending laptop bag, other than my shoes and jacket, I went through the magnetometer, specifically not looking back at the TSA guy looking at his screen over the enclosure holding my contraband.

Getting to the end of the system, I stood and looked back. He was staring, and staring and staring.

In a piercing voice he called the supervisor over to look at what he described as "suspected contraband here."


All five TSA employees converged and agreed that the Bic was indeed what it seemed to be. The supervisor, holding it in the air, looked my way and since I was the only person past the contraption, asked me "is this your's?" I smiled and confessed to forgeting.

He wasn't listening as he with showmanship put the Bic into an empty tissue box on top of a shelf.

Then he put the laptop, the shoes and the jacket back through the machine, at which point all the change that I had stuffed into the same compartment with the Bic, fell off onto the belt. It took way too much time to scoop them up as I said "don't worry, just leave them," as the now fifteen people held up behind the magnatometer glared at me.

I need tits or something.