Fun at the Airport

I’m about to mock what may very well be a serious situation. But c’mon – what are the odds?

According to this morning's news, Scotland Yard broke up some supposed terrorist plot to blow up U.K. to U.S. bound airplanes via liquid explosives. Good for them!

But as a consequence of this not-so-bright idea, all liquids and gels are now banned from flights and your carry-on bags. No pop, no Starbucks latte grande to go, no toothpaste, no deodorant, no Jeri-Curl, no flask of JD to help take the edge off between flights. They’re confiscating the stuff at the “courtesy is our middle name – okay, not really” TSA inspection station. If you have a baby, you can bring formula or breast milk (which apparently isn't flammable), and maybe some juice for a little one. But that's it.

Now, I can see taking away people's booze. I saw a guy board once with two large bottles of Everclear shoved in his carry-on. Add a piece of rag, light it, and boom - instant Molotov. But confiscating deodorant? Hmm…. “Take me to Cuba or I’ll expose my B.O. to you!”

And oh yeah – the airport security alert is now up to CODE RED. So fly the friendly skies, kids – but be ready to rat out the guy sitting next to you if he so much as sneezes.

I mention this in a really sarcastic manner for one good reason: In 5 days from right now I’ll be forced onto one of these flying interrogation machines. Miss Katie and I are off next Tuesday for a couple of days on the West coast, visiting family. So we’ll get the great joy of being frisked, patted down, investigated, inspected, neglected, rejected, all for the pleasure of two cramped coach seats and a 3 ½ hour layover in Salt Lake City. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

I’ve never had what you’d call “positive, enlightening experiences” with the TSA – I’m the guy who always seems to be randomly searched for extra screening. (And no – they haven’t given me the “bend over and grab your cheeks” inspection yet, but I did get an up close and person hernia check from Mr. Cold Hands at Sea-Tac once.)

I’m not the kind of guy who would try anything stupid at the airport – the extent of the metal I’ll wear usually consists of just my eyeglasses frame, my wedding right, and the metal in the zipper and button on my pants. And hey – if it mean getting through the process without being groped, I’m willing to remove two of the three of them. So it just seems kind of silly – picking out a middle-aged white guy from B.F.E. Iowa who has no carry-on packages for a terrorist inspection, especially in OMAHA, NEBRASKA. I don’t exactly fit the usual Al Queda profile, that’s all I’m saying.

I love to travel and see new places. It’s the process of getting there that’s the biggest pain. It’s this reason I usually prefer to drive. But what can you do – Seattle is 1600 miles from here, and I have 4 days. As much as I like the open road, that’s a little *too* marathon for my tastes.

So Delta Airlines it’ll be. But I am going to take my backpack with my statistics textbook, a notepad, and some pencils. Hope they don’t think I’m going to poke someone’s eye out with a sharpened #2.

See you at 35,000 feet – I hope.