I went to the airport to pick up a friend from his trip. I got to the
electronic boothy thing that xrays purses and carry-ons and that checks
your bod for metal. Anyway, I walked thru just fine, but they took a long
time checkin’ out the images in my purse. Instead of giving me my purse
back when they were done, they handed it to a security guard.
“Do you have a problem?” I asked.
“Talk to him about it, Ma’am” and he handed my purse to the
mega-guard.
He then proceeds to take everything out of my purse. Even the
lint. Whatta jerk. He gets to my key ring and asks,
“What’s this, Ma’am?”
“They’re keys.”
“No, I mean these.” And he points to the little cuffs I have
hooked on my keyring.
“It’s a key chain. A novelty item.”
“Hey, Bill, look at these thumbcuffs!” and mega-guard calls over
his croney. “These are thumbcuffs, right Bill?”
“Yep. They are,” said Bill the dimwit.
“No, they’re NOT!” I insist. “They are a toy! A gimmick! I’ve
been in and out of this airport THREE TIMES in the last month, and I’ve
NEVER been stopped like this before!” I’m angry now. I’m talking thru
clenched teeth.
“Sorry, Ma’am, but you can’t go into the airport with these.”
(if he calls me “ma’am” one more time, he’ll never father children)
Ok, so I collect myself. I’ll see if I can reason with this guy.
Afterall, he’s trying to do his job.
“Look, these are not weapons. I have a swiss army knife that you
allowed, but these trinkets are considered more threatening? C’mon, you
know better than that.”
“Sorry, Ma’am…
(grrrrrr!!!)
… but, you can’t take these in. You have to leave them outside
the gates.”
I’m tired of arguing with this guy. He’s not gonna give up or give
in.
I tell him, “Fine, you hold on to these. I’ll be back in 15
minutes.” And I start stuffing everything else back into my bag.
“No, Ma’am, we can’t do that. You have to give them to someone
else to hold on to.”
“I WHAT??!!?” My tone is markedly louder.
“You have to give them to someone else to hold on to. We can’t
keep them here.”
“This is INSANE! I don’t know anyone in this damn airport! What
the hell do you suggest!??”
“Give them to a vendor to hold on to.”
“FINE! If that’s what will get you to let me into this airport,
I’ll do JUST THAT! And give me your full name NOW!” He hands everything
back to me, gives me his name, and escorts me from the area. I storm away
and find the first open vendor. It’s already after 9pm on a Sunday night,
and most have closed shop. I give my sob story to the fresh fruit and
nuts guy and he gladly holds on to the “weapons.” Sheesh!
So, I return and smuggly toss my purse on the xray conveyor belt.
I charge thru the detectors again. And they look VERY CLOSELY at the image
of my purse. They reluctently hand me my purse.
“THANK YOU!” I hiss and go off to the gate.
My friend’s flight came in fine, but we have to go back out past my
“buddies” to get to the baggage claim area. I leer at them venomously when
I see them. I rush over to claim my ‘contraband’ and the guy at the counter
recognizes me immediately. He gets ‘em out of his pocket and places them
in my hand. But then, he holds them in my hand for a longer-than-he-
should-have moment. He stares at me, still holding my hand, and whispers,
“Oh, my name is Kenneth. What’s your name.”
I pause… smile… and tell him, “You can call me Ma’am.”
I grab the cuffs, remove his hand from mine, and make it back just
in time to help my friend with his luggage.
