* * * * *
Captain Napalm vs. Airport Security
With a flurry of last minute panicing and packing and Lake Lumina (the car)
nearly empty of gasoline, Spring [1], her kids and I drove to the Ft.
Lauderdale/Hollywood International Airport [2].
Spring was freaking out due to the late start and having to navigate both the
ticket counter (for her two boys were flying alone back to Colorado [3]) and
the security checkpoints. I was freaking out because the gas guage was
hovering on the red line marked “E” the entire way with no time left to
refill the car.
The car managed to make it there, and to a gas station.
Spring was able to navigate the ticket counter and with the help of the
ticket agent was able to avert a crisis at the last minute (that would have
prevented the kids from flying today). So, with tickets and special badges
(so we adults could accompany the kids to the gate) in hand, we started the
long arduous process of clearing the security checkpoint.
At one end of this corridor is a security guard who sits there, making sure
everyone that passes has either a ticket, or a special badge. Then you walk
down this byzantine maze of ropes that snakes its way to the other end of the
corridor where the security checkpoint lies. There, another security guard
will direct you to a particular x-ray station.
Spring, with bright green hair and two small boys, went through without a
problem; they were through in minutes.
Me, white Anglo-Saxon Protestent who on a good day, looks like a Cuban
refugee, had a slight issue walking through the scanner, with hand in pocket,
which I learned is a real big no-no around airport security. [4]
Whisked to one side I was scanned. Shoes … beep. Take them off to be x-rayed.
Pants … beep. Remove keys to have them x-rayed, pants tried again … beep.
Remove wallet to have that x-rayed, pants attempted yet again … beep. Pants
removed to have that x-rayed. Shirt … clean. Head … beep. Glasses removed to
have that x-rayed. Second attempt on head … clean. By this time the shoes
come back clean (“Must have been the eyelets for the laces that trigger the
sensor”), then the keys (“Just ordinary keys, thank you very much”). Followed
by the wallet (“Spare house key I see, and on, by the way, the magnetic strip
on your bank card is now wiped out, just for your protection”), then glasses
(“Clean from a security standpoint, but could use a cleaning themselves, and
they're somewhat beat up [5]”) and finally the pants (“It's the zipper. Sorry
about that”).
By the time I got through, the boys were already boarding the plane.
Spring and I had to stick around until the plane took off. While there, we
watched as a few late stragglers where searched at the gate, even more
intrusively than I was. It took something like six security guards to scan
the three late passengers. One poor passenger had everything removed from her
carry-on luggage, unwrapped, scanned and x-rayed.
Even with all that, the plane left the gate within 10 minutes of its
scheduled departure time. Amazing.
After some twenty minutes or so hanging around, we assumed the plane took off
without incident, since we didn't have a good view of the main runway.
[1]
http://www.springdew.com/
[2]
http://www.broward.org/fll.htm
[3]
gopher://gopher.conman.org/0Phlog:2002/08/17.1
[4]
http://www.conman.org/people/spc/writings/murphy/ml306.html
[5]
gopher://gopher.conman.org/0Phlog:2002/05/02.1
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