I used to love flying. I’d sit by the window and revel in glorious creation, both Divine and human, as I sat both ensconced in it and removed from it, watching, thrilled, as the farmland, villages, mountains, lakes and cities went by under the wings that cut through wispy clouds. It was true heaven as far as I was concerned.
And then America went crazy and tried to retroactively stop a bunch of zealots who turned a jet into a very lethal weapon.
I made my peace early with the illogic and humiliation of having to remove my belt and shoes to join a friend for lunch in their office building or keep my appointment with my cardiologist. I try to interact like a human with the poor people manning the portals of a system designed to be very inhuman and inefficient. I talk and joke with them and most will talk and joke back, or at least smile. Some just give me that bureaucratic blank stare to let me know this is not a time for levity, thank you very much, but I feel it is part of my job to bring a ray of sunshine into people’s lives whenever and wherever I can. Okay, I also always wanted to be the teacher’s pet. You might try it, though. It makes my day easier than if I grumbled through them. I must go through, I might as well do it with a smile on my face.
A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of flying to San Antonio. At Terminal Seven of Los Angeles International Airport I checked in at the little computer console with my e-ticket. Wonderful convenience, those, you do everything on-line, put your credit card in a slot, print out your boarding pass and you’re on your way. The first console didn’t work. Nor the second. Nor the third. Finally, one of the people behind the counter, whose load these consoles are supposed to lighten, came out, opened one of the consoles up, waved her hands voodoo-like over its innards and printed my pass.
I had packed my bags fulfilling all the regulations I was aware of for carry-on. Not too heavy, not too big. Only one suitcase and a shoulder bag. They could both fit in the overhead or under the seat in front of me. On the way to the main screening station at Los Angeles Airport, or at least at Terminal Seven, you must pass several mini check points. It’s sort of akin to what I understand entering a country behind the Iron Curtain must be like. Yes, there still is an Iron Curtain. I joked and chatted with each person at each point and got my requisite smile, albeit sometimes patronizing, from most of them.
I was happy to travel and secure in the thought that this minor inconvenience was stopping a child, somewhere, from starving to death.
After the last checkpoint, where you present your photo ID and prove you have a boarding pass, there are four lines to choose from in order to wend your way up to the row of abattoir that are the x-ray machines. All four rows looked to be about the same length, so I chose the outermost one. You don’t actually see the screening stations until you wind around the line a bit. It’s kind of like Disneyland that way, without all the cloying music.
I started realizing my line was moving more slowly than the others.
I chatted and joked with those around me, in my line and the one across the rope. Finally I saw our x-ray station. The portal. The conveyer belt. The man, staring at his little x-ray screen. He was stopping at every second or third bag to call his supervisor over to examine some supposed piece of heinous contraband. The supervisor let all of them through. No wonder we were the slowest line. All the other screeners were looking intently into their screens, but letting almost everything by. Our man had a look about him. He was big. He was angry. He was bitter.
I got my shoes off, my belt unhooked and unlooped, took the laptop out of the shoulder case, took my toiletry bag out of the suitcase. All my metal, coins, money clip, neck chain, into the plastic bin. I was ready. I knew the routine. After all my stuff went through, the fellow at the controls stopped the conveyor belt and opened my toiletry bag. Uh oh.
He took out my tube of toothpaste.
“This is over three ounces,” he said.
I sort of didn’t understand. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s over three ounces. No liquid over three ounces.”
“But it’s half empty.”
“It’s over three ounces. The container is over three ounces.”
I was flabbergasted. It’s not like I was going to blow up a plane with toothpaste. I doubted even an experienced demolition man could do that.
“I’m going to blow up an airplane with toothpaste?”
I actually said that. And I didn’t get arrested. At least we can speak our minds, still.
I insisted there was far less than three ounces of toothpaste in the tube, but he was adamant. He finally told me I could go back and check it if I wanted. I’d been in the line for this moment for over forty-five minutes. A short time, granted, given the state of some airport screening stations, but still.
This is a man who has little or no control of anything in his life and wields his petite power like a demagog. It never even occurred to me to try to bring a ray of sunshine into his life. The ray would have been instantly sucked into the black hole that is his void. A complete waste of a good ray.
“I’m not going to check a tube of toothpaste,” I said to him with a heavy coating of sarcasm that was lost in that same void, never to be seen again. Hey, it was Tom’s of Maine toothpaste! “Keep it.” He did.
I gathered my stuff with quick jerks and snippily put my shoes and belt back on. That’d show him. I still haven’t bought a new tube, either, just for spite. I’d rather brush with salt water.
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Geoff Hoff is co-author of the best selling satirical novel Weeping Willow: Welcome to River Bend
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15 Comments
I know I shouldn’t say this. The FBI will probably be back at my house before I get home. But, I think a little sanity is necessary.
Toothpaste tubes are usually made of plastic. They fit nicely into pants pockets. ‘neuf said.
But, on a general note, I have to agree with you completely. I remember just after 9/11, Randy Cassingham was ranting about losing his nail clippers, while they let on his 7″ sharpened pencils, which are WAY more deadly than nail clippers.
I understand the fear. No one had really considered box cutters a weapon before 9/11. But, in hindsight, they are quite dangerous. But, everything can be dangerous. I saw a guy with a skateboard — that could be a club. Pencils, pens — nice daggers. And, I have a book — you could get a nasty paper cut! Would 007 no longer be able to fly? Isn’t he a registered weapon?
I think it comes down to a big overreaction, based on fear. The same scenario of 9/11 could not happen again. People would actually fight this time. Now that they know the consequences of complacency. But, that doesn’t make travelers feel any safer. I doubt the new travel requirements actually make anyone safer, but, I’ll bet they make a lot of people (albeit, ignorant people) feel much safer.
Yup. I actually don’t think it make much of anyone feel safer. Right after 9/11, the Israeli government offered to teach our security folk how they do it. They have a very streamlined, efficient system in place that actually looks forward rather than backward, is proactive rather than reactive, but our “caught with their pants down” government said, “No, we can do this ourselves, thank you very much, go away.”
As I say, I used to love flying.
P.S. Never thought about the tube being plastic. Hmmmm….. Maybe I can now buy more toothpaste! You’ve saved my teeth, sir!
As a frequent flyer, this kind of crap drives me absolutely crazy. It does absolutely NOTHING productive, and just makes relatively sane and normally happy people very angry. When we arrived in Germany for our move, and were making our last connection to Switzerland, they took a plastic comb from my son because it looked like a switchblade knife. Never mind that we just flew across the ocean from the U.S. and he didn’t highjack any of the OTHER flights with his comb.
They just made me take off my sweater. Not my jacket, but a pull over sweater. I take back all the understanding I had before.
So you won’t blow up the plane with static cling?
Have a stiff Bloody Mary on the plane. That will either calm you down or bring out the monster.
I honestly assumed that the jacket thing was just to speed up the process. To keep the morons who left their cell phone or keys in their pocket, to not slow down the line.
But, if my sweater also needs to be screened, then WTF could they possibly be looking for. I think this is one of those moronic, “We must follow the letter of the law, period” type things.
Geoff – this is great! Had the same type of thing happen to me with toothpaste. I completely forgot about the rules and tried to sneak some toothpaste, cologne, and hair gel onto the plane. With that kind of arsenal they must have thought I was the Unibomber for sure!! Anyway, I said the same thing to the guy, “keep it”. Craziness…
MS
Security is the direct opposite of convenience…
None of the security measures are foolproof… But a little common sense would be appreciated… Oh my goodness… What would happen if you had three small tubes of toothpaste?
I enjoyed your post Geoff!
I never realized toothpaste was considered a “liquid”! You are quite the rebel
When the tightened security started, not having flown very often at that time, I would forget to check my all of my purse pockets before going through. It simply did not occur to me. The first time, I had one of those all-in-one Swiss Army type tools in there, it was a real nice one too. I had to throw it away to get through.
The second time I didn’t realize that I had a wine opener in there, I was mortified! I felt like the worst criminal! My family all went through, my husband shaking his head, things were beeping. That was dumped too. At that point in time, they made you feel like you were really doing something wrong.
So shoot me because I might want to open a bottle of wine!
Needless to say, there was NOT a third time! Now I completely empty my purse & do a thorough check before flying. I have found “contraband” items that way ~ it’s amazing what women carry around in their purses!
LOL!! Never underestimate the power of toothpaste!!
How to make a toothpaste bomb:
2 tubes of toothpaste (you need a conspired or 3 for this to work on a plane)
Mix them in a bowl and add bleach until it is a runny consistency (you have paid for extra room for your legs while you ordered your ticket)
Add flour until it gets close the consistency of play dough
Then throw it in a bucket full of gasoline (your conspired has also paid for extra leg room)
This will blow up to the same degree as a half a stick of dynamite.
Once I forgot that yogurt is not considered as food – still haven’t figured out how to make a bomb out of that substance though!.
Never mind yourself, Geoff, Tom’s of Maine must be seriously bummed out. Next time try Burt’s Bees.
*sigh*
Ahoy Geoff,
As you know, there are many quotes about security and freedom/liberty, so I will spare you reading them again.
It is sad what has happened to flying. Soon healthcare will be the same, but this is a topic for a different thread.
Arrr.
Rob
I was actually about to ask “why is it titled, ‘Flying with Toothpaste’” until I reached the line, ‘He took out my tube of toothpaste. Isn’t it absolutely crazy the amount of airline security that exists these days, just because of 9/11?
I can’t bleive it!