Have a Nice
Flight
by Tom
Speropulos
Our post 9/11 world with
exploding shoes, underwear, and who knows
what’s next, has made traveling, in
particular air travel, fraught with more hazards
than ever before in our lifetimes.
Entering any airport
security area now, we routinely take off our
shoes; empty our pockets, remove our belts, place
all of our belongings in plain view, and place
everything we hold dear in 3 ounce containers.
Next, we are patted, scanned, pressed and blocked
before we are allowed to penetrate the "ok”,
you're not a terrorist" zone. Full body
scans are here, therefore you folks with hide-a-keys
need to find a new place to put them.
Of course, there's always a
chance some evil doer has slipped through the
security screening disguised as a nere-do-well
innocent, and we are all blown to smithereens by
an IED hidden in their surgically enlarged nasal
cavity.
Further, if that ever does
occur, everyone with a nose larger than a grape
would be profiled and have to withstand a nasal
cavity pat down and forced to blow into a hanky.
Personally, coming from a big-nosed Greek family,
most everyone in my family (including or
especially grandma) has a mustache and fits into
that Looney Tunes version of terrorists TSA folks
keep in their minds when screening the public. I
know, I know. The TSA folks state they don't
profile. However, I have heard that before and is
usually followed by "We don't profile, sir,
but please come with us".
Therefore, I am
apprehensive for me, and my fellow large-nosed
passengers, being caught in a wave of patriotic
frenzy by inspectors, as they gleefully subject
us to unjustified nose humiliation. "Please,
sir, blow into this hanky, and keep your nose
where we can see it".
Even worse, is my poor
Uncle George who suffers from double jeopardy
since he had his hip joint replaced with a
titanium one. Now, whenever he passes though
airport security, he lights up the scanners like
a Macy’s Christmas tree with lights and
buzzers flashing throughout the terminal giving
off the appearance he’s just won the jackpot
on a Las Vegas slot machine. Then, after the
commotion dies down and the defibrillators are
put away, he must endure the nose blow and a
virtual proctology exam before he is allowed to
enter.
The irony is, even with all
of these check points and my personal concerns
for privacy, my overriding paranoia keeps me
suspicious of my fellow passengers, and I remain
so until we have safely landed and deplaned.
“Did you see the guy in seat 32B? He had a
pencil and I swear he was talking into the eraser
head in tongues. I think we need to alert the
pilot..."
Have a nice flight everyone,
you may now safely tie your shoes.
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