Be we in Paris or in Lansing

In which our hero relates his recent - and utterly humiliating - experience with airport security

I pride myself at how well I fly. I arrive early at the airport, I have all my documentation ready to display, and I have never been (even moderately) hassled. I don’t set off metal detectors and, despite flying in the US a few months after 911, I have never been asked to remove my shoes. And I don’t pack liquids in my carry-on. In fact, I turn in disgust from people who, apparently living under rocks, are forced to empty their bags of toothpaste, cologne, perfume.

Whether it’s my diligent prep work (making sure I have removed most metal objects and all liquids from my person) or the fact that I am the MOST unassuming person in the history of world, security people barely seem conscious of my existence. However, all that changed when, flying home from Toronto, I set off the metal detectors.

I was a little taken aback when the buzzer sounded. “That never happens,” I thought to myself.

The unhappy-looking security person mumbled something about holding my arms out and if it was okay to run the wand over my person. I consented. The wand registered metal at all the buttons on my jeans and at my belt buckle. I knew what was coming next…

“Can you undo you belt, please, sir?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to seem helpful but not eager.

“Just hold the ends apart, please, sir.” And I did. The wand registered metal in the proper places and, while I stood there with my belt undone, she set about scanning the rest of my body, finding acceptable traces of metal in my shoes; however, the next place the wand registered metal confused me: the middle of my thigh!

“May I pat you down, please, sir?”

Running her hand down my thigh, she came across the hem of my boxer/briefs. She used the wand and it registered metal.

“What’s that, sir?”

“Um, my underwear.” Unpleasant visions of being strip-searched danced in my head along with a million questions: Have Fruit of the Loom started using metal thread? Does my underwear have an underwiring? Did I forget having a metal rod inserted in my leg? What’s setting off this stupid metal detector?

The unhappy security guard waved male colleague over.

“Would you mind if my partner feels inside your pants(!)?”


“Not at all,” I lied. I don’t know why she thought I’d be more comfortable with a man rooting around in my pants.

The man… felt around, but came up with nothing interesting (insert your own joke here).

So the unhappy lady continued to wand me. Almost immediately something in my back pocket registered metal – my wallet! I always put my wallet in the tray to go through the x-ray machines, but for some reason I’d forgotten.

“Can you taken that out, please sir?”

Removing my wallet with one hand (my other hand was busy keeping my pants up), I handed it over. She wanded the wallet – and it registered metal. She re-wanded my thigh – no metal. The wand was picking up the metal from my wallet through my thigh!

After a few minutes of removing things from my wallet, we discovered the source of the problem: my pass key card for Booth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.