I recently traveled through the Vancouver airport on my way to the Canadian Arctic. I had originated in Seattle, where other than the usual lines, the TSA airport security area was business as usual.
But, with only 30 minutes before my flight, my insecurity rose as I watched my laptop bag being run and re-run through the x-ray. While the attendants were scratching their heads over this, I was asked to step into one of the nudeoscans that have received so much outcry in the US. I had determined beforehand that I would refuse one of the backscatter x-ray machines because of the unknown effects of radiation, so I was relieved to be assured that this was a microwave model.
Stepping in, I was instructed by a 20-something, very attractive lady attendant to “assume the position” and stand still. With a slight whirring, the plexiglass walls moved around me and after about 20 seconds, I was told I could step out. A panel with “kid-safe” cartoon-like images of a naked man and woman had the male lit up. While I was waiting for the concealed nudeoscan watcher to give the thumbs up or down (doubting that what he/she was looking at was as Disney-esque as these images), another buxom, 20-something lady entered the unit and smilingly assumed her position as well.
Within seconds she was flashed on OK, but my man light was still red. The the attendant received a radio call on her earpiece and then asked me if i had emptied everything from my pockets. I thought I had, but upon feeling my left rear pocket, I discovered two small receipts from my lunch. Apparently the nudeoscan operator was able to see these scraps of paper, along with everything else. After she radioed back to the watcher what the objects were, I was allowed to go back and retrieve my laptop bag, which was now starting to take on a greenish glow.
I don’t know how many times the bag had been cycled back through the x-ray, but each time a shaved-head Eastern European attendant would rummage through the bag, shuffling and removing objects: hard drives, cables, sunglasses, GPS. I gave up any hope of being able to find anything in that bag again.
Back went the bag through the x-ray and the x-ray viewer, a female Eastern European, and the male attendant would squint at the screen and converse in some Slavic language. I was getting really nervous about missing my flight, having long-since told my wife to just go get on the plane, while Igor and Helga, for all I knew, were watching an international soccer match on the monitor.
Finally Igor dug deep into my bag and extracted a 3/16-inch allen wrench which I use to install tripod-mounting plates on my cameras. He held it in my face and asks, “What is this?” I replied that, well, it looked like an Allen wrench.
“What is it for?”
I was starting to get irritated, but simply replied that I used it to affix my tripod plates to the cameras. Igor looked uncertain and consulted with Helga in dark, Slavic overtones. He returned and said, “Tools are not permitted. Nyet.”
I had traveled all over the US and over half the planet with this evil “tool” and never had even the most robotic TSA agent or foreign equivalent comment about it. I told Igor that I had to have it for my photographic work and there would likely be no opportunity to bay another before heading out on the tundra.
Igor smiled and said he would be happy to allow me back out of security to go to the airline counter and put it in my checked baggage, which he obviously knew was already on the airplane. I replied that if I did that I would completely miss my flight. He simply repeated that tools were not allowed on a flight.
Rather than miss my flight, I quickly started stuffing gear back into my bag and said “Fine. Forget it.” Igor persisted and asked what I wanted him to do with it. I resisted telling him the obvious place he could put it, so I just said, “It’s yours. Use it in good health.”
As I bolted for the gate, I heard a “clunk!” as the evil object was tossed into Igor and Helga’s trash can. Airport security was now ensured, and I’m sure we’ll all feel safer…
I really don’t want to know what flying is going to be like in 4 or 5 years.
Share some of your own stories about airport security hassles in the comment section below.
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