Beware of Snow Globes this Holiday Season

17 December 2011


Beware of Snow Globes this Holiday Season

Oh, the joys of airport travel around the holidays!  I had nearly forgotten how much I enjoyed the experience until I walked into Bush airport this morning.  The place was bustling with frantic people rushing towards security lines.  There were families herding their small children with fleets of miniature rolling suitcases and armfuls of stuffed animals and confused elderly couples wandering aimlessly, staring at monitors above.  

The security line was the longest one I had seen in years.  The lady checking boarding passes managed to squeeze out a "have a nice trip" to each traveler which is more than I can say about the state of affairs I experienced in a certain New Jersey airport 2 years ago at the same time of year.  Back then there were shrill screams, stampedes, and accusations of assault by hysterical travelers.  I'll take southern hospitality any day even if it means I have to live in the same state as Rick Perry.

I passed time in the security line by reading the array of TSA signs posted along the way.  I was shocked and saddened by the poster that officially decreed that snow globes were no longer allowed in carry-on luggage.  Apparently those festive little glass balls filled with plastic snowflakes and quaint wintery European village replicas were simply too dangerous for the American population.  Way to stay one step ahead of those terrorists, TSA!  I just know that somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan, rebel forces were hard at work creating the perfect snow globe bomb.  Ha!  Your plans are foiled now, my friends!  And for those of you that asked Santa for a Golden Gate snow globe this Christmas, it pains me to say that I will no longer be able to hand-carry one back for you.  Nothing is sacred in this country anymore…

After stripping off every last jacket, shoe, scarf, jewelry and any other superfluous items on my body, I wasn't left with much clothing on.  The security guard attempted to offer me a trip through the full body x-ray scanner (also know as the "Cancer Machine.") but I declined.  I'd like to keep these aging-ovaries functional for just a bit longer, thank you.  "We have a female 'opt-out'!" he announced.  And so they sounded the alarm as guards down the line repeated the phrase loudly.  

A friendly woman, who we will call "LaJeana," greeted me and asked if it was okay for me to have my pat-down in front of everyone.  "Bring it on," I said.  She went on to explain to me, in graphic detail, exactly how she would perform the search.  She would use the backs of her hands to feel between my legs and the sides of the hands to cup underneath the breasts.  It sounded like some kind of dirty talk and I wasn't sure whether I should feel uncomfortable or flattered.  "Do what you need to do," I responded.  

LaJeana offered commentary throughout the pat-down.  "Now I am running my hands through your really cute hair!"  "Next I will feel the legs and torso…wow, you really keep fit!  You make my job easier by being so slim and wearing such thin and tight-fitting clothing!"  I was happy to please and I could see her point.  She must feel awkward when she has to hoist up the pannus (ie. the hanging flap of abdominal fat) that adorns most Americans these days.  In the hospital, I have heard stories of staff finding half-eaten sandwiches and full spaghetti dinners under the pannuses of some patients, so imagine what kind of weapons could be hidden under there!  Warning:  Al Queda might start crafting bombs hidden in fat rolls.  Next thing you know, travelers will be screened at security based on body-mass index. 

After the pat-down, she tested me for explosive chemicals.  An alarm sounded when she passed the paper through the machine; that couldn't be a good sign.  Had Whole Foods laced my patchouli oil with explosives?  TSA hadn't thought of banning hippie fragrances, yet…you can never trust a hippie anyway…

LaJeana called in reinforcements.  Another woman, let's say, "Shantrae," came right over.  LaJeana informed her that she had to do the "Revolution Search" on me.  I wasn't sure what that meant, but I felt both excitement and fear at the same time.  They led me to a small private room.  I braced myself, ready to see an economy-sized bottle of lube, a speculum and a large woman named Olga with rubber gloves up to her elbows standing inside, but alas, the room was empty.  Shantrae and LaJeana explained that they had to just do a more thorough pat-down, paying closer attention to between the legs and the breast region.  It was Shantrae's turn this time.  I won't kiss and tell, but I'll just say that she was very loving, gentle and really treated me like a lady.  

Before I accuse TSA of discriminating against hippies, I will remind myself of other innocent folks that were subject to similar searches.  Earlier this year in Florida, an ever-so menacing 95 year-old cancer patient was forced to take off her adult diaper for a complete search.  Small children have also been subject to similar pat-downs.  (Take note, Homeland Security,  Diaper Bombs could be an effective terrorist attack strategy!)  Turns out the good nation of Texas was considering a law stating that if pat-downs were performed without probable cause, security officials could be fined $4,000 and spend up to one year in jail.  We like our concealed weapons, personal freedoms and our pannus left alone in Texas!  

After the thrilling events of the morning, I was ready to eat.  I settled for an over-priced Starbucks coffee which was better than the alternative options of airline coffee or caffeine-withdrawal headache.  I was happy to find a breakfast taco stand right across from my gate.  The cashier assured me that she had already already tasted all the meats today and they were good; nothing was too dry.  I got my cochinita taco, because pork is always the right answer.

By the time I got on the airplane, it was mostly full.  I pushed past oblivious travelers standing in the middle of the aisles where they attempted to shove bags that were clearly oversized into small spaces.  Back at row number thirty-two I found my seat, as well as a helpful man.  Between the two of us, we re-arranged 4 overhead bins to accommodate luggage for the adjacent rows.  A flight attendant wearing a sequined chili pepper bolero stood by, delegating tasks to us, because flight attendants are no longer able to help lift or move bags these days; it was just too much of a lawsuit waiting to happen.

I dove into my breakfast taco, which, as promised, was not dry.  I nearly lost the entire taco mid-bite when a flight attendant's generously sized rump knocked my elbow as she waddled up the aisle.  Luckily the coffee had already kicked in and my reflexes were speedy.  My two seat-mates finally joined me. The man was an attractive yet anal-retentive triathlete with a heavy southern drawl and a c-shaped pillow behind his neck.  The other was a grandmother dressed in all of her Christmas glory.  She wore a red plaid shirt with snowflakes embroidered on the cuffs and collar.  Over the shirt, she wore a vest with holly berries.  Her dangly earrings had jingle bells on them and her necklace had a Christmas troll doll hanging from it.  (Ok fine, I made up the troll part…I just miss trolls.)  The triathlete complimented her on her "festive" outfit and I think he actually meant it.  Damn you, you wholesome & genuine Christians!

We all settled into our seats, ready to depart for San Francisco, when the pilot came over the loudspeakers.  He informed us that we would have a slight delay due to an "oven malfunction in first class."  We would have to wait for the airplane to receive food that did not require re-heating.  Frankly, I think most of the people in those extra-large seats up in first class had enough fat stores to get them through a four-hour flight, but what do I know?  I do know that the little Christmas troll hanging around my seat-mate's festive neck is staring at me with accusing eyes while I type this very message.  I'm not sure if trolls can read, but I feel guilty nonetheless.  I've said enough.  Merry Christmas.