So the airports have increased security. Now, The Mistress travels a lot and air safety is a good thing, but let’s face it, this part of the world is just too freaking politically correct AND mired in stereotypes to do it right. I arrive at the airport in Montreal the prescribed 3 hours before an international flight – I would have gotten there later, but I’d run out of things to kill time. I have all my liquids, gels, aerosols and over the counter meds in my checked luggage, valid passport, boarding pass and I’m wearing easy to remove sandals. All I’m carrying is a backpack with my laptop, a sweater and a book. Oh, wait – highlighters. (These will show up later in our story)
I clear customs and immigration, having a nice chat about the stamps in my passport. I move on to an excessively long line at security, but hey, I’m early, it’s all good. We pass two signs telling people to turn off cellphones and PDAs and the two fat, sweating, suit-clad guys in front of me are thumbing away at their Crackberry ripoffs. They discuss the fact that they are taking all their luggage carryon because TSA "hasn’t caught" their hair gel (not that they had a lot, but those combovers can get awfully unruly), toothpaste and shaving cream in 3 flights. Boy, I’m impressed – I wasn’t aware this was a game.
We approach checkpoint one where the guy is asking if anyone has liquids, gels or aerosols. Our two "important guys on business" walk past. I get stopped and asked specifically if I have "cosmetics" in my "purse" and I say no (since it is the truth). The guy stops me again and asks me TWICE more. I say no, twice more, and thank him. I get to the front and head towards the x-ray belt, take off my sandals, put my laptop, purse, sandals, change and such on the belt and hand over my boarding pass. I go through the detector without incident. My bags aren’t on the other side. Crud. The two guys with the Clinique for Men counter in their bags are rolling off down the concourse.
"Hold out your arms." OK, I must be the "random" check. I get wanded multiple times while they try to get my watch to beep. I get asked to take off my belt (which didn’t set the detector off) and flip my waist band so they can visually check the back of my pants button. Erm… OK? Finally I get past the wand chick only to find my backpack and purse being dumped. The supergenius with my backpack holds up my highlighter and asks "What is this?". I respond "It’s a highlighter – people learn to use those in high school and college to help remember important things in books. I have a book in there too." Braniac then holds up my boarding pass and says, "Your flight isn’t leaving soon, why are you early?" I reply, "Because on my last three flights I’ve been randomly selected so that someone can ask about my highlighter while guys who are laughing about TSA not taking their shaving gel and toothpaste walk through security without so much as a second glance."
The guy standing next to my inquisitor says, "Who did that?"
I reply, "Not meaning to be rude, but that would be your job and not mine. I mean, I understand. I’d rather inspect someone who is nice and easy and doesn’t look like they will be a problem or raise a fuss too – instead of someone who is actually breaking the rules. "
No, I don’t feel safer.