18 February 2011
Apparently I am a clearly suspicious character.
So The Prince Consort and I drop the red Mustang convertible at the car rental lot, and hop the bus for the San Diego airport terminal.
Dressed in my busted-diet-camouflage, tasteful black on black, I haul my full five feet of height, and fluffy-sided weight into the TSA line. When the officer tells me to hold my hands up over my head, I figure it’ll help make me look slimmer.
I swear I heard the machine snicker.
And I start obsessing. I Know dead-on-certain my scan is going straight to a Facebook wall. Probably in the ‘does she have a mirror at home?’ section. Hands up, my sweater can’t hide the ‘waistline muffin top’ (Which wasn’t there a year ago, before I discovered the Godiva store across from our regular California-visit motel. ). How about roots? Will this damn scanner show how far past due date I am on “refreshing” my blonde highlights?
And that was the easy part.
I step out of the scanner and a new officer asks me to step aside. HUH?
In addition to the full body scan, I’m getting the free breast exam. Seriously? Will they send the results to my doctor? They even wipe my palms with a cheesecloth square. Lovely. There are no secrets around the TSA. Now everyone will know my hands sweat. Dammit.
I’m the only one getting this special treatment. The Prince Consort decides to help. He tells the TSA agent, “You can keep her.” (Apparently TCP wasn’t nearly as grateful for all my driving advice as we cruised I-5, as I’d assumed.)
Much to The Prince Consort’s chagrin, they dismiss me. I need a drink. NOT diet, full sugar cola! NOW!
So while I gulp down my drink, I watch the TSA lines. How in the hell did I get picked for the extra search? I’m five feet of blonde fluffiness, a proud member of the Baby Boomer generation. I’m a threat? Apparently the only one. No one else gets groped.
Not even the guy eating in the food court wearing the cat ears. I swear, cat ears. Because there’s nothing suspicious about that.
Or the woman wearing the cowboy hat, wrapped in a grocery bag?
Or the woman carrying on a teeny dog in a pink striped sweater? The dog shakes like he’s just swallowed a bomb and it didn’t taste like doggy kibble. The lady assures her neighbor that the dog isn’t shaking from fear. When he’s scared, he lays back his size-elephant ears. Uh huh. Got news for you, lady, that dog’s ears are so far back they’re touching his tail.
Yeah. They’re normal, and I’m clearly the suspicious character.