Clearly Suspicious

Clearly Suspicious
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. 


  1. Oh Kath, I think it's so they can level out the statistics to prove they aren't profiling other groups. In December 2001 (just after 9-11), I flew from Atlanta to D.C. I was pulled from the line and searched (as was my hand luggage). When I finally got to my seat, the young man sitting in the middle was calling out, "But where's my mother?" We two middle aged ladies were the only ones being searched.

  2. Patricia, I feel your pain. And agree.
    But since you and I seem to be the 'stats' passengers, I have a suggestion for making us happier from a friend. Seems she was called to jury duty in San Diego county where they do the same 'exams' as the potential jurors line up to get into the courtroom. She almost turned around and let them find her and whatever for not reporting until she smelled the coffee and cinnamon buns on the other side of the 'search station'.
    I'd get in line twice for hot cinnamon buns!

  3. Boy, do I feel safer knowing TSA is keeping a watch on suspicious characters like you!

    Thanks for a morning giggle!


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