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LJ Idol Week 8: A Travelling Travesty
Dec. 13th, 2011 09:20 am"What do you MEAN I need to show you ID to get on the plane?!?!"
The flight attendant looked at me as if I was the most stupid person she'd ever seen. "Yes ma'am. I need to see a state-issued photo ID."
In the face of her determination, I did the only logical thing I could do.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! I DIDN'T KNOW I HAVE TO GET ON THAT PLANE HERE'S THE ENTIRE CONTENTS OF MY WALLET LOOK I HAVE MY STATE BIRTH ID FROM FLORIDA AND A LIBRARY CARD AND WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH LET ME ON THE PLANE!!!"
Surprisingly, that worked.
Not surprisingly, this was pre-9/11.
Security - oh wait, I mistyped that. "Security" has tightened up since a few planes hit a few buildings and brought terrorism to America. Now, it may be true that I've since used crying to get on planes when the last name on my ticket didn't match the last name on my official-type ID, but there's no way to avoid going through the TSA luggage checks and scanners. Which should, in theory, keep us safer. Because they're all highly trained and know what sort of troublesome things to look for, yes?
Allow me to take you back to somewhere around 2006. It's March in Chicago. TransWorld, an annual haunted attraction trade show that always happens this time of year, is starting to close its doors. We've been hit by a snow storm,flights are delayed, and the airport is full of tired haunters who've been in town.
I rarely check luggage, choosing instead to cram as much as I possibly can into a carry-on suitcase. I know the rules for what you can put into your luggage. I've never been stopped or looked at twice.
Until now.
"WHAT is THAT?" I hear a screener yelp, staring at his monitor.
Oops.
Several people pull my suitcase aside and unzip it, revealing a juicy looking skull snuggled in amongst my clothing. And all hell breaks loose.
Apparently exactly one person got the memo that the haunters were in town, as a single TSA employee remains calm and asks, "TransWorld?"
I nod. "If you look, it says, 'Made in China' on the back."
He nods back. "No problem," and declines to check.
Having ascertained that the skull belongs to one Mr. Bucky, a gentleman well-loved by the haunted attraction community, the TSA employees start to do schtick about my luggage.
"Man! She has my cousin's SKULL in her suitcase! Hahahahahahaha!"
It was at this point that I lost control of both my mind and my tongue.
"Would you like to lick it?"
The laughter stopped.
Four sets of eyes stared at me, stared at the skull in question, and - without any further words spoken - my suitcase was handed over to me.
And so, Gentle Readers, I offer you this opinion: If crying and offers of skull-licking can get you past airport security, we here in America have a travesty of a security system.
The flight attendant looked at me as if I was the most stupid person she'd ever seen. "Yes ma'am. I need to see a state-issued photo ID."
In the face of her determination, I did the only logical thing I could do.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! I DIDN'T KNOW I HAVE TO GET ON THAT PLANE HERE'S THE ENTIRE CONTENTS OF MY WALLET LOOK I HAVE MY STATE BIRTH ID FROM FLORIDA AND A LIBRARY CARD AND WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH LET ME ON THE PLANE!!!"
Surprisingly, that worked.
Not surprisingly, this was pre-9/11.
Security - oh wait, I mistyped that. "Security" has tightened up since a few planes hit a few buildings and brought terrorism to America. Now, it may be true that I've since used crying to get on planes when the last name on my ticket didn't match the last name on my official-type ID, but there's no way to avoid going through the TSA luggage checks and scanners. Which should, in theory, keep us safer. Because they're all highly trained and know what sort of troublesome things to look for, yes?
Allow me to take you back to somewhere around 2006. It's March in Chicago. TransWorld, an annual haunted attraction trade show that always happens this time of year, is starting to close its doors. We've been hit by a snow storm,flights are delayed, and the airport is full of tired haunters who've been in town.
I rarely check luggage, choosing instead to cram as much as I possibly can into a carry-on suitcase. I know the rules for what you can put into your luggage. I've never been stopped or looked at twice.
Until now.
"WHAT is THAT?" I hear a screener yelp, staring at his monitor.
Oops.
Several people pull my suitcase aside and unzip it, revealing a juicy looking skull snuggled in amongst my clothing. And all hell breaks loose.
Apparently exactly one person got the memo that the haunters were in town, as a single TSA employee remains calm and asks, "TransWorld?"
I nod. "If you look, it says, 'Made in China' on the back."
He nods back. "No problem," and declines to check.
Having ascertained that the skull belongs to one Mr. Bucky, a gentleman well-loved by the haunted attraction community, the TSA employees start to do schtick about my luggage.
"Man! She has my cousin's SKULL in her suitcase! Hahahahahahaha!"
It was at this point that I lost control of both my mind and my tongue.
"Would you like to lick it?"
The laughter stopped.
Four sets of eyes stared at me, stared at the skull in question, and - without any further words spoken - my suitcase was handed over to me.
And so, Gentle Readers, I offer you this opinion: If crying and offers of skull-licking can get you past airport security, we here in America have a travesty of a security system.