Vacation

September 29, 2007 | 11:56AM  | maudie dot b - gmail d c | |

It must be tough to be a terroist - being told to step aside and wait behind the little gate on the other side of the glass wall. Enduring the sideling glances of the other passengers as they flow through security with their stamp of approval. You get an occassional sympathetic glance, but mostly the looks are ones of relief it's you and not them.

Your belongings sit abandoned on the conveyor, vulnerable to sleight of hand. You gaze eagle eyed ready to shout at the first hint of your iPhone being absconded.

You're told to step through the gate and sit. Instructions are then imparted. You comply, understanding that to do otherwise could find you escorted to a small, cold room with a single, naked light bulb and told to strip.

Your arms are stretched out, palms up as hands lightly pat you down and a squelching wand is passed between your legs. A brief sigh of disappointment at the lack of vibration...

Your belongings have been retrieved and are now ubdergoing the scrutiny of the "sniffer." Your anxiety spikes as you run through your mental map of where your things have been. Have they had a brush with contraband? Did a coke addict brush up against you?

Finally, you're given permission to put your shoes back on, secure your stuff and depart. But not before answering one question.

"Yeah, I like my iPhone a lot. When I'm planning a terroist attack I've found google maps to be invaluable," you answer. Well, maybe that last part stayed in your head. Experience having taught you discretion...