I have never been too terribly self-conscience having to disrobe at the doctor’s office – I figure in the course of a day, we all run together in their minds and well, seen one of us, seen us all.
So, last fall when the new supersonic tell-all scanners became all the rage among airport security, I saw having to view personal too-much-information as more of a hassle for them than for me. News reports showed people all antsy and upset about the detailed pictures airport security would see on the new scanners and I just thought it would be cool to imagine myself in a Dr. Who styled time machine.
Security at airports has (knock on wood) never been a problem for me; I just follow rules and as long as they leave my knitting project alone and do not allow stitches to fall off the needle, no one gets hurt. When security tightened with liquid restrictions, I decided that was fine, I would just check my luggage – now they are charging, which infuriates me, but another topic for another day.
Last month in the Detroit airport, mindlessly waiting in the security line, I noticed the new wide-bodied leave-no-secrets behind scanner. I must admit, I got a little excited, wondering if I could possibly be transported into another dimension. The line moved a bit sluggishly because of the extra time for the scanner – I mused about Roger in the time machine, wondering if personnel would have trouble lining up pictures of the right parts (my husband stands six foot seven inches).
Advancing in the line, I commented to the woman behind me that we would be famous going through the super-sonic scanner. She smiled and said something to the effect of wondering what it was like. Her husband, on the other hand, craned his neck prairie dog style and discovered that these were indeed the full-body make-a-pin-up poster scanners. He made the choice to refuse. There was a sign posted that anyone not wishing to submit to the time travel machine could take the same-sex-pat-down route.
So, with my mind on the over-priced water bottle and Hudson News magazine on the other side – and the outside possibility of the contraption really being a time machine, I stepped into the round scanner to wonder how I would be spat out. It made some pretty impressive space-age noises, and took a few seconds. I did let it pass through my mind the icky behind-the-skivvy images those poor TSA folks had to view, and out I came on the beyond security side. No time travel, nothing exciting, I just picked up my shoes, belt, scarf, purse, and knitting bag (they did not bother it, which was wise on their part) to proceed to a bench where I could re-organize and re-distribute my stuff.
Roger seemed to come through the big beast unmangled, so he gathered up his shoes, belt, laptop, carry-on bag, and coat to find a seat next to me to tie shoes, pack the lap top and his stuff from maladjustment. Within a couple minutes, we reconstructed and were ready to buy that water bottle and make any necessary stops before the world-wide-wait at the gate. I happened to notice the couple from behind me. Oh my. The man who denied himself the little thrill of the time machine which turned out to be just a scanner and did not teleport at all, both he and his wife (who submitted to the super-sonic scanner) had all of their carry on and everything on them searched. They both had to have the whoo-hoo pat down, and who knows how long they were held up. I surely hope they made their flight.
The way I look at it, airport security is in place to protect. I really don’t see the workers as anyone but people just trying to do their jobs. Granted, some are friendlier about it than others, but they have procedure they have to follow and I seriously doubt they harbor any secret thrills for what shows up on the scanners. Just like at the doctor’s office, we all have the same parts, and taking care of their business is all in a day’s work. I am very happy that I can fly feeling safe.
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