...and yet another small pocket knife was confiscated! Damn.
The act of traveling used to be fun. Now, getting to a destination and back is one of the most aggravating experiences imaginable. If you travel, you know what I'm talking about. So here we are at San Francisco International Airport (SFO), and I'm writing about yet another airport experience.
Everything was going swimmingly at SFO until we got to security. As I emptied my pockets, I realized that I forgot to put my small Swiss Army Knife in my checked bag. This is the small knife that I bought last year to replace the one that was confiscated in Dublin, Ireland. That one had traveled with me, in my pocket, throughout the world ever since the TSA decid that small scissors and nail files were OK on airplanes. The small knife had each of those, but I had removed the small knife blade with a hack saw. At every airport I went through since, I opened the knife and scissors, and told a security person that the knife blade had been removed. Good to go. But not in Dublin, where I was told that small scissors were not allowed on airplanes. I asked to talk to a supervisor, who confirmed that at Dublin airport, that is the rule.
So I bought a new one when we got home to Portland. I just lost that one. The funny thing is this: the blade part of my car key is the same size as the knife blade. And every time we travel business or first class, we get full-size silverware with our meals, including knives. I just don't get it.
The TSA staff were very nice and apologetic. They said that there is a place in SFO that will mail it to my home for $15. Nice, but the knife cost me $15, so I might as well go get a new one.
Part two at SFO. I was selected out of line after putting all my stuff on the conveyor belt scanner gizmoand directed towards a big machine. I asked, and was informed that it is a full-body scanner. I asked what my options were, and was told that I could opt out and get a pat down. OK, pat dowhere we come.
A very polite young man explained to me, as he pulled on his clean blue plastic gloves, what the procedure is, and where he would touch me. OK, says I, lets do it. And he did. It was very thorough, and to tell the truth, I've paid a lot more for a massage. And guess what? Nothing hidden in my crotch!
This whole experience is what we call "security theater." Do I feel safer because someone felt me? No. Do I feel safer because people can't take a small Swiss Army knife on the plane? No. If I had the intention, I could do a lot of damage to a person with my car key or a ball point pen, both of which I have with me as I wait to board the airplane.
I'm not grumpy this time, because I decided not to let it bother me, and I can now say that I've had the TSA pat down. But if I was in a hurry, or it was crowded and tense, or I was tired and cranky, I'd be a lot more than mildly amused at the ridiculousness of it all.
Oh how I long for the good old days when getting there and back was a lot of fun!
- posted from the fisheyepad
Location:San Francisco International Airport
