by Serena St. John

Created on: April 26, 2008

The Airport Pat-Down

Lights were flashing and sirens sounding in my imagination that morning at the airport check-in counter. Airport security had just pulled me out of line apart from everyone else. It had been 10 years and 35 pounds since my last plane ride and this had never happened before. It certainly hadn't happened to the hundred and sixty-something people before me in the line that snaked around like we were waiting for a turn on "Space Mountain" at Disneyworld. Sure, someone occasionally buzzed and had to empty their pockets or remove a belt, but that was the extent of the hoopla. A defensive voice rang inside my head. "I don't wear any piercings, what's up?" I panicked. I had purposely prepped myself about the lotions and other contraband that had come about since I was last a passenger. Aside from my necklace, wedding rings, underthings, socks, blouse and pants I was in my birthday suit. "What have I done to trigger this?" I thought.

Two other security people came rushing out of nowhere carrying wands and other gadgets. While one began waving electronics around me like I was radioactive the other started patting me down. (I watch "24", I think they were special ops people.) They seemed particularly interested in my mid-section. Pinching and squeezing had not been adequate. Where are you, Mr. Whipple? "Don't squeeze the passengers" I fantasized he would scold. She made me partially unbutton my shirt so she could look down the neckline at my naked middle. I had visions of privacy infractions I could vaguely recall from news stories over the past few years of the beefed-up security. "I will NOT submit to any cavity searches", I am thinking. It took a few seconds to register, but soon the pieces fell together. They thought I was a terrorist. At first I wasn't sure why, then I speculated that they thought I had dynamite sticks strapped around my mid-section or something.

"How rude", I thought, "so I have a bit of an apple shape. Could I really be the first apple to roll through your line? Could they really believe that I, a 50- something, pudgy, pastey white, suburban, clueless woman, could have an explosive device strapped around my middle"? If it wasn't me it was happening to I do believe it would've been funny. I was hoping the people who were staring were thinking terrorist and not "wow, they nabbed her cuz of that double spare tire"!

Security #1 spoke "all clear" into her walkie-talkie to the powers that be. I was free to go. They didn't hold me

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