“Sir, you’ve been selected by the airline,” the man at the security gate of the Santa Barbara Airport says to me, quickly scratching an “X” in red marker on my ticket.
Did I win something? Maybe I’m getting an empty first-class seat!
“Please see the security official just beyond the metal detector once you’re through.”
My excitement died in its tracks. I know this game. My parents live in Minnesota, so I fly pretty frequently. For some reason I’m almost always picked out as some sort of subversive, subject to extra-special searching. It’s probably the Velcro shoes – a sure sign of trouble.
Sure, I haven’t shaved in days and my eyes are red and bleary. There just aren’t options when you have to catch a cab at half past 4 in the morning with two hours of sleep.
Regardless, I am 21, still a little drunk and probably dangerous.
I step cautiously through the metal detector. It beeps. I glare. A five-foot-nothing woman waving a chirping wand beckons me.
“Put your feet on the line and lift your arms out to your sides, please.” I did as commanded. She runs her wand along my body. It chirps around my crotch.
“Take your belt off.”
“Women usually aren’t this forward with me.” I smirk. She glares. Again, I do as I’m told. She checked the hot spot again. No beep. “You can go.”
“Was it good for you?”
She scowls and tells me to go on ahead and put my belt back on.
They’re already digging through my bags when I get to the extra-special search table. “Find anything yet?”
“No. You’re clean so far.”
“Well, don’t look in the front pocket. Wait, do look in the front pocket. Shit.” I’ve blown my cover.
“Thanks for the tip, kid, but I already did.”
No point in messing with these guys. They’re professionals. With their hands in my neatly folded underpants.
Well, I have all break to figure out some new lines for the crew in Minneapolis.
Daily Nexus Opinion Editor Cory Anthony is always disappointed at the barely-visible-to-the-naked-eye-sized In-N-Out milkshakes.