Fun With Airport Security

A few years ago we loaded up our East Tennessee family and flew to California for a two week vacation. Our layover was in Chicago and we were there most of the two weeks. Not really, but it was one of those layovers that got longer and longer and even included the airline moving us from a gate at one end of the airport to one at the opposite end, which was more walking than I normally do in a year. The layover time was educational as my family befriended a nun from a contemplative order who was returning from a vacation. (Which did beg us to ask ourselves what exactly a nun who thinks and prays for her daily work needed a vacation from. But we didn't ask her. No use begging for plagues and such.)

As we prepared in California for our return trip home, I remembered our lengthy time spent in Chicago. Not having an extra $100 to blow on snack food for 6 people in airport snack shops, I decided to pack some peanut butter and a sleeve of crackers in my carry on backpack. I also stuck in a little plastic picnic knife for the peanut butter. Off we went.

As the mother, it was my assigned duty to bring up the rear in all lines, including the security check-in line, which the other five members of my family breezed through. I, of course, was pulled aside after sliding my backpack through the xray machine and walking through the metal detectors. Let me tell you, these airport security people are no Jerry Seinfelds. Humor is not how they happily make it through their work days.
"Please step aside", was about as friendly as it got. The gentleman then donned thick rubber gloves to carefully comb through my backpack as if my Mad libs book was going to give him the cooties. Speaking of comb, I wondered if perhaps the one I had in the backpack had triggered some alarm. Then I thought of my plastic peanut butter knife.

"Oh, I have a small plastic knife in there for peanut butter. I bet that is what you saw.", I helpfully offered to the gentleman who I now realize was probably second in line to take back over The Tonight Show job. He gave me the look. You know the one. The one that said, "Why do they let people as stupid as you out of your home state?". Yes, that one. He removed said plastic knife from my backpack, grandly set it aside while glaring at me, then continued to paw through my pack with his protected appendage. Meanwhile, I was sweating from pores on my body that I didn't even realize I had. Who knew elbows could drip sweat? I could hear my heart beating over the noise in the terminal. I was happy my life insurance policy was paid up because clearly I was going to die from terror standing in this airport.The security man stuck that hand further into my backpack and removed a pocket knife. A metal pocket knife. One that looked amazingly like my husband's. Like the one he had out in the hotel the night before to pack in our checked luggage.

My husband who had been standing several feet away from me in the area for people who know how to travel and don't pose any national security risk. Standing with my four children who are bent over with laughter and glee - not from the obviously hysterical security man - but from the thrill they have been getting from seeing their mother squirm like a woman in a lineup.
My husband was grinning sheepishly at this point. You know the look - the one that is the cross between bewilderment at what is going on and the faint idea that he might be responsible in some way.Of course by this point a second security agent had come over to assist the first one because clearly I am a force to be reckoned with and backup is necessary. They explained to me that I could take the offending knife over to another counter and pay to have it shipped to my house. Or I could have them discard it.

At this point, I wouldn't have cared if that had been a diamond encrusted family heirloom handed down through 8 generations including one ancestor that had survived the sinking of the Titanic. I jumped at the chance to have them throw that thing away.
After being allowed to put my shoes and a few other articles of clothing back on and then watching the security guy carefully and lovingly shove my belongings back into my backpack, I met my family on the good side of the security ropes.

Let me just say that it is a good thing for my husband that you can't do any real damage with a plastic peanut butter knife.

Not that I didn't try.