Barbara Ellington, Senior Gleaner WriterREPORTS ARE that one of the '9/11' terrorists was photographed going through United States Customs prior to blowing up the World Trade Center three years ago. Three months later, this dead terrorist received his green card in the mail.
Far cry from a country where customs officers now randomly search passengers like me, three times in nine days.
I was en route to the North American Menopause Society (NAMS) annual conference in Washington D.C., on October 5 when I first experienced the Transportation Security Administration (TSA). I have since renamed them Terrorist Suspect Agents.
ROOKIE STAFF
At the Miami International Airport, I was randomly selected to step aside, remove my shoes and stand with arms outstretched, palms up and legs wide apart. It was my bad luck to be the guinea pig of a new member of staff who seemed to get everything wrong so the supervisor kept telling her to repeat the process. The more he shouted at her, the more mistakes she made and the longer my ordeal lasted.
"Do not touch the passenger until she has claimed her scanned bags," he reprimanded after she had begun to pass her wand all over my body.
My arms were feeling the effect of years of no physical exercise except for lifting Cleopatra my cat. "Seems like I'm very electrifying today," I quipped when the wand kept buzzing no matter which part of my body it touched. I was not wearing much jewellery nor belt with a buckle so I offered, "It's nothing more lethal than my underwired bra."
The rookie used her hands to make sure then proceeded to tell me, "Spread your legs wider."
Feeling mischievous and deciding to get a rise out of the big giant of a supervisor, I replied, "Usually when I'm asked to do that at least I have some fun."
He tried to remain stoic while the others within earshot laughed out loud. She passed the wand up and down between my legs and I think this must be what it feels like to face a rapist but she's satisfied that although I might fit the profile, I was clean. My shoes are returned and I put them on.
I was not embarrassed or angry because I kept repeating my new found mantra, "Homeland security -- homeland security--"
Ten days later, the return journey held more in store for me. At the Philadelphia International Airport, I was once again taken out of the line and relieved of my slippers, coat and hand luggage and told to step aside.
Joining me were an English woman, an African-American woman and a Caucasian male whose shock of facial hair made him a dead ringer for Osama Bin Laden's twin brother. This time I was held captive by a search party of four, three huge guys and a woman.
I requested that I be frisked by one of the men but that was not to be. Again, I decided that I would have some fun so when one officer asked, "Where's the SP?", I said, "So I'm a suspect?" He wanted to know how I knew what the term meant and I just said, "Duh!"
FINE-TOOTHED COMB
I was then told to watch but don't touch my belongings while they went through everything with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. One of the officers took a small square of white cloth, applied it to a thong-like apparatus and began to wipe along the seams of my carry-on bag.
Curious, I asked, "What's that for?" and was told he's testing for explosives. I had to laugh and I told him, "Sir, on a good day, I can't even blow up a balloon much less a plane"!, but he assured me he was just doing his job.
I kept asking what they used to determine that I was to be chosen for random search but he said nothing was used. He must think I was born big.
Then it was time for fun. The female officer took me to grey mat, with my feet apart on the yellow foot prints and I told her I knew the drill, I will gladly spread my legs for "homeland security .... homeland security"
Again the wand beeped when it came in contact with my bra so I lifted my blouse for her to see it. Embarrassed, she quickly put it down and said that was not necessary.
But then it occurred that even the TSA are doing their part for Breast Cancer Awareness month, because she proceeded to squeeze my breasts at both sides and the top. Feeling violated, I said, "Oh, how nice, a free mammography test too!" This elicited chuckles from the men and speeding up of the process from my new "gynaecologist." They gave me the all-clear and sent me on my way.
BIG NUISANCE
Big Brother was not through with me yet and as I went to catch the connecting flight home from Miami International Airport, I was once again singled out for terrorist suspect treatment. This time when the wand screamed upon contact with my bra I told the woman what it was and added, "I'm not taking it off."
By the time one male officer brought out the white fabric, I asked, "Still looking for explosives?" No answer. This time, I did not wait to be asked to spread my legs wider, I pretended I was playing the game, "Apart -Together." I was given the green TSA sticker and told that I was free to go. I said, "You mean in a patty wagon, right?"
He said no but I couldn't help writing down the name of the security unit from the officer's shirt and telling him that instead of Transportation Security Admin-istration, they should be called Terrorist Suspect Alert.
For many passengers, the now familiar random searches are a nuisance and on all three occasions, I overheard some of my fellow suspects quarrelling. For me it was reassuring that efforts are being made to ensure safety in the skies.
