Security Risks

As it turns out, you don’t need a photo ID to board an aircraft. So with all the watchlists, and taking off of shoes and walking barefoot on cold tile that a thousand other barefoot travelers with any number of fungus issues have passed through and little time for mopping breaks, and the queries about bags in your possession at all times, even when you got that latte and had to balance your bag on top of your cup as not to lose contact even once, you don’t actually need ID.

So, for instance, if you were on the “do not let this person even near planes, and in fact, it’s probably best to keep paper away, ‘lest he knows how to fold and crease” list, you could just book your ticket as “John Love Peace Yo” and not even have to go through the ordeal of meeting scary Soprano-type guys in diners that frankly, could use a better janitorial service, so it’s not like you were planning to have the pie anyway, to round you up some fake identification with the Peace Yo moniker.

When the ticket agent asks for ID during the boarding pass process, just say you don’t have it. No really. Simply say “I don’t have my ID.”

I know this because mere days ago, I boarded a plane after saying those very words. Although my words were a bit harder to make out among the hyperventilization that tends to occur just before I embark on a flight. I don’t think the hyperventilation is actually required though. That’s just my custom touch.

The ticket agent wrote “no ID” on my boarding pass and sent me over to the security checkpoint line, also known as the line stretching to all eternity, even down escalators and into sky bridges out to the parking garage and then back up escalators again, and you think I kid. But actually no. Hopefully they’re come up with a spiffy abbreviation or something.

Once I got to the stern woman demanding to see everyone’s boarding pass and ID (obviously, this was several days later, as in addition to the trudge back down to the parking garage, the up escalator wasn’t even working and everyone had to walk up them manually if you can even imagine), I gave her the same line about the lack of ID. She waved me through.

The difference is that she waved me through to that other line where the workers have better health care plans and can afford more up-do-date prescription glasses. Only, it wasn’t all that different for me, since I’m nearly always waved through to this line, as it’s also the line for anyone buying a one-way ticket, or who bought their ticket within the last week, or who has a last name ending in “y” or answered yes when asked if they packed flammables or asked the ticket agent where the flight attendants learn to waitress.

When you go through the heightened security line, you get to stand on little feet outlines so your legs will be outstretched just so, and you are supposed to watch as the security agent takes all your money out of your wallet. I guess you’re supposed to watch to see that he doesn’t take a tip for himself, and I’m not sure what he’s looking for. While this goes on, someone else waves a wand all around your parts.

My wand girl got a positive around my breasts.

“Underwire?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. I have to check.”

The latest in airport security. We make you feel safe and feel you up. No extra charge.

As my wand girl and fluffer walked off, the guy flipping through my purse muttered “drama queen”.

And then I was through. Hopefully, I will also be allowed back on a plane so I can return home. As my IDs whereabouts continues to elude me. Maybe I’ll even get dinner and a movie with my security checkpoint date this time.

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