I traveled to Chicago over the weekend, and while I learned many things at the BlogHer ’13 conference, no tip was more shocking that my TSA security tidbit.
When I approach the airport security line, my anxiety is pretty high. There are X-ray machine and rules being yelled at me and so many bare feet my eyes burn. I’m usually negotiating my feelings over my laptop and shoes I’m sending away (BE CAREFUL! SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE OF X-RAY, BOO BEARS!), and helping my two kids who can’t hold my hand through the metal detectors and where sometimes TSA officials make me go first, which works great, and something TSA officials make my kids go first, which works not so great. Whenever I try to explain the order of greatness, I’m told: We know what we we’re doing, ma’am. Now this response is surprising since I didn’t know I had been co-parenting with the Transport Security Administration all these years.
I may dislike feeling so powerless for 15 minutes, but I am adept at holding my tongue mostly because I have other people counting on me to not get interrogated. Plus, what’s my dignity for the chance to fly across the country?
However, on this last trip, I discovered something that turned the tables a bit.
When TSA security says, Remove everything from your pockets, I always check mine 4-5 times because pleasedontbeepsomeoneinmypartyhastopee. But this last go through, my husband discovered a weird bump in the zippered compartment only fugly camping cargo shorts would provide.
Scott reached in slowly poking the spot for a moment before that sigh of relief when he realize an old lighter fluid container wasn’t trapped in there. It was just a wad of cash.
The combination of being relieved he hadn’t attempted to bring bomb-making paraphernalia through airport security as well as the concerned someone would still question what was in his pocket, my husband pulled out the giant ball of money and reached towards the closest airport security guard to show him pocket-sized innocence only to watch dumbfounded as the TSA official hysterically threw his hands in the air yelling DON’T GIVE ME THAT and stumbled into an X-ray machine to get away.
Scott put the it back in his pocket, and we all enjoyed carrying more than a wad of cash through airport security that day.