Monday, August 1, 2011

The Pat-Down Experience

In times of need it is common for people to make physical contact with one another. For example, holding someone's hand or touching their shoulder can easily provide comfort to someone who is upset. When you're going through airport security, however, physical contact does not provide comfort and has a hit rate of somewhere around 100% in making people feel upset, unsafe, and rather unhappy with particular security officials.
I acknowledge that our government intends to reduce airport security risk by putting people through X-ray scanners when they go through security, but for a lot of people, the personal risk to their individual health can very well be just as dangerous, for them, as someone who goes on the airplane with a bottle of liquids that is--dare I say it?--3.1 ounces rather than the institutionalized 3. Despite reports that have been released claiming that these X-ray machines are relatively harmless and pose no threat to physical health, many doctors--and many travelers--disagree. The average person is not supposed to have many more than 2 X-rays per year, and with the added frequency of these X-ray machines in airports, it is becoming less healthy to travel than ever before.
My choice, whenever I am assigned to the film-canister-like X-ray box, is to opt out and get a pat-down; this is the only alternative provided to anyone. And it sucks. It just doesn't suck as much as damaging my body from too many X-rays.
I think they like to pick me to go through the X-ray machine because of my hair, or something. I have curly red hair, and sometimes, it gets big. It's not on purpose! It just loves to react that way to humidity... Anyways, they all seem to think that I'm capable of hiding explosives in my hair. This is the most ridiculous thing ever: A). I would never take an explosive on a plane--I'm not suicidal, and B). if I were to conceal one in my hair--which is insanely stupid, I might add--it would surely pull really hard and be super uncomfortable, and that wouldn't be good for my hair either. But anyways, back to my story. When my parents and I went to Hawaii over winter break, we had to take somewhere around 5 flights to get to our destination, and I got chosen to do the X-ray machine all five times. It was fun--SARCASM. The first thing they did? Well, after they give me the spiel about what side of their hands they're going to use to touch me where, they go for the hair! Every time! And I just love how as they're really awkwardly fingering it and poking it and touching my scalp and neck and hair they're telling me "I love your hair." At the same time. Well, if they love it that much, why don't they just quit groping me???
And then they go for the body. That's an experience every time. All I can say is at least I get a female grope-guard, as I call them sometimes. Let's just say that these grope-guards get to touch me--four times per grope, I might add--in places where my dad would murder a boy for touching me. And, yes, don't worry--they get to touch the insides of my legs with the front of their hands and the back of their hands, and from behind me and from in front of me.... Then they move to my arms and chest and everything else. It's horrible. And I'm ticklish.
Anyways, I think that our security system is not going about this the best way they could. By attempting to protect us, the system is also suddenly making it appropriate to be groped in a public place by a complete stranger (and you better hope you don't know your grope-guard because then it might be even more awkward--something like "hi, Sussie--I live down the street! I'm just going to feel the undersides of your breasts now with the back of my hand, so don't worry. And hey, I loved the pie your--" yeah. That'd be even more awkward.).

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