and
his knights before they're allowed to cross the bridge.
"What is your name?"
"King
Arthur"
"What
is your quest?"
"To
find the holy grail."
"Are
you carrying in any fruit or vegetables?"
The
questions were basic - where have you been, where are
you going, how long have you been in Canada, and that
one about produce. I got them all right except the one
about how long I'd been in Canada. I'd said four hours
and then corrected myself - I planned on being there four
hours, but the slow crossing procedure made it take seven.
The customs agent did NOT appreciate me pointing out why
I'd been mistaken.
I
still passed. That makes sense - I got a 75 on their little
test. Though if I had gotten one more question wrong,
they may have made me take summer border-crossing school.
I'm
sure there are random searches to deter people from smuggling
things over, like firearms or zucchini. But these questions
are ridiculous. If anyone is going to get caught by a
causal conversation with Border Patrol RFD, they'd have
screwed up before they did any damage anyway.
"Boss,
I'm really sorry I didn't blow up the arena. I tried,
but someone asked me what time it was, and I got all flustered.
All these questions are really stressful. I need a hug."
I
had plenty of time to think this all through, as I was
waiting in the airport a few days later. After spending
an hour and twenty minutes in the security line, I unpacked
my laptop, took off my shoes and belt, and showed my ID.
After clutching my pants on the way through the dignity-removal
unit, I picked up my carryon - you know, the one with
the knife in it.
A
few weeks ago, I'd accidentally left a small pocket knife
in my bag. I got through unchecked, so I kept leaving
it there. This was the sixth time I've gotten through
airport security with a knife. I'm sure my next flight
will be the seventh.
The
knife is small - it probably couldn't do any more damage
than, say, a box cutter. But even if they confiscated
it I'd still have another weapon. Whenever I fly early,
I pick up breakfast by my gate, purchasing my orange juice
in a glass bottle. While I can't imagine a terrorist taking
a plane with little more than Orangina, it's not comforting
to know it's an option.
The
reason we're probably safe from Orangina attacks is of
how embarrassing it'd be to the terrorist if he failed.
"Did
you hear what happened to [insert generically offensive
middle-eastern name here]? He tried to take over a plane
with vitamin C! Ahahahaha. Silly [insert generically offensive
middle-eastern name here]."
What
was it that took the Dodge Caravan so long to pass through
that checkpoint? Besides the obvious pun on "nuclear
family," what could they have said that triggered
eight minutes of questions?
"Well,
your story checks out. Your three kids seem harmless -
they're all safely buckled in, especially the one in the
car seat. You've got three "Support Our Troops"
magnets on the back of your car, your bumper sticker is
an American flag, and you're eating freedom fries. But
what is your favorite color?"
"Blue.
No, yel. Ahhhhh!!!!"
The
only thing that makes us any safer than we were three
years ago is the increased willingness Americans have
to put their lives on the line for each other. The Department
of Homeland Security, which made news a few months ago
when they raided a store in Oregon to confiscate knock-offs
of the Rubix Cube, is doing little to make me sleep any
easier. Though I was really worried about Rubix getting
all his proper royalties. Thanks, guys.
If
someone takes over a plane using a pocket knife or an
Orangina bottle, we'll all attack him, and that is what
is keeping us secure. Not removing our belts or proving
our laptops have the ability to come out of their bags,
or spending three hours in line to get back into America.
Which is also silly - if you're going to try to trip up
the terrorists, don't give them all that extra time to
study.
When
I was leaving the country, the Canadian border patrol
was a bit trickier. Instead of asking questions like,
"Are you carrying in any fruits or vegetables,"
they asked, "where are your fruits and vegetables?"
I almost answered, "in the trunk!" but luckily
I remembered that I am not a produce smuggler, and instead
replied, "I don't have any. Though I have a few freedom
fries left if you're hungry."
Canada
has a sense of humor, already having produced Jim Carey,
the Kids in the Hall, and the Toronto Maple Leafs. But
I wouldn't recommend getting smarmy at the airport. While
at LaGuardia, I refused to remove my sneakers. I told
the security guard that sometimes they didn't set off
the alarm and I was willing to take my chances. I passed
through okay - and then saw her set off the machine manually.
After checking me thoroughly, she harangued me about how
despite where I'm from, in New York they do things differently.
I'd already moved to Los Angeles by then, but I still
had my New York ID. I showed it to her, complete with
an address about five miles from the airport, and asked
her what part of New Jersey she was from.
And
with that, I picked up my knife and glass bottle and headed
towards my flight.
Steve
Hofstetter is the author of the Student Body Shots books,
which are available at SteveHofstetter.com.
He can be e-mailed at steve@stevehofstetter.com.
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