They took my trousers and I’m pretty sure they googled me. My crime? Wearing a t-shirt that proclaimed a dangerous revolutionary sentiment in the airport. More below. (Get your minds out of the gutter!)
Today started out well. I went to my job at a small college. I took a union cab to the airport and discussed globalization with my Somali cab driver. He was against it, for the record, and felt that Americans should pay African coffee growers more for their beans. I agreed. I wasn’t rushed and enjoyed the conversation. Heck, I was 2 and a half hours early for my flight. There was plenty of time. My only worries were finding a cup of guilt free-free trade French Roast and a seat next to the window where I could read the novel Snow, by Turkish author Orhan Pamuk winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature. I was dressed fairly formally by art student standards, given that my jeans only had one hole, few ink stains, and my green socks came close to matching the aforementioned t-shirt zipped up under my hoodie. It’s Minnesota- we dress in layers.
I was prepared to speed up my boarding and make things easier for the TSA folks. I fly often, so I know what to do. My cosmetics were pre-baggied to demonstrate that I didn’t have enough chemicals on hand to concoct plastic explosives in the bathroom. I took off my shoes without being prompted in case they might have bombs in them. I sent my potentially explosive apple laptop through independent of my messenger bag and put my ipod in my jacket pocket for screening. I took out my digital camera and my celphone as those might have been bombs as well. They asked me to please remove my gray hooded sweatshirt and pass that though the x-ray machine. This revealed my green t-shirt printed with a white dove and the subversive message: Peace On Earth. I joked with the TSA guys about the balmy above freezing weather and walked through the metal detector silently with government issued identification and boarding pass in hand.
Destination: Dayton.
The rather bulldog faced woman who checked my id gave me the once over, noting that my id was not from Minnesota. Yes, I said. I’m a student. Oh, she said, and consulted a supervisor. I’m sorry miss, but you’ll to have to come with me. Okay, I said, and followed her to a little gray room-like cubicle with carpeted walls sitting in a corner. This was not encouraging. Please wait here, she said, and left me alone. There was a small metal table and one plastic chair. I sat on the chair and looked at the carpet on the wall. For five minutes. She returned.
I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to remove your trousers. She stood there. I sat there. Then I took off my jeans and handed them over. Thank you, she said, and left. There I sat. Shoeless. Trouserless. Perhaps I should have shaved. At least my undies were clean, if unremarkable. No mottoes there. 10 minutes passed, or at least, I think it was 10 minutes because I didn’t have my watch, my phone, my laptop, my ipod, or my camera. It could have been an hour, actually. I really don’t know. She came back with my trousers draped over her arm. Here you go, she said. Thank you, I said. Newly reassured of their safety, I put them back on. Before she left again, she asked when my flight was leaving. 2:40, I said. Oh good, she said, and left.
A half hour seemed to have passed, but time moves slowly in the pastel plastic gulag. I found myself wishing for a rubber ball to bounce. Stalag MSP. Not destined for an Oscar. At long last she returned. I sat up a little straighter. Did someone post bail? Was I free to go? No. She had questions.
I was a student? Yes. Of what? Art. Really? Oh yes. Where? I go to (name of my college). Oh really? Yes. Are you a member of any student organizations? Not really. Been to any protests lately? Yes, I admitted. Oh, she said.
Are you a member of PETA, or Greenpeace? Anything like that? Not really. I used to get stickers in the mail from the World Wildlife Foundation, but they stopped when I didn’t send any money. Oh, she said, and left again. When she returned it was with my faithful array of electronics. Hello ipod, lappy, celphone! Gee, I missed you guys. She handed me my bag, my hoodie, my boarding pass, my shoes, and id. Have a nice flight Miss, she said. Okay, I said. Thanks. Didn’t give her a dirty look or anything. Given the quality time we had spent without the social aid of trousers, I figured we were a little closer than we had been before, and so I asked her why I had been searched. She paused, clearly uncomfortable. Well, you fit the profile of a student extremist, she said tugging at an earlobe. Okay, I said. Have a nice day, she said. Okay, I said, and walked to my gate.
They were out of the French Roast in the free trade, so I had Guatemalan instead. Arriving in Dayton, I found that my checked luggage had been sequestered away from the non-extremist bags on the turnstile. Arriving home I found that all of my dirty laundry had been neatly folded and my thesis research books had been flipped through, post-is dislodged. I felt violated. Not only did they see me in my skivvies, but my less than pristine panties had been closely examined and their organization found wanting. I don’t think they pay the TSA people enough. Or maybe, they pay them too much, but perhaps that is flattering myself.
So why, you ask. Why didn’t I just stay put in liberal uptown Minnesota, where people have “What Would Wellstone Do?” Bumperstickers and don’t look at you funny for ordering free trade coffee? Why? Well, any flights to West Virginia were prohibitively expensive. Not quite sure why that is, but hey. Who am I to question Travelocity?
You see folks; I went home to see Arlo Guthrie live in concert at Mountain Stage this weekend. Oh Arlo. I too have sat on the Group “W” Bench.
So, you know, if one person, just one person wears a Peace on Earth t-shirt to the airport, they may think she’s dangerous, put her in a carpeted room, and take away her pants. And if two people, two people wear them, arm in arm, they'll say they're both faggots and they’ll put them in different rooms. And if three people wear them, three, can you imagine, three people walking in to the airport, wearing Peace on Earth t-shirts and peacefully surrendering their electronics for inspection? They may think it's an organization and google you. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day, I said fifty people a day walking in to the airport, wearing Peace on Earth t-shirts and attempting to lawfully board airplanes? They may think it’s a movement, and that my friends, is just what it is.
It’s the extremist trouserless student peacenik eco-terrorist movement and all you have to do to join wear a Peace on Earth t-shirt the next time you decide to fly the friendly skies.
So we'll wait for the elections to come around, again, and vote in them when they do. With feeling