Someone told me my last post sounded like it was written by the crabby old guy that yells “Get off my lawn!!” That wasn’t the tone I had going in my head, but I can totally be the get off my lawn guy. I have an excellent Get Off My Lawn Gabe story. Those of you that know me well have heard this story before. It’s about that one time I went all the way to Siberia hassle free, only to be mightily hassled at the airport in my own country. If you’ve already heard it you can stop now. You know, that one time I completely lost all my cool at the La Guardia airport security line.
It was June of 2010. Me and Ashley and another friend of ours from our small group at church went on a mission trip to an orphanage in Novosibirsk, Russia. Which is in Siberia. That’s a distinction, because Russia is super far away. Siberia is far away from from away. At this time I was working a full time civilian job, but still had an active Top Secret Clearance from my previous work with the government. This is important, because US citizens are often watched in Russia and sometimes even propositioned for spy work depending on their walk of life in the US. Americans with military ties and Top Secret Clearances are often assigned a team of people to follow them around and sometimes they’ve even been known to disappear. Or so the US State Department warned me when I was applying for my Visa to travel there. I like to throw that clearance out from time to time when I get frustrated with someone not thinking I can keep a secret or trust me or feel the need to strip search me at the TSA line. I note it for this story as I imagined all kinds of scrutiny in Moscow and Novosibirsk, but received none. Turns out the Russians vet you long on advance and if they want to look at your stuff they’ll do it anytime they want to.
Backing up a little further even before 9/11 I had trouble at the security line at the airport. Post 9/11 it got even worse. Sometimes having that clearance meant I needed to act as a courier carrying classified documents from one place to the other. Sometimes I was even in full uniform when I did this. I coordinated with airport security days before I made these trips because I was carrying packages that even airport security, customs, police etc were not allowed to open. I had to get documentation to provide all the Federal and local entities to leave me alone. Yet somehow even with this paperwork, active duty orders, and in full uniform I would be “randomly selected” for an extra look by airport security/TSA. I did in fact, even have to disrobe once at the security line and was then again randomly selected for all my gear to be gone through at the gate. I think this was on our way to or from Mexico maybe. In the US of course. Do I get hassled in Mexico? Nope. Anyway it was after the double search trip I went to the TSA post 9/11 and asked why on earth I was so popular at the airport.
The reply I got was as mind boggling as it was funny and also frustrating. At first the TSA supervisors at Lambert Int’l airport in St. Louis would not tell me anything other than the company line of “we can’t tell you anything other than you were randomly selected.” Now I just barely passed Statistics in college, but I didn’t need to create a formula to figure out no one is randomly selected that many times. After dropping a few names I had gathered from the Air Force and when I worked at Boeing, they relented. There was a special code attached to my ID that labeled me as a “Possible Korean National.”
“Korean?!” I said. “How many 5’10’ 220lb Koreans have you seen with full US citizenship, active duty military ID card, active duty travel orders, and in USAF uniform?” Not many seemed to be there non verbal response. They could not elaborate on how that may have happened, but did end up deleting that code in front of me. I have a feeling after my tantrum they added a new code for “Possibly Russian Spy.” This is due to the fact I slid right into Russia without a single look, question, or inspection of any kind. This is flying from St. Louis, New York, Moscow, and Novosibirsk. Coming home was a whole other story.
We spent a bittersweet week working with orphans. It was very rough saying goodbye. It is amazing how close you can grow to a group of kids and mentors that don’t speak even speak the same language in a week. I wanted to adopt every single one of them. Anyway it was an emotional trip home is what I am trying to say. A really long, time changing, sleep lacking, emotional trip home. All went smoothly until we hit Kennedy airport in New York. We were to change planes and hit a flight home to STL that same day. Instead we spent several hours waiting for delay after delay. We along with other folks repeatedly went up to the two female gate agents who spent an incredible amount of time discussing their fake nail preferences and then when a male agent joined them several hours later, our questions were often ignored outright as they discussed the latest in airport gossip which turns out there is a lot.
I am not normally one to get bent out of shape at any industry, customer service, retail representatives, public officials, or even salespeople. The vast majority of my professional career had me in positions of telling people “No,” locking them up, fighting them, and always arguing with them. Off the clock I am as non confrontational as possible. These fine Delta representatives though had found what I thought was my last nerve (turned out I still had one last last nerve I discovered the next day..) by continuing to ignore us as long as possible, and then not even pretend to look up other flight options etc. This went on for I think about 10 hours or so before they finally called our flight cancelled and said we’d have to wait till tomorrow.
Awesome. We had already only been flying and standing in airports in two different continents and multiple time zones for about 20 plus hours already. They were kind enough to send us to the nearest roach motel and pay for our cab ride there. We kindly asked for our luggage to take to the hotel so we could at least change clothes etc. “You’re luggage? no one told you? That’s gone.” “Gone where?” I asked. “We ain’t sure might be it went to St. Louis already or could still be in Russia.” Mother Trucker. You’d have to ask Ashley, because I honestly don’t remember the actual conversation after those remarks, but I do know that I lost all semblance of my non confrontational manner.
After 30 or 40 something hours of international travel, good old American rudeness, very little sleep in a motel I wouldn’t cook meth in, and where we assumed we could pick up some toothpaste and please Lord some deodorant, but NOPE, in the same clothes feeling like crap, we headed to La Guardia this time, to try and get home again. Delta couldn’t fly us home, so they transferred our passes over to another airline. I sensed this would be trouble immediately, but was assured as if I had never been to an airport before, that everything would go smoothly. Right. Get off my lawn.
Exhausted, crabby, and smelly I headed up to the ticket counter. Wouldn’t you know it they were going to have to make calls, and punch a lot of buttons, and click things to figure out how to get us on their plane without charging me anything. Meanwhile, I look over to gate agent nearest us and see a man with a long black and grey beard, wearing a turban, the long tunic type shirt and pants with a vest who looked like a slightly overweight Osama Bin Laden. Am I being Islamaphobic? No not yet. The guy honestly looked like he was heading to a costume party dressed as the Islamic Voldemort. It’s a big diverse world out there and I didn’t think much of it as I refocused on my own issues.
Then there was a bit of commotion between Osama, (we’re just gonna go ahead and call him that from now on, because that’s what his name was in my head and for the sake of the story) a woman in a full blown black burkha, and the gate agent. If unfamiliar, a burkha is the all black ensemble very conservative Muslim women wear as instructed by their husband and Sharia law. Only their eyes are visible. The gate agent needed her to drop her veil mask thing to match her face with her ID. Osama’s wife, (as she will be known from here out) refused to move it and Osama refused to let her. Eventually the gate agent and her supervisor relented and let Osama’s wife pass without showing her face?! What a lame chickenshit (sorry) country we live in I thought. Well I knew she wouldn’t get away with that in the TSA line.
Our three person party finally makes it to the security line with our new tickets in hand. I am carrying only my green tactical GI Joe looking back pack with my work laptop in it and my iPod. Ashley and our friend went through the line first. I kept myself aware that Osama and his wife were in line a few people behind me. Ashley gets to the detector wearing two tank tops, a pair of soccer shorts, and flip flops. After not setting off the detector they “randomly” pull her aside to physically search her.
Note: What you are about to read is a true story. Some names have been made up, but nothing said or done has been embellished. I am not racist. I may stereotype however once in awhile. I am fully aware not all Muslims are terrorists. To my church friends, Grandma, and Jesus, please forgive me as I did suspend my rule on swearing in public on this particular occasion. I suspended it big time I am ashamed to say.
It begins to get a little hot under my already stinky collar. You can visually confirm Ashley is not carrying any kind of weapon of bomb. She is five foot nothing and about 98lbs and wearing a size zero that wouldn’t conceal anything other than her. A TSA agent that I am unsure the gender of puts his/her/binary hand on my “little girl.” In the next line over from Ash, I kid you not, is an extremely elderly looking woman in a wheelchair who has also been pulled over to the side and they begin to inspect her wheel chair and they demand rather roughly she remove her old lady sweater which just appalls her. As Ashley looks over as I put my “tactical backpack” in the X-ray machine, she can see that dad is about to lose it and she gives me that pleading please don’t embarrass me look. I count to 10 and walk through the detector. At this point in my life I was a professional traveler. I have my belt, watch, jewelry, wallet, change, phone, all in my backpack and shoes in hand before I even get to the line. I have sailed through every machine and detector known to man.
I breeze on through and a male Middle Eastern looking TSA agent wearing what I believe to be a Sikh turban which is different from your average terrorists turban (I do have some culture plus I’ve been trained in Intelligence, Counter Intelligence, as well as Counter Terrorism) snatches up my GI Joe bag just as I think I’m going to pass Scot free without mentioning the unnecessary molesting of a teenage girl and an elderly disabled lady at the same time. Instead I get the signal to pull over to the side as this guy starts emptying the contents of my backpack.
Oh I forgot, I did have a couple souvenirs I was hand carrying from Russia. A set of nesting dolls and a couple beer steins as I recall. The nesting dolls are those Russian wooden dolls that start out big and contain the same doll only smaller inside multiple times, the perfect hiding place if you ask me. Too bad I didn’t pack extra deodorant rookie mistake on my part, but I was really tired. Oh wait since they banned liquids, because of Osama, I quit taking any extra toiletries with me to avoid the plastic bag hassle. Gets me through the line even quicker. We live in America, so I figure worst case I can pick some up at the hotel. Unless it’s a hotel where the clerk is behind bulletproof glass that is. Never mind, I digress.
The genius from TSA agent who will furthermore be referred to as “Genius,” in an extremely strong just got off the boat accent, pulls out my laptop charger and asks, “What is this?” I answer. “a laptop charger?” If you were not born in a cave you know that laptop chargers include what’s called a transformer. This is a small brick shaped plastic box that has magic inside to convert different levels of electricity to not blow up your laptop when you plug it in somewhere. Genius grabs the transformer and begins to inspect it like he’s a diamond merchant and this is the most mysterious gem he’s ever seen. He asks again, pointing to the magic box, “What is this?” “I believe it’s called a transformer.” “What does it do?” I reply, “I believe it it transforms electricity.” Now I’m starting to get agitated. He instructs me, “Open it.” I tell him I can’t open it it’s also sealed by magic. I didn’t say “magic,” but I surely wanted to.
We start to go back and forth about opening the transformer. It is a sealed plastic box that I do not own it is corporate property. He relates to me he is concerned the X-ray machine cannot see inside it’s magicness. There could be weapons or contraband inside. As we seem to be at somewhat a stalemate one of his TSA buddies walks over to see if he can help. He’s an elderly black gentlemen with what I suspect to be an African accent. I only point out the race and accents of these two of TSA’s finest is to make the point of irony in this situation. Out of the three of us, I am the only one who was more than likely born here and knows what a laptop charger looks like.
It had to have been Genius Squared (both foreign TSA agents who’d never seen a laptop before) first five minutes on the job to have not also seen one before. Finally a third older white male agent we will call “New York” due to his accent right out of good old New York says, “Hey he can’t open it it’s a charger.” Finally thank God someone that makes sense. Then New York looks at me and says, “You know you’re not doing yourself any favors carrying that GI Joe back pack to the airport.” Wait what? “Excuse me?” I say. He looks at me like I am some kind of idiot and says, “Yeah you shouldn’t be carrying a GI Joe back pack it makes you look suspicious.” I and dumbfounded. “I am a fucking GI Joe here’s my military ID, I have a fucking Top Secret clearance, this is a fucking laptop charger.”
He asks me to calm down and get moving. Oh no I’m not done. I look over and Osama Bin Laden and his wife are about to hit the detectors. I point over to them and ask New York and Genius, “Are you going to pull Osama Bin Laden and his wife over there and search them?!” I tell them how she didn’t identify herself at the ticket counter. New York asks me to keep my voice down. Ashley is in the safe zone ready to go to the gate when she sees I am throwing an uncharacteristic fit. She motions for me to cut it out and shush. Our other travel companion has seen enough and pretends he’s never seen us before and wisely hustles out of there.
Now a TSA supervisor comes over and asks what is going on. I tell him I want to report a serious security violation by Osama Bin Laden’s wife and the airline. I demand that the two of them be pulled to the side for their “random” inspection as the American teen and old lady were. Only seems fair as they are the only two out of this group who actually fit the description of terrorists. The supervisor tells me he can’t verify if Osama’s wife ID’ed herself or not. I believe I made up something along the lines of as being an American security official I am officially reporting it. Supervisor threatens to call the police on me for making a scene. Oh Really? “A scene?” I say. “You let those two through without checking her face and going through their robes like you did my daughters shorts and tank tops and that old lady’s sweater, and you will see a scene.”
He threatens me again to call the police. I tell him, “Please, I fucking dare you to call the police to say what? These two (Genius and African guy) who have never seen a laptop charger before hassle an American veteran and tough guy (New York) says I can’t carry a military looking back pack when I’m in the fucking military, you’re going to try and get me arrested because the only people who look like terrorists you aren’t going to search?!” He then astoundingly asks me to quit using the words “terrorists” and “Osama.” I ask him why and I point to the conveniently located sign that indicates what you can and cannot bring on the airplane along with what words you cannot use which are specifically “fire,” “bomb,” “gun,” and “explosives.” I tell him I don’t see terrorist or Osama anywhere on that list. I demand again as Osama and his wife start putting their gear into the X-ray machine that they make her ID herself even if it’s in private to another female she has to remove that burkha. He tells me that’s airport policy and none of my business and to get moving.
No joke as we hit this stage of our argument, I see some movement out of the corner of my eye. I shit you not (sorry), it is Matt Damon, his wife, and their kids on a TSA cart being whisked pass all the security lanes and them moving equipment and barriers out of the way so they don’t even have to slow down. I may have been so angry at this point I might have actually blacked out a little, but I am pretty sure I said something to the effect of, “Matt Damon doesn’t have to go through the fucking security line?! Have you not seen “Bourne Identity” he would make a great fucking terrorist!” Supervisor guy threatens me again with the police.
Ashley has inched up to the danger zone from the green zone so I can hear her beg “dad please.” I’m not quite finished yet. I ask supervisor guy, “Let me get this straight, a United States military member with a standard laptop charger, an old lady in a wheel chair, and a tiny teenager all get searched and hassled, but Osama Bin Laden, his wife, and Matt fucking Damon get to breeze right on through?” I go on, “you better hope not of them is on our fucking airplane.” He says, “Sir are you making a threat you will cause trouble on the airplane? If so, will call the police right now.” I told him I was not threatening any type of violence or verbal scene. I would consider legal recourse and damages against the TSA for allowing unchecked suspicious individuals on to my flight endangering me and my daughter, who were wrongly harassed and discriminated against.
Supervisor guy says, “Look celebrities go through a different private security line, who we search s our business.” I tell him fine I will wait and watch to see if you search Osama and his wife again.” He says, “Sir stop saying that word. You may not get arrested, but I will make sure you miss your flight.” Oh no not again. At this point Osama, his wife, and Matt Damon and his family have all cruised right on through security. Osama and his wife were stopped by Genius, but only until I agreed to walk away. They were not going to let me see if they properly ID’ed her or not. I was not about to miss another ride home.
In a real crabby old man get off my lawn moment I stormed off with an utterly mortified Ashley to our gate and our friend who wisely continued to pretend we had never met. I ain’t mad at ya Jon, but get off my lawn. 😉
Jacked Up Dad 