Friday, December 03, 2010

More Mind Fertilizer
I think that it represents more an example of obsessive compulsive disorder than actual talent, here is my new submission into the world of: "What did you do last week?"

There is one interesting thing involving my trip back from Acapulco. There are two things that are "given" in this story. As the lawyers would say we stipulate to these pertinent facts.
First, I don't like the TSA in general. I think they are the lowest level of Rent-a-Cop and now with the new groping procedures they are allowed to administer I feel more invaded and like the TSA even less. And... I don't feel safer because of the intrusion.
Second, I don't like to fly in Mexico. Since there is less Xray equipment and technology in most of the airports they rely on manual inspections. It is not always Manuel sometimes Manuellita. The point is, airport inspections are much more personally invasive in Mexico it is up close and personal: "Meester, cwould jew stan like thees with jour harms hup." On the street it is a robbery, at the airport it is security.
With those two facts in mind here is my saga.
I was searched at the dock by the Manuel at customs. My luggage was searched at the ticket counter when I arrived at the airport. I had to go through the metal detector and xray before getting to the gate. At the gate three more Manuels looked in my carry on bags and did a pat down.
Changing plans in Mexico City meant I had to go back through security, and was frisked by two different sets of TSAitos before boarding my final flight home to LA. Just part of the job, and the excitement of going home got me through it.
After 6 hours we landed at LAX Airport, and as I step into the jet way there is a Homeland security agent watching people get off the plane. He stops my egress and culls me out of the herd, "Could you step over here for just one second sir.... just put you bag down."
I can't tell you what I was thinking because the vocabulary of curses in my head is not a language that any one understands but me. Just know I was thinking words so derogatory they couldn't even be vocalized. But in my truly dysfunctional passive aggressive way what came out was, "Certainly officer."
The man looked me in the eye and said, "Just around the corner we have a drug dog." (My Inner dialogue: "Okay jack wad, what has that got to do with me.") He continues,
"And I wonder if you would mind giving us a hand." (Inner dialogue: "Why don't you go cavity search a baboon, Dick Tracy." ---- Outer dialogue: "Why, certainly officer."
He continues, "I would like to hide some drugs on you and see if the dog can find them? He is new and being trained to work crowds." How many times do they tell you not to take things from strangers at the airport. Here is a guy actually asking me to mule drugs and instead of yelling for the cops, he is a government cop. I said, "As long as the next officer knows that the drugs are yours not mine... okay." He really didn't answer that statement directly, but by that time several witnesses have seen me talking to the guy, he has a uniform...and I am so tired from flying I'm stupid.
He takes what looks like a chamois pouch out of a baggie and stuffs it in my sock. He takes my carry on saying, "I don't want this to get in the dogs way." and then the blow-off, "Don't stop until an officer tells you to stop." Those last words are the ones that hang in my rational brain as I continue on what is now not a normal journey for me.
At the terminal before immigration there is an officer with a black lab on a chain. I am figuring the dog will bark like crazy when I approach. But he doesn't. In fact he doesn't move. I go right past. Thinking that the dog has perhaps flunked his final, I am 30 or 40 yards away when I hear an officer say, "Will you stop right there sir. And do not turn around." I stop. I hear the officer say, "Good boy," and I assume it is praise for the dog, not me. I am thinking like a game show contestant now and expect to hear, "Thank you for playing, drug mule madness, here are a couple of parting gifts... Don Pardo what do we have for this gullible contestant?" But alas that is not the drill. I stand there for another five minutes waiting for the officer who planted the drugs on me to show up. It could have been less than five minutes, but it seemed like a couple of hours, because until the officer arrives, with my carry on, I am a drug suspect.
They retrieve the stash from my sock, thank me for my participation saying the dog needed the live drill and I was helping the cause. Of course for the next hour...the entire time I am at immigration and customs I feel like a drug smuggler. People who saw me being pulled out of line by the officer are avoiding my direct look. I am paranoid that the smell will stay with me and before I get out of the airport a more experienced dog will really bust me.
So I have now been the subject of a TSA "Gun Test" and a Homeland Security "drug test" during my airline commuting career. Feel safer when you fly this holiday, kids, Jay the security crash dummy is here to help.
As you were,

1 comment:

Bob Conrad said...

It could only happen to you Jay, it's too bad they didn't stop Don Rickels, that might have been fun.