Friday, March 18, 2011

California Doomed: Customs & Cavity Searches

So it was kind of novel, having my laptop present with me while on the plane.

I am capable of killing hours at a time with laptop in lap (along with Puppaaaay! who was renamed officially to Ella a few weeks ago), accomplishing nothing, sometimes spending money, sometimes not.

The interwebs are a miraculous and terrifying black hole where time and space (and money) can disappear in (what seems like) an instant.

Anyway, so me and Feyoncé were scheduled for this trip to L.A..... (do you punctuate after a short form period? Jeez, I don't know these things, stop staring at me!).

I wasn't planning on doing much, since I still don't feel well (mind you, I had no idea a hospital stay was in my future).

We have this nifty little thing called a Nexus pass that allows you (slightly) easier (sort of) access into the U.S., if you aren't an asshole and you don't have a criminal record or anything.



Nexus: "Don't faahck mess with us"


You have to pass an interview and have your fingerprints taken (Feyoncé noted that we would be totally screwed CSI-style if we ever decided to rob a bank in the future, since we are "on file" now... not that we ever WOULD, but you know, if we ever WANTED to in the future).

They scan your eyeballs, too. The machine scans your mother-effing RETINAS, people.

It's kind of cool.

Unless they still decide that your travelling partner should be subjected to a full scan/further random investigation.

Okay. No problem. I'm cool. My form says something different. I'll just CALMLY proceed ahead to the baggage drop and security. NO problem. Cool. No problem.

I see Feyoncé meander away to the room that you cannot see for his (full-body cavity search and interrogation with two cruel government agents under a solitary swinging lightbulb) random check.


Full body scan - always better than a full cavity search. Imagine this is me, but with less boob. Oh, and less gun in the arse, too.

I start to weave through the thousand-foot long security aisle and get shouted at for going the wrong way. I wince and panic. (Keep in mind I am travelling with about the mental capacity of a 5-year old. An immature 5 year old).

I can feel the panic-rash starting and feel like all the security is looking at me like I am a freakish security threat with my borrowed backpack and stylin' boots over jeans look.

I am then told I am being randomly selected for trace substances on my hands. Some guy with (terrifying) blue rubber gloves wands over my hands to see if I am a criminal of sorts.

I also wonder, for a moment, if I have washed my hands recently and panic about that, too.

What's that Mr. Security Man? No, nope, been up to nothing. Sparkling clean hands. See for yourself. I loathe dirt. Didn't you see the liquid hand sanitizer in my bag?


I then REMEMBER, FOR ONCE, to take my damn belt off BEFORE setting off alarms and whatnot. I also remember to take out my laptop first, so as not to seriously PISS-THE-EFF-OFF the security folk like I did the last time I travelled with my computer.

I make it through, looking and feeling guilty as hell (of nothing at all) and make it to the other side of the joys known as U.S. Customs and security.

I even remembered to put all my "liquids" into a small zipper bag. (You know, the dangers of stay-on lipstick, lip gloss, chap stick, and a tiny pen-dispenser of hand sanitizer. World be damned, I am a dangerous bitch on a plane).

I pass through... but there is no Feyoncé. Anywhere.
ANYWHERE.

I am on my fucking own, watchless, vaguely aware of my surroundings, all disheveled from my check in experience...


Where will he come out? What if he went to the fancy pants Air Canada Maple Leaf Lounge without me somehow? What if he enters into a completely different security area? What is taking so long? Why did they scan my hands and yell at me? Where IS HE?

And then FULL ON panic sets in.


To be continued...

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9 comments:

  1. AHHHH! You can't leave us hanging right when you get to the good part!

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  2. Was he detained? Did he just decide to go to breakfast? Once I was travelling and I got separated from my friends parents who were on teh same flight (although I wasn't travelling with them per se). They thought I got detained by customs. I just got breakfast.

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  3. drunk bastards don't like to be left...

    more wine!

    wait wha?

    bummer...

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  4. You have to finish this story.....

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  5. Waiting somewhat impatiently lol

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  6. WHAT how dare you stop must hear the rest of the story

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  7. Hi there Stephanie,
    First of all, must do this, been in England too long and get confused looks when I say the following, actually I don't even have to speak to get confused looks. Oh yeah, here goes, 'How's it goin' eh!?' Thanks, that's better.
    Anyway, a bit of a 'to be continued' happening here. I can assure you that me, shy and humble me, shall return for the next instalment of your intriguing tale of your airport capers. Speaking of airlines and this is not a plug for my blog, because I don't think that blatant plugging is needed. However, I was wondering if you might be on the first ever flight of 'Blog Air'? Yes Blog Air where you sit according to how many 'followers' you have. Man do I hate the usage of the term 'followers', 'adoring fans', sure, 'disciples'..hmmm, maybe:)
    Yes, the Customs set ups at airports can be a most stressful experience. I recall a few years back, even before the added security, a sign at Seattle airport. The sign at customs noted,'Anything you say will be taken seriously' This idiot in front of me was holding a teddy bear. The customs guy asked him if there was anything hidden in the teddy bear to which the moron replied, 'a bomb'. Two burly security guards grabbed the guy and whisked him off to the 'mystery room' where there was, no doubt, the rubber glove treatment waiting for him.
    And speaking of fluids, I guess. I was at Vancouver airport and got a plastic tub of Kraft smooth peanut butter confiscated. The guy said it posed a security risk. To which I replied would he be putting the offending peanut butter on toast later on that night. He smiled, seemed rather embarrassed about confiscating my peanut butter which was for a buddy back in England and sent me on my way....I knew I should of bought crunchy :)
    Anyway, I now wait for your next part to this posting. Do I like get an award for a really long comment that you may have thought, 'what the fuck is wrong with this guy and what's with the long comment!?' In conclusion, yes, in conclusion, I do wish you a like totally awesome n' stuff Sunday eh...
    With respect and kind wishes, Gary :)

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  8. God, I hate flying even more now... If given the choice, I will drive.

    ...TELL US MOAR!

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I get far too excited when new comments come in here...