Almost On The List

There are words we never really expect to hear, "You won the lottery," perhaps, and others you hope never to hear, "You're guilty," say. On my way back to Canada from Taiwan a couple days ago I heard the latter type, words I never thought would be directed towards myself. The words?

"If you say another word we will call security." Call security? About me?!? Huh?

It all started with a tight connection from Vancouver to Victoria, and EVA airlines forgetting about daylight savings. The on-screen time on the plane said we'd get into Vancouver an hour early, not so rare when flying with the wind. I blindly set my watch to that time, not doing the math in my head: I'm suffering oxygen deprivation and these people are flying a metal tube with wings across the Pacific, so you'd think they'd understand time.

(Mind you NASA did fly a robot vehicle into the Martian surface after forgetting to convert metic to imperial measurements.)

My original connection was 55 minutes. I think I have now 115 minutes, so was not concerned when my last bag took 45 minutes to appear. Through Customs, drop my bags onto the Air Canada conveyor belt then a leisurely promenade to the B Terminal. Lots of time.

"This flight has left" said the guard, looking at my (Taipei-issued) boarding pass. A crazed look at the wall clock, my watch and the boarding pass and, sh*t, reality sinks in: I missed my flight, and the next one leaves in 35 minutes and it will have my bags on it. I'd like to be on it too.

Run through the Sunday-evening empty airport, looking for a free Air Canada agent. "That flight is full. We'll put you on standby. Ask at the Gate."

Run back to B Terminal. I can't take my liter of Johnny Walker Swing on to the plane? Even though it is a sealed bottle in a sealed bag.* Sh*t. Fine, I'm late. Pour the damn thing out. "Can you hurry up," I asked, "My flight is leaving."

"That is not our concern Sir." Go through the X-ray. Beep. As per instructions I take off my vest: beep. My belt: beep. My shoes: beep. My glasses: beep. Arms and legs spread like a Da Vinci drawing, being 'wanded' up close and personal. Beep, but an acceptable one. Glasses back on but clutching beltless pants and in stocking feet, hear "Could you open your briefcase Sir?"

I make another sarcastic (polite, no swearing, just thick sarcasm) comment. I suppose they didn't like the earlier dangerous shoes, terrorist glasses and useless government bureaucrats comments, all interspersed with, "Please: I am in a hurry." I knew there was nothing suspicous in my briefcase, they knew there was nothing: it was obvious that they were just slowing me down on purpose, a penalty for not treating them with the obsequious deference they expect.

I am proud of my ability to choke back that next comment, and the next and the next, silently tying my shoes and putting my belt on prior to a mad dash to the gate. Being put on a list compiled by airport security, wow. Certain travel hell to the end of time, or the Bush Government anyway.

No matter where I fly in Canada, Victoria, Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, there are the X-ray Nazis, taking their sweet time, joking with each other while finding the most nit-picking, petty reasons to piss off the traveling public.

I am all for airplane security, but wonder just what a terrorist could use my glasses for, especially on a 15 minute flight to Victoria.

BTW, I made the flight. My luggage did not. Maybe the X-ray Nazis know the baggage handlers?