From: Michael Rathbun
To: [undisclosed mailing list]
Subject: FAA Security Alert -- Your Tax Dollars At Work
Date: Mon, 15 Jan 2001 15:47:22 -0600

I had occasion to make a round trip by air from Dallas to San Francisco
recently.  Prominently displayed on airport walls and websites were warnings
that a state of hightened security was in effect.

Remembering my last trip through Frankfurt and Heathrow under such conditions,
I wasn't looking forward to going through the security checkpoint.  This is
because, as an unreconstructed gadget freak, I had loaded my backpack with

 1 Notebook Computer with mouse, power brick, cables, CD-ROMs, &c.
 2 Cellular telephones (one personal, one company-issue) with chargers
 2 general-coverage radio receivers
 1 GPS receiver
 1 digital multimeter
   tools (Swiss Army geek tool, Schrade TOUGH multi-implement tool)
   office supplies (stapler, punch, pens, pencils, tape, ruler...)
   numerous other items that look seriously suspicious on an X-Ray display

For reasons best known to those who best know reasons, I am usually an Airport
Security Magnet.  Every time I have gone through the Bahrain International
Airport in Manama, for instance, I have heard a uniformed personage utter the
Four Dreaded Words ("Come With Me, Please") followed by a session in a small
room with well-armed men in attendance.

Imagine my surprise, then.  My bags issued forth from the scanner.  I stood
waiting for the command to boot the laptop, turn on the cell phones, explain
the other detritus.

Nothing.

I was completely ignored, except for some annoyed glances perhaps indicating
that I should remove my impedimenta from the conveyor and get the hell on with
my journey.

Never being one to quarrel with Authority, I complied, happily but with some
momentary puzzlement.

Preparing for the trip home, however, I knew with certainty that the
sophisticates at SFO would never behave as did the rubes at DFW.  Full
Disclosure would Rule, I was certain.

Imagine my surprise, then.  After entrusting my equipage to the Atomic
Scrutinizer, I removed all of the massive metal objects from my pockets in
order to hand them to a functionary prior to passing through the metal
detector.  Said functionary muttered words to the effect of "We don't need
that" and urgently signaled me to walk through the arch.  Slack-jawed with
amazement, holding what must have been half a kilogram of metal, I walked
through.

No beep.  

I repeated my earlier wait for the Third Degree from Airport Security.  Again,
the "move along, bub" looks from the operators.

Who am I to complain?

What made this all the more inexplicable was the fact that the person in line
before me at SFO set off all kinds of alarms and got the hand-held scanner
search and a pat-down.  The person after me also set off the alarm and had to
go through several iterations to get through the checkpoint.

Was this my karmic reward for being quizzed at length by numerous beweaponed
security officers in foreign climes?  

Is Batman a transvestite?  

Who knows?