More Dubious Distinctions

For nearly three years I've been wondering if I'd made it into the Homeland Security bad books. According to our local news, it seems I have.

May, 2002. We're leaving on a trip to my brother's wedding in Texas from Manchester Airport. First, I rang the chimes...twice. About midway through the frisking by a young, increasingly frustrated screener, I realised that I was dressed for the destination, in jeans (rivets are deadly weapons) and a belt with a fairly hefty buckle. One look at the scowling dimwit in front of me made me decide I wouldn't volunteer that insight. At length, his consort triumphantly pulled a three-inch pair of nail scissors from an inner pocket of my briefcase. Case closed, apparently, even though the briefcase hadn't gone through the gate with me. With something to show for their struggles the dynamic duo relaxed, and told me that they could either confiscate my scissors or I could go back downstairs and check them as baggage.
I hope my surprise was sincere when I said "For a cheap pair of scissors? Keep them."

I can't know for sure that I'm on that database...nor can anyone, but the presumptive case seems strong. If I have issues flying out of LA later this spring, I'll have a better idea. You know, it makes me kind of proud to be under suspicion for carrying nail scissors. I wonder if there's a t-shirt out there that says "and my grandparents voted Socialist." As well hung for a sheep as for a lamb.

Meantime, I hope everyone feels safer because my suspect nail scissors were confiscated, even though bin Laden is uncaught and apparently uncatchable: at least by a reality-challenged administration.