Horsin' around
Don Coldsmith, Syndicated Columnist
Monday, July 14, 2008
I’ve Mentioned in this column before that airport security in Canada is extremely meticulous. I have no problem with that. I feel better when I see the security people getting really picky about it.
It’s sort of ironic, then, an adventure I had, not in Canada, but at the Kansas City airport. Edna had driven me there, accompanied me as far as she could and watched while I stepped through the scanner. No problem. I’d taken the change and my keys out of my pockets and the buzzer didn’t even sound. So far, so good. I waited for my carry-on luggage to come down the conveyer belt through the X-ray device. Usually it clears security first, but it was still in the process this time.
I was mildly disturbed when I saw them put my carry-on bag through a second time. Then they stopped it and two or three uniformed security officers huddled around a display screen that couldn’t be seen from the public’s side of the moving counter top. They were gesturing, pointing and talking. Then a uniformed woman, who seemed to be in charge, asked me to step around to their side of the screen. She was polite, but firm, and was built like a middle linebacker. I stepped around.
Edna was standing outside with a puzzled look on her face, looking in through the glassed-in area. I couldn’t communicate with her and didn’t know what was going on anyway.
“Sir,” said the middle linebacker, “can you identify that object for us?”
She pointed at a display screen, much like a small TV set. There was an X-ray view of my carry-on bag, about one-third life size. Now I’m not familiar with the technology involved, but I quickly saw that metallic objects show up in a bright fluorescent green. The larger or heavier they were, the brighter the green. I could identify my Levi-Strauss belt buckle, a metallic cap on a bottle of after-shave, things like that. But there, shining bright green in the middle of my bag, was a DAGGER!
Now they always caution you in airports not to leave your luggage unattended. Somebody might try to sneak a bomb or something aboard by slipping it an unsuspecting passenger’s luggage. I experienced a sort of chill and then wondered HOW? WHEN? That carry-on had not even been out of my hand since we left the car.
“I never saw that before!” I blurted.
The dagger appeared long and sharp-pointed with a rounded metal handle and tapering blade. I’d seen knives like this called a “dirk.” It was much like the French fighting knives used by the underground in World War II. My mouth was dry.
“Okay.” said the linebacker. “Empty everything on that table over there.”
Two of her crew accompanied me. Edna was still watching through the window, completely confused, but then so was I! I had narrowed the location down to my shaving kit, so I pulled that out of the bag and opened it.
I think that if the image on the screen had been life size I might have recognized the problem. I have a nice safety razor with a pewter handle that Edna gave me a few years ago. It’s not very long, but it does taper toward the head, which was turned sideways so it couldn’t be seen. Lying across the handle of the razor was a slender travel-sized container of shave cream, the thin metal can creating a double shadow that formed the hilt or guard on the dagger. Add the size distortion ...
“Okay,” said the officer and I repacked hurriedly. We were about ready to board the plane.
Edna was still puzzled that evening when I called to tell her I’d arrived safely in Winnipeg, concealed weapon and all.
See you down the road.
Author and columnist Don Coldsmith lives in Emporia.