Don’t You Get Frisky With Me!

I’m not sure what it is about me, but I always set off metal detectors. Maybe as a toddler I ingested an inordinate amount of coins that never made it out the other end and into my nappy so to speak, but actually  it’s gone beyond a joke now especially with the amount of travel that I’ve done over the past month.

Trust me on this, I’ve tried every trick in the book to make my passage through airport security as speedy and smooth as possible, but, regardless of my by now vain attempts at this, each and every time I set those damn alarms off.

At first I thought it might be my under-wired bra that was the problem (I have quite an ample bosom so there is a fair amount of ironmongery going on in the chest department) and so because of this I decided to be cunning and get one step ahead of the game by swopping my Everyday bra for something ‘wireless’ and more along the lines of the Sporting variety. This is a bit of an anomaly as I never go to the gym and I can’t run to save my life or any one elses as a matter of fact. However, in the interests of not having to be subjected to the humiliation and irritation of the bleeping metal detector machine, I thought it a worthwhile investment and so purchased two of the sexless darlings  to wear souly on travel days. It has, as it so happens become apparent over the past month, that my selection of brassieres, sportif or otherwise, isn’t the problem after all.

I’ve done all the common sense things like removing jewellery, belts, boots, buckles, you name it, but still I get caught up in what amounts to practically a strip search at every airport around the world.

In the past 30 days we’ve done 15 flights which has entailed a lot of airport security checks. In the UK the backscatter body imaging machines are relatively new and not currently widely used (there is also some controversy over the safety of them) whereas every airport in the States that we visited routinely had them. I did a bit of Internet research into them as I’m not sure I like the idea of being x-rayed unnecessarily and was fascinated during my investigations. to learn that they can tell which passengers have breast implants and also those with  prosthetic testicles. (I wonder if anyone has both? That would freak them)

By the time I’ve taken off my boots (and then wished I’d put socks on so no one can spot the seriously unattractive, very old, chipped red nail varnish on my toes) coat and scarf, taken laptop out of case, sorted through liquids and put into separate clear plastic bag, emptied out pockets and Lord knows what else, I’m a hot, sweaty, grumpy wreck of a woman.

As I stand waiting in the queue to go through the metal detector machine I take in a very deep breath and then mutter to myself, ‘Here we go again’ as the BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP alarm starts screeching… ‘Excuse me Madam, would you please step aside over here with your feet on the markings on the floor, your legs apart and your hands held up over your head. I just have to search you. ‘Just have to search you’ the now all to familiar words ringing in my ears – ME!!!! I mutter to myself. Why me? I’ve never done a wicked thing in my life (Ok I fess up, I did shop lift some sweets and a pack of nail files once when I was 5) but why am I being singled out as the bad guy round here?

I then have to endure the a) embarrasment and b) the hatred of all my fellow passengers in the queue behind me as I hold them up. There I stand, legs akimbo whilst I get felt up everywhere. Yes, I mean it when I say everywhere. A lot of time yesterday at Heathrow was spent on my crotch and inner leg area and my waist. Damn, damn, damn, those Levi rivets. The hand held metal detector machine was waved over every part of my body, back and front and then the woman asked me to pull my shirt up so she could see my waist. I nearly died. Oh great, really fabulous I thought to myself, now I have to expose my Muffin Top to everyone in the near vicinity to check out. For those of you that are unfamiliar with this term, a Muffin Top is the unsightly wedge of spare tyre that hangs over your jeans when a) you are fat and b) are wearing jeans that are at least 2 sizes to small for you. My Muffin top is the result of Christmas excesses and 2 weeks of wholesale bingeing in the States. (I am going to be getting shot of it very soon)

After what seemed like a lifetime, the security woman eventually decided that I didn’t have explosives up my arse and decided to let me go.

I went to the conveyor belt to collect my belongings after they’d been x-rayed and found everything, apart from my suitcase. ‘Where’s my bloody suitcase’ I shouted to the Irishman who by this stage had collected all of his stuff and was ready to go.

He pointed to my open case that was on a separate table and  being sifted through by some other members of the ‘Let’s make Lottie’s life as difficult as hell’ team.

‘Oh no!’ I wailed, ‘What the fuck is going on? What the hell is wrong with my bag?’

‘Madam, we are very sorry but there is something in here that is liquid, and we need to check it out’.

I knew that I didn’t have any liquids, sharp objects, bombs, incendiary devices, sex aids, knives or anything incriminating in my bag so I was seriously pissed off about this.

As the 2 security guards rifled through my personal belongings, scrutinizing everything, leafing through pages of my books and passing various objects through a separate scanner, I wondered just what goes on in their heads, and what they make of their findings and the character of the person whose bag it is that they are searching.

This is what they found in my bag:

A lot of dirty underwear

My silver Indian jewellery (because I’ve given up putting it on for the duration of the trip due to the bleep, bleep machine)

A scented candle (lovely Christmas present from Izzy) and tea-lights (as it turned out these were the offending articles)

Some clothes (mostly dirty)

Christmas cards from the children

Photos, notebooks and pens

And 3 books: The Bhagavad-Gita, The Collected Dorothy Parker, and Patti Smith’s Just Kids

I didn’t yell, and I didn’t scream( however much I wanted too). I understand why this has to be done but it still makes me very sad and really angry. All I did was pinch some penny chews…..

8 thoughts on “Don’t You Get Frisky With Me!

  1. Darling I have a complaint
    Not enough and too late!
    There I was sitting having an unwanted break while the model and other lifers diss appeared (still haven’t worked out were the tea is or if we can take it or who I can say hi too without causing offence)and nothing to read . I need you , pref on mon and thurs around 6.30 in the term time. Ps my Irish P can get though those machines either beep beep. He has a blood thingy- too much iron in his blood….. There is a thought. Think what you could hide. They have never searched his bag exrayed from across the room. Always game me time to round up the kids who had found nice men in uniforms and equipment to play with”do you have a thingy like my dad etc etc xxxxxx


    1. I don’t think I’ve got a blood thingy. What’s this life class you are going too? How strange that nobody talks, I can’t bear it for you. Forget the tea, bring a hip flask and have a party instead. Oh and bring some of Daisy’s wonderful baking along. That’ll break the ice xxx


  2. hmmm, they always stop me andf check my ‘appliance’ on the way through.

    Lotts, I suspect it’s just a ruse for security to examine your breasts


    1. Well I wish they’d leave my breasts alone and everything else. In Dubai it’s quite terrifying as I have to go into a dark room to be ‘examined’. The woman is covered from top to toe in a burkha and all I can see is the whites of her eyes in the gloomy light. If I could speak the language, at least we might be able to share a joke about it but the feeling up procedure is done in near darkness and I suspect neither of us are getting any gratuitous pleasure from it. As for your appliance….


  3. I despise plane travel for this very reason. I am bosomy, too, and it sucks. Feels invasive. You have done a lot of flying in 30 days–you probably feel more groped than a porn star. I sympathize with you, but I did LMAO, because it was funny,too. “All I did was pinch some penny chews” Hilarious!


    1. Amberr darling, the only difference between me and a porn star, apart from my having a muffin top and they don’t, is that they at least get paid!

      This is gratuitous groping of the very worst variety, and since when was a scented candle so offensive? 🙂


  4. As some one who lives in airports I always wonder how random it is. I flew 125K last year and I was pulled aside once. And that did not include the 55K that I flew with a quite large italian pocket knife (That is not code mind you, but literal) in my carry on.

    However, out of all of this you did get a new blog name if ever needed – “Let’s make Lottie’s life as difficult as hell”.


  5. Yes, “Let’s make Lottie’s life as difficult as hell” does have a certain ring to it as a blog title. Fortunately I rarely encounter the LMLLADAH brigade and when I do, I generally give them very short shrift. Living with an Irishman teaches you a few tricks thats for sure! Thanks for your comments Belligerent Man, always appreciated 🙂


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