Airport Stories Part II

In the wake of 9/11, we've all noticed heightened security scrutiny at airports, and we're all now pretty much accustomed to performing the ritual dance of removing shoes, belt, diapers and genital piercings at the security gate of any developed nation's airports. Presumably this is to screen passengers who try to smuggle a pair of tweezers aboard and pluck the pilot's eyebrows to the extent where he is blinded by the bright sun of the stratosphere and sends the plane into an irreversible death spiral.

Then there's the practice of 'frisking' which I've always been personally opposed to. I'm not really comfortable with a man putting his hands between my legs and groping my inner thighs, even if it is in the name of security. Then again, if attractive young ladies did the job, guys would probably strap small decoy items to their thighs in an attempt to get a more thorough pat-down, resulting in delayed flights and general travel chaos. In any case, for the sake of security I hope that friskers have a keen sense of touch and a knack for lumps that shouldnt be there. They should certainly have full senses in both arms. They should certainly have both arms. They certainly shouldnt be amputees, as much as I want amputees to have fair access to good jobs.

One guy who certainly shouldn't be a frisker in this age of terror from the skies is an amputee currently employed at Detroit Metropolitan Airport as... a frisker. Yes, thats right, of all the able-bodied potential friskers in Detroit (a city with an official unemployment rate of 30%) a man with a prosthetic right arm was given the responsibility of physically checking people getting onto flights. I had to rub my eyes as he patted down the left side of my body with his motionless prosthesis, which was about 4 shades lighter than the rest of his skin (it was probably fitted to him during the winter). I spent the flight musing as to how the hell a guy with a plastic arm could be employed to feel for potential bombs and weapons. Was it in fact a super sensitive probing device developed by the CIA? Or was it just affirmative action taken to a new extreme?

In Papua New Guinea (PNG), security check procedures are rather improvised. Tourists are issued 3 month tourist visas on arrival in PNG. When I landed at Jackson's Field, the country's only international airport, I was immediately confronted with a single long line for foreign citizens. After about an hour in line I reached the desk, where a very stern looking, very square woman placed a little sticker in my passport, stamped it, and waved me through. I was then confronted by an even longer line, where everyone, including local citizens, had to submit to a rigorous customs check. Here, we were searched for contraband, flora and fauna that could potentially harm the island ecosystem, and of course, pornography.

Security Desk at Kavieng Airport, New Ireland Province, Papua New Guinea

The line moved as slowly as the languidly rotating cieling fans overhead. As we crawled along, I had time to appreciate the colorful local advertisements for tinned tuna and beef crackers, apparently the country's favorite snacks. In my semi-delirious state, I giggled to myself and elicited some preemptivly suspicious looks from the security personel. Bear in mind it was about 6 AM, as I had been on the overnight flight from Hong Kong. After what seemed like an age, it was finally my turn to put my stuff up on a table and have it rummaged around in. The fellow doing the rummaging had a real primitive look about him, like a tribal elder who was now trying his hand at a minimum wage bureaucrat's job in the city after one too many run-ins with cannibals in the jungle. It was a look I would later see in many of his fellow citizens, mainly those from the highland areas, a look of deep set, dull eyes and a slightly agape mouth.

The custom's agent proceeded to take everything out of my bag and plop it on the table. Underwear was held up and examined in the light, books and magazines were leafed through page by page to make sure they didn't contain any racy imagery. Then he came accross a bag of gifts for my friends in PNG, which had been bought during my recent stay im China. He pulled out a large golden box covered in Chinese characters, opened it and removed a bag of dried green leaves, looking painfully like a big fat bag of cannabis. He shot me a look that the high priest with a dagger would give the sacrificial victim on the altar.

'Whats dis?'

'Oh, thats tea from China.'

The look of suspicion intensified. He opened the bag up with his knife and felt around, picking up some leaves and crushing them between his grubby fingers. Even more disbelief and consternation flashed across his face. He grabbed a handful and put it up to his nose, taking in a long, deep breath through his flared out nostrils. Then, in a moment that could best be described as: Welcome to PNG!, he put his lips to the leaves in the palm of his hand, scooped up some leaves with his tongue, munched them for a few seconds and then flashed me a wide, betel nut stained grin. 'Yeah, its tea!' He said, stuffing the rest of the leaves back in the bag and waving me through.

One fellow who should have been checked more rigorously for marijuana at the airport is a Mr. Kinman Chan of San Fransisco. He's the kind of airport freak that frequent flyers dream about and can only hope and pray to someday meet. I quote from a recent news article:

Kinman Chan had a really bad flight. The airline passenger blames pot for dropping pants on his flight from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. In addition to dropping his pants on the flight he also attacked some crew members and had to be subdued and the flight was diverted to Pittsburgh. Chan claimed that he ate double strength marijuana cookies for a medical condition which was not disclosed.

He's now facing up to 20 years in jail for interfering with a flight attendant's job. In hindsight, Mr. Chan probably would have appreciated a more stringent security check.