Travelling expertise

Every once in a while, I am jolted to exude a burst of energetic efficiency from my life of otherwise general complacency. It's when I'm confronted with an airport security checkpoint.

All of sudden, I'm a veritable blur of motion: out come laptop, toileteries, shoes and bags; breeze through the metal detector; in go laptop, toileteries, shoes and bags - all this, in probably less than a minute. Whatever I might be in my normal life, I'm not a faffer arounder at the airport. At the airport, I'm military.

So when catching my flight from Chicago this afternoon, I specifically chose the "Expert Traveller" security queue. Of course, the "Expert" designation just means no families with kids, and that you're supposed to generally know what you're doing. It's not like being knighted, it's not meant to get to your head.

So I was particlarly put off when the guy in front of me turned to me in irritation.

"Can you see these other people in the line?!" he exclaimed, "there's no way they're experts. There's no way they should be in this line."

They looked like perfectly normal travelers to me, so I just smiled politely but kept silent. I put on my conversation discouraging face. But he was far from being discouraged.

"I mean, look at them!" he turned to me again. "That woman totally messed up taking off her shoes in time. There's no way she should be allowed in this line. I hate people like that!"

Asswipe, I thought. There's always one of those on each flight I suppose.

So you can imagine, I was particularly gratified when the fellow walked through the metal detector and it went off.

"I'm sorry sir but you're going to have to take your watch off" the TSA guard reminded him politely.

He turned bright red as he walked back to place his watch on the x-ray conveyor.

Walked back to walk through the metal detector, and the thing went off again. I almost laughed out loud.

"I'm sorry sir but I think it might be your sunglasses" the TSA guard told him with the unlimited patience that you must inevitably develop in that job.

And so he had to walk back again, by now creating a backlog of people behind him, face flushed an unhealthy colour of purple. And the airport security queue can be a pretty unforgiving place to bungle.

"Hey move on already!" someone behind me muttered, but loud enough for us all to hear.

Boy, these "expert travellers" sure are a breed of their own.

I know, I know, it's a mighty petty quality to feel such glee from another person's misfortunes. But this one time, I was pretty happy the chap got his face rubbed in it.