Weapons of Mass Construction

If you’re a faithful reader, you’ll know that I’ve been traveling like crazy lately.

Which translates to lots of rental cars, airlines, hotels, and TSA Peeps checking you out through the “I Can See Every Organ In Your Body” Scanner.

Friday night, I’m heading to the Houston airport.  Running a little late, due to intense traffic.

But I make it.  I arrive a little under an hour prior to my flight.

I check my luggage, get my passes, and head to security.

Where they inform me that my license is expired.  I knew that already, it’s in the mail, and that’s another story entirely.  Besides, I have my passport, which is in good working order.  Then they go through the statement, which I’ve heard now about 10 times, “Well, it’s okay, your expired license is good for an ID for 1 year.”

Whatever.

I trip over to the A-List security check point, which is pretty dang fast.

And I head to the scanner, drop my shoes, take out my laptop, and start the scanning process.

“Ma’am, step right here, and place your feet on the yellow marked areas, and face that way.  Hold your arms above your head as per the picture.”

Right.  I could seriously do this part in my sleep, people.

The TSA agent says, “Okay, ma’am, step out, and right over here.”

The TSA lady smiles, and says, “Let me see your bracelets.”  (Bracelets usually bling the scanner x-ray, especially if they have any metal in them.) 

I do.

Then she smiles, and says, “What is this?”  and points at the scanner.  “Did your necklace come loose?”

I feel my necklace, it’s still on.  

I’m confused.  I turn back, look at the scanner, and I see what she sees.  What the eternal heck is THAT?

She says, “Honey, I’m going to have to pat you down, follow me.”

Okayyyyyyyyy.

She begins to pat me down in the offending area, and I now FEEL the object.  I can’t see it, I have on a high neckline shirt today.

I just looked at her, and we both had this puzzled look on our faces.

I said, “Well, can I look down my shirt? I’ll keep both my hands in view at all times.”

She says, with some reservation, “Yes.”

I looked.

I cracked up, and looked at her.  Without touching anything, I begin to explain what I think it is.  Which is hard because I'm already starting to get really tickled.  And people, this is NOT the time to get hysterical.

She’s super reserved, but smiling.  She doesn’t know whether to call in the troops, tell me to throw my hands up in the air, or let me carry on.  I look so dangerous, right?  With my conservative shirt, jean leggings and Kenneth Cole flats?

I finally sputter out what I think the object is, and she starts really smiling and even snickering.  I am SOOOO embarrassed, people.

I said, “Do YOU need to look down my shirt to verify that it is what I say it is?  It’s okay.”   She barely peeks in, and smiles a little bigger.  I think I heard her even snort!  The NERVE! 

I tell her, “I think I can get it all the way out, if you’ll allow me.”

She nods, now really trying hard not to laugh.  After all, she has a job to do, right?

I reach inside the neck of my shirt, and pull this out.

It’s the underwire to my bra.  It had worked almost completely out of my bra and was almost sticking out of my shirt.  It looked like the curved end of a scythe on the xRay scanner.  

It COULD have been a weapon of mass destruction, people.  COULD have been!

There’s no telling what all they’ve seen, but I have a feeling this was a first!  I’ll probably end up in the TSA Chronicles...

As I think about it again, it’s a wonder I wasn’t detained, or at the very least, subjected to a strip search.

But you know the drill - it’s never boring around here.