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I went to pick up my son at a local airport. He flies unaccompanied (a U.M. in industry speak). I always have to meet him at the gate, so I check in with the airline first and get a pass to go through security.

The woman at security looked at my license – run-of-the-mill New York State issue. Then she noticed an assembly of four letters located at the bottom left of my pass. The 19th letter of the Roman alphabet arranged four times in a row signified I was special. She took out a hilighter and made several marks on the paper. And then wrote another SSSS in big, bold neon letters. She motioned to her co-worker to cover her post so she could escort me. We walked, her eyes on me the whole time. She instructed me to put my items in a bin. Then I was taken to a metal detector (actually kind of cool, I guess, as I was allowed to bypass the line). I was asked to step into a waiting area. A well placed sign informed me of my right to a private and personal search. After two minutes, my searcher came and escorted me to the search area. He was cordial and polite and asked how my evening was.

Only days before, my girlfriend and I had watched a 60 Minutes piece about the TSA. The department recently issued new uniforms to make agents look more official and required employees to attend seminars about treating the public in a more friendly manner. It seems to be working.

My searcher was even apologetic. He scanned me from head to toe and everywhere in between. Two pieces of glass sandwiched me; I was on proverbial display as a 21st century man dealing with the clash between private liberties and public protection. After a short while (and after another agent thoroughly looked through every pocket of my jacket), I was sent on my way to the gate.

The 60 Minutes report had gone on to say there are people who feel the current procedures are nothing more than window dressing, designed to look good but questionable as to their effectiveness. Just look at the nine Muslims kicked off an Air Tran flight for casually mentioning where the safest seat on a plane is located (a common conversation with no real answers…the safest place on an airplane is any seat on a plane that does not crash).

As I walked away, I did not feel violated, given the courtesy and respect with which I had been treated, but I also didn’t feel any safer. It took several minutes of work by five employees to verify I was not a threat. Did the others going through security feel safer that they had passed through with me, or scared they may embark on a plane with me? Either way, I was just an innocent dad picking up his eight-year-old son.

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 4th, 2009 at 2:02 am and is filed under Adventures in Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.