Patience is a virtue

I guess I was born without the patience gene…I was told recently that my lack of patience is one of my most unattractive qualities, so I can only suppose that there are a bunch of others that were not elaborated on at the time.

This week it came to the fore on two occasions when my inner frustrations were at near boiling me.  On each occasion they were associated with travel, and both during my trip to Philadelphia earlier this week.  

As most of you know over the last seven or so years I’ve lived on a plane, primarily associated with my work, but also to accommodate my love of travel.  Last year I reached over 1,000,000 air miles on Air Canada and have spent literally hundreds of hours in security and customs lines over the years.

Whenever I travel its always with carryon only, and in fact both Zach and Sami have been well trained in this area as well and so that whenever we go anywhere we only take carry on no matter where we’re going or for how long…its like a rule. ☺

I realize that the security has a job to do, but really…not only do they control the fate of the world, but they tend to so arrogant about it that it makes my blood just boil at times.     

My nail clippers - seriously?

Initially I was confused as to why they wanted to rerun my bag through the x-ray machine once again, it is what it is I suppose. Still not satisfied they took my bag aside  and began to search it more thoroughly, at which I asked what they were looking for, as perhaps I could help them identify whatever it was.  

I think what bugged me the most was the look of contempt on the face of the Security guard when I asked him the question.  This coupled with his non-response and the stare got to me, it was as though I’d committed some kind of major crime.   I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard me so I repeated my question…big mistake.

He began to aggressively pull out my clothes and belongings as though he was searching for a gun or some other weapon, reaching my toiletry bag he opened it and emptied the contents.   “What is this?” he asked accusingly as he held up on my one-inch long nail clippers.  

At this point I could feel my blood starting to rise, and try as I might to hold back and provide the obvious answer, my response was “slightly” laced with sarcasm.  “Well they look like nail clippers to me”, quickly followed by “those have been in my toiletry bag for a decade – why, what’s the problem with them now?”   

I persisted “When did the rules change to say that these were now unacceptable?”  All the while my inner voice is shouting inside my head “just shut the hell up”.

After significant scrutiny by the security guard of both me and the item concerned, including much opening and closing of the clippers and twisting the little scraper in and out I could see him trying to decide as to whether these should be classed as a “dangerous weapon” and disposed of forthwith.   

After a few seconds, he grunted dropped the clippers into the open bag and walked away leaving me to clean up all of the items that were now spread on top of my carryon.  I was not a happy camper!

The all too familiar security checkpoint

What irks me most is that this group of individuals have full and complete control over you in this setting, you either abide or you don’t travel...quite simple really.  They know it and you know it, so I often find myself biting my tongue and trying ever so hard not to say anything.

As I’m a NEXUS card I can usually get through customs within five minutes and be on my way, but last night was different.   During my 34-hour visit to Philadelphia (Wed/Thurs) I had made a $75.00 purchase, which I identified on the customs form.  

Almost every person was being questioned as they exited the hall and I was no exception. The officer asked where I was coming from – “Philadelphia” my response.  When did you go to Philadelphia?   Here we go again, “Yesterday – like it says on the form I shot back”.  What did you buy?  I explained but as I was doing so he started to scribble and write all over my form before handing it back and waving me on.

Sure enough as I go to hand in my card and exit I’m directed to the secondary search area for a more “thorough inspection”.   “Shit!” is my immediate response as I frustratingly enter the doors to the inspection area.  There are a couple of other people being searched so I wait about five minutes before I’m waved over to a now free customs agent.

I hand over my form that is completely scribbled all over, eyeing me suspiciously (this is becoming a habit…hhhmmm is it something about me or just my bad attitude? ☺), she again asks the same questions to which I answer, although less sarcastically this time as I want to make this short so I can get the hell out of there.

Where is the receipt? she asks.  I begin to search my pockets, then wallet before realizing that the shop assistant placed it in the bag with the gift, which is in my carryon that’s now sitting in front of her on the inspection table.   I point to the bag and tell her I remembered that its in with the gift in my carryon, at this point she doesn't look convinced as she unzips my bag and finds the gift bag sitting on top of my clothes, strangely with the receipt in the bag where I said it would be...down boy!  

Nothing like have it
gift wrapped just to
have it opened...
by customs

Is she the slowest reader on the face of the planet I ask myself (yes, that inner voice again…shut the hell up), after what seems like minutes she puts the receipt down, slowly places on her rubber gloves and begins searching the gift bag.  Of course the gift had been wrapped, so she now proceeds to unwrap it, she searches the bag, box and paper wrapping paper just in case I’ve also hidden other contraband in the one-inch square box.   “Man, is she for real my inner voice asks sarcastically?”. 

Now satisfied that indeed the receipt is for the gift and that the gift equates to the receipt she begins a rather long and intensive search of my carryon.  Taking everything from the bag, even taking out my laundry (yes, very brave), opening my shampoo and smelling it, looking inside my toothpaste tube, searching the pockets of my spare jeans, feeling the lining of my bag, each zip, every crevice…she went through it with a fine tooth comb, before finally pushing everything aside and saying I was free to go.  It took me a few minutes to get everything back in the bag, as they only empty the bag never put your things back, clearly that’s my responsibility…how silly of me.

I’d give her an A+ for thoroughness, but a D- for bedside manner!  

The realize that the same was happening for others, not just me so I get that I wasn't being singled out per see, and really you’d think I would be used to it after all these years of airline travel, but being completely powerless and at the mercy of the authorities, and seemingly judged guilty until proven innocent is the feeling that really gets under my skin…

Now that frustration never goes away! ☺