Security Insecurities (or: Why flying is so annoying in the US)
Over a month of flying I went through TSA’s gauntlet many, many times. It’s changed over the years, but one thing that was very striking about this experience was how similar it was from airport to airport. In the past they would vary their procedures, ostensibly as a way of keeping the terrorists off guard, with the unfortunate side effect of also discomfiting the thousands upon thousands of well-meaning passengers. They seem to have abandoned that for a highly regulated paradigm of regimented predictability. I appreciated it.
Most airports I went through had “TSA Pre-Check” lanes. For a fee and a background check, you can be placed on a list of lucky passengers who might be chosen at check-in to go through an expedited security queue. In this queue you can leave your laptop in your bag and remain fully dressed for your trip through the gauntlet. I declined such luxuries, although if I were living in the US and travelling frequently I might consider it.
Instead, I chose to weather my security experience by taking as much control over it as I could. I dressed carefully, choosing shoes and outfits that could be disassembled and reassembled easily. They also had to fit the dress code for United standby passengers (yes, there’s a dress code; it’s important that the non-revenue passengers not lower the tone). I chose boots with zippers and little dresses with cardigans, and this worked pretty well. TSA agents seem to understand that you can’t fit a lot of contraband in a close fitting dress, and the rest of the passengers don’t seem to mind seeing me at the end of the conveyer belt, arms outstretched, contemplative as I got felt up.
Volunteering for the pat-down was the most controversial choice I made. When the US introduced the clothes-obscuring imaging scanners they also allowed passengers to “opt out” of the scans…with the price being that you had to subject yourself to a thorough pat-down. I dislike pat-downs, but I also dislike standing and being scanned, arms raised and feet spread. It’s a nameless, wordless discomfort that leaves me unsettled and unhappy, and I end up being patted down anyway because either my hair or my attire offends the scanner. So for this trip I decided I would opt out. It was a surprisingly pleasant experience.
I’d step out of the queue and wait for a female agent to do the pat down. They followed the same script every time, asking me the same questions to ensure everyone’s safety and comfort during the procedure, and would pull my stuff off the conveyer belt for me. My stuff would be stacked neatly, I’d be patted down in more or less the same way every time, then I’d be left to put my shoes back on in peace. Not having to wrestle with my stuff and get dressed at the same time while my fellow passengers tried to do the same thing all right next to me turned out to be a major quality of life boost.
Sometimes the agents were tired and busy and the pat-downs were more cursory than others. Some of the agents were newer and didn’t know the script as well. Sometimes they chatted, usually commenting on my hair (which was also the first stop on most pat-downs). One woman in IAD asked if I was a dancer, which was certainly in the top five compliments I received over the course of the month. Another one in SEA got confused around my chest, not sure if what she felt were prominent collarbones or hidden weapons. (”Most people have collarbones,” I told her. “Yours are different,” she replied. That was…odd.) In general the longer the queues, the shorter the pat-downs.
The smallest airports didn’t have milliwave scanners, so I went through the normal metal detector for those. The agents were also incredibly friendly, and there were no queues, so there was a lot more small talk. The woman checking my ID in Asheville complimented my passport cover. Several metal detector attendants commented on my hair.
Over the course of the month I wasn’t singled out once for an extra search, which strikes me as fishy. I went through the pat-downs, but they were all voluntary; I was never searched after going through a metal detector, and my suitcase was never opened. Not once. I put this down to a series of reasons. I packed carefully, with all my various pots of goo fitting easily into the 1-litre freedom baggie allowance. Notably, I was told I could leave the freedom baggie in my suitcase at some of the smaller airports. As for my person, I dressed with intention, no pockets or metal or loose fitting clothes where a stray object of interest might be hidden. I was polite and kind and very calm; after the first few runs through I knew exactly what was going on, sometimes better than the agents themselves. And I am a white female, so that plus the calm makes me the lowest possible risk profile. There are people who are always taken aside for purely profiling reasons, and while I appreciate (deeply) not being harassed I might be willing to accept a little extra inconvenience in the name of social justice.
