I was just watching a vlog of a young Southern woman blathering on about her flight experience with airport security for a second honeymoon with her husband. It was funny. I probably can't match that, but I do have some experiences of my own to add.
Prior to 9/11/2001, the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) didn't exist. Or if it did, I don't remember. After that date, passengers were subject to baggage and personal inspections. Over time, as new terrorists attempted new things, even more rules were added to the list of things that were not allowed. Some things that you could put in baggage checked in the cargo section of the plane could not be put in baggage that is carried on. I had to make lists to make sure I was doing it all right.
I took two flights long before airplane travel became as convenient as it is.
The first one was in 1958, when my sister and I (16 and 10) were put on a flight, unattended, from Seattle to Chicago, where our grandparents met us. We had just returned from Japan. Dad put us on a plane to meet the grandparents so they could put us in school, since we'd just spent ten days crossing the ocean on a Navy ship. I remember very little about that flight, except that I wanted to sleep (since it was a late-night flight), just to make the time go faster...and a nice old gentleman that sat next to me made sure I had a blanket and pillow.
The second one was in early-to-mid 1970s, flying from Chicago to San Diego (and back) to visit with my mother's sister, Aunt Rosie, Uncle Bob, and their son (called Sandy due to the color of his hair). They showed me a wonderful time for the few days that I was there. Took me to Sea World, Balboa Park to watch the Scottish Highland Games...and Sandy even took me snorkeling in San Diego Bay, where I came sputtering out of the water because I had disturbed a flounder that I thought was a stingray. Sandy laughed and laughed. (He was an abalone diver.)
There was nothing remarkable about either flight to or from; EXCEPT, on the trip back to Chicago, the fellow sitting next to me wanted to play cards with me. He was a very handsome African-American fellow. I was quite thin, 24ish, and adventurous in those days. I wasn't brushing him off by any means but was just trying not to disturb anyone or call attention to myself. Finally, he asked if I knew who he was. He introduced himself as Kermit Alexander. I still didn't know who he was but thought he was quite charming. He was a professional football player! You can read about him here:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kermit_Alexander
The very next time I flew, I was winging my way to Oklahoma City to visit a friend, mid-90s. The airport experience on the way there was no problem. On the return trip, however, my luggage had been chosen "at random" for a physical search (not just x-ray). A female agent set my suitcase on top of a table in front of God and everyone and started digging around in my clothing, cosmetics, and underwear. The was opening bottles of stuff and sniffing it, then putting it back NOT where I'd had it packed. I mean, I didn't have anything to hide, but it did feel a bit violated. I was cleared to go after the delay. Humph!
The next times I flew--four times, I think--were to California (Sunnyvale, to be exact) where my daughter and her fella had moved. My grandchildren, at the time, were living with their father, first in Muncie, IN, then in Zion, IL (close to Lake Michigan and the Wisconsin State Line). During school holidays, etc., it was my job to escort the grandkids to CA to visit with their mom and soon-to-be stepfather. On probably the second trip there, as the plane was making its descent and the flight attendants were all strapped in their seats, things started popping in my head. Painful things. I don't know what to call them. They were little "pings" all over my my skull. I felt panic in my soul. God, what is happening?? No one was in a position to help me should things go south. I dared not ask for help because I didn't even know what was wrong, and I didn't want to frighten the children. I silently prayed: "Dear God, please let me get these children to their mother before I die!" Once we landed, all was okay, but I was totally shaken for the entire rest of the evening...and it never happened again. Surely it had something to do with cabin pressure as we descended? I'll never know.
There were always tears on arrival and tears at departure. The children were very young... Finally, my daughter decided that she couldn't stand to be so far away from her children, so her husband snared a job in the north suburbs of Chicago. I flew with the children to Sunnyvale to begin a loooong trek across the American West back to the Midwest to see as much as we could possibly see in the time we had. I believe it was a 19-day trip. And when we reached my house, the adults unpacked and repacked the car with a few things I knew they would need if they actually found a place to live in 24 hours. They left early the very next morning for job interviews and house hunting. They found a rental townhome and both were hired for their jobs in less than two days and were only a 30-minute drive from the children. Wow! They never missed a soccer game or school activity thereafter. Times changed!
With my daughter and son-in-law now within driving distance, I was delightedly convinced that I would never have to fly again. Ha! The children had a custody change, so they now lived with Mom and Stepdad, which freed the breadwinner to seek better jobs. They decided to move to Seattle for Microsoft. In a sense, I didn't blame them. In another sense, I was furious. Once they flew to Washington, I've never seen my daughter again on my turf. Fortunately, the grandkids still come for occasional visits, but I'm still doing the flying. Until the pandemic when everything came to a roaring halt.
I'm going to get my visits mixed up, but here are some of my TSA experiences in airports, other than the ones I have already mentioned. All of these happened after I had to have handicapped assistance with a wheelchair:
1. Heading home from Seattle, I was asked to step aside because my carry-on bag alerted positive for gun powder. Huh? It was a brand new bag, used only for the trip TO Seattle, with no problem. A female TSA agent said she would have to search me and my bag, offering to take me to a private place to do so. I said no...let's just get this over with here. I think I was embarrassed because I wasn't wearing a bra but figured I couldn't have been the first one. I was eventually cleared to return to my wheelchair.
I racked my brain to figure out why my new, cute, polka-dotted luggage would alert for gun powder. I finally concluded that my nebulizer for my albuterol sulphate inhalant (that was in that bag) contained one of the same ingredients (sulphate) as gun powder. I hadn't been cautious about packing the used mouthpiece. Lesson learned! It hasn't happened since.
2. One trip to California with the very young grandchildren, Robin said she needed to use the restroom while we were in line for takeoff. She didn't come out and she didn't come out...and we couldn't take off until she did. Finally, I got up to check on her--just ahead of the flight attendant asking me to. The door wasn't locked. Robin was washing her hands. I scooted her out, scoldingly. When we got to our seats, she said, "Grandma, I had diarrhea." Then, of course, I felt like a jerk. I never bothered to try to explain to the flight attendant. I don't think we were delayed too long. I hope the rest of the passengers didn't know why we were!
3. One Spring Break trip, I was taking an Easter candle in a base, with little Easter eggs around the base on little springs. It was glittery and delightful, a spring gift for my family when I got there. The bag that contained it went through the x-ray machine twice. Finally, the TSA rep asked to open the bag. When he saw the candle, he said, "So THAT'S what that is!". Closed the bag, and off we went. No one had bothered to ask me. If they had, I could have told them...
4. One time, when the children and I were returning to the Midwest from California, my granddaughter still had a partial bottle of water in her backpack from the trip out. Neither of us caught it. The TSA agent yelled at me for allowing it. It was in the line of "You should be ashamed of yourself." Yeah, dude. I'm ashamed that a 10-year-old slipped up and had WATER in her backpack. I was ticked...
5. One time, when I was traveling alone, the TSA agent asked me to walk through the metal detector. I was never asked to remove my shoes. On the other side of the detector, I said, "How come I didn't have to take my shoes off?" He said that I didn't have to do that because 75 is the age limit for that. I mentioned that I wasn't yet 75. He said, and I quote, "Well you look like you are." Well, thank you, sonny!
I haven't flown since late December of 2019. I'm not fond of flying, largely because I am disabled enough to require special attention, which I don't like because I wish I could still be a regular passenger. Time marches on. My disabilities won't get better over time. I'm now hoping that I'll be able to fly again, if only just to see my baby and HER babies again!
Whatever works!
