+ "you have to frisk me, I have a rocket in my pants"

Come in, Come in all non-existant followers. 

For anyone who is a jetsetter or has travelled internationally before, I hope you smile, nod, and share my utter frustration. 


If you've ever watched the T.V. or live in America you'll recognise those fairly intimidating security checks that are compulsory for all passengers. Over the years they have become exponentially more thorough and extensive and quite frankly its borderline invasion of privacy. Thanks to a long procession of terrorists the world has decided the restrictions and procedures weren't strict enough and have enforced more new laws. Make sure you include them in your Thanksgiving cards next holiday season...


So while standing in the queue, for a ridiculously long time, I kinda broke into this mental sweat. Even though I was as innocent as a fluffy bunny on easter day, I found myself re-checking myself and assuring that I hadn't done anything wrong. I liken it to when you've been called to the principals office for an interview. You don't know what you've done, or even if you have done anything, but for some uncanny reason you question yourself and feel guilty, even though you know you're completely not. Well that's what I think happens to people as the undergo the hugely inconvenient rigmarole. You're standing in the snakey line of people anxiously waiting for that metal detecting doorframe panicking that you've brought more than the 3oz of liquids or aerosols allocated, or you've accidentally packed your nailclippers, meanwhile there are hundreds of surveillance cameras and officers and intimidating donut eating coppers with guns and a vast selection of rather vicious instruments that could belt you across the head with a large amount of momentum and force to knock you unconscious or into a minor coma. 
You result in convicting yourself that you've done something unlawful. It's a nerve racking experience. 


This isn't too dissimilar to when you're passing through customs. Therefore I call it the customs-effect.


Not only is it rather intimidating but the whole process is ridiculous. Let me list some of the procedures you have to undergo in order to pass from point A to point B 10m away.
- you must remove both shoes (suck on that Ugg boot victims)
- you must remove all metal jewellery (gangstas and bling-artists are always rather disgruntled over this one)
- you must remove your belt (and last time I went through this process I saw a man who wore a bullet belt to an airport. first, what an idiot, and second, he deserved to have that belt confiscated, it's a crime to the fashion world as well)
- you must display your mobile phones, laptops, camera and video recording devises (yes, unfortunately this means that we must wait for a brief lightyear for Dad to pull out all his techno-gadgets.)
- you must remove all outer clothing (you'd hate to have worn your favourite corset that day, that's a lot of laces...)


Then after you comply to all of these rules you have to then walk through this metal doorframe and wait for the stewardess to use her 10th grade thinking level to determine the source of the shrill beeping. Brilliant Sherley Holmes. Which is usually due to small bits and pieces on your jeans but meanwhile you're considering whether you've been drugged and someone has framed you and put small explosives into your shoes or the lining of your underpants or your body board...
So really, the officers want us to strip down naked to our birthday suits and frisk us while another goes through our personal belongings. That's not inconvenient at all. Go ahead Sir. Frisk away.




Stay tuned. 
Over and Out. 
+hann.