Airport Security and Other Reasons I Hate Flying

I don't have much to back up that statement since I've only been on an airplane a few times in my life. The first time I was too young to remember. Twenty years later it wasn't such a bad flying experience because I happened to be with my best friend. Then there was the move to Alaska, a not-so-bad flight despite the emotional circumstances and wondering if my dog was okay in the pet area. All of those were okay flights, my only complaint being that I never had enough gum to chew so my ears would pop.

But this last round trip flight really made me hate flying, airports, and the whole shebang that comes with overpriced airline tickets. It could be that this was my first time flying alone and I was already on edge anyways. Or it could be because on the way home to Alaska I was fighting a cold. Those things don't change the fact that I would rather rent a car next time and drive the eight days from Fairbanks to Cincinnati instead of being locked in a pressurized tube filled with people I don't know for 16 hours after fighting with TSA.

I've come to think that those E-Check In kiosks are nothing more than the airport equivalent of the self check-out at the supermarket. I probably would have had less of a problem leaving Alaska if I had just dealt with a human instead of a machine. The first one I tried didn't have the ink to print the ticket. The next one I tried happened to be too close to a line, because when I was on the "Dangerous Items" screen someone bumped me from behind, which resulted me in choosing "Yes, I do have dangerous items in my luggage". I handed the TSA officer my boarding passes and my ID. I took off my shoes and belt. I made it through security. No problem, right?

Nothing is ever that easy if I'm involved. I checked my boarding pass again. It said I couldn't board with this pass, the special pass that declared that I had dangerous items. With no idea what to do, I found the first person that may be able to help me. I explained to the woman behind the counter that I pressed the wrong button (not such a far fetched idea) and I made it through security with no problem, I just wanted to trade that in for an actual boarding pass. Instead of calling the security area to make sure, which would have been understandable, she decided to yell at me.

"You shouldn't have been able to get through security with this! Did you show this to them? You should have handed this one to them!"

I explained my situation again, accentuating that I gave them all three my boarding passes and my ID, and now I'm on the other side with no real boarding pass. She sighed, but thankfully decided to go ahead and give me the boarding pass since it was almost time to board the plane. I thanked her, only to be told "You need to watch what buttons you press next time."

The rest of the flight was filled with minor annoyances that only make me detest flying more. There was the guy next to me that took up not only his aisle seat but the center seat's tray to sleep. There was the lady behind me that decided to tell her life story to whoever might have been listening. The quarter sized packet of peanuts and the Dixie cup of coffee that didn't satisfy the long trip with no time between layovers. Wondering if the plane would over shoot any of my destinations by 150 miles. The week in Cincinnati with the family made me forget about all that... well, until the flight back home.

Bobby Pins. Bobby Pins would be the issue I had with security the next time through. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that the security checks are so thorough at the Cincinnati airport. It does prevent bad things from happening. But I figured since I made it out of Alaska with a full pack of Bobby Pins (those may have been my dangerous item) that I could go back with a full pack. The ones in my hair didn't seem to set off the scanner. It was the one's in my tightly packed bag that triggered the X-Ray machine operator to pull my bag and search.

"Miss, do you have anything metal in your bag?"

I could only think of a belt, a couple of pens, the buckles on my shoes- all the things that the security man checked. I was glad he didn't attempt to open the Space Bag full of clothes. I rambled off the inventory to my carry on. He took it back and ran it through the scanner again.

"Miss, it's still showing that you have something that looks like shards of metal in there."

It dawned on me, "The Bobby Pins?"

The bag was scanned again. Yes, the Bobby Pins caused the problem at the security check in. I can't even use Bobby Pins properly in my hair, what else could they be used for? Especially on an airplane? He apologized, I held my tongue and accepted (I'm not a good person in the morning, especially when sick), and I went on my way. The flight was as decent as it could be for someone flying sick. Despite everyone staring at me like I might have the Swine Flu, I was left alone by anyone who may want to tell me their life story.

Five hours later at my layover in Seattle, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going (thanks cold medicine!) and ended up outside of the airport.

Oh no.

Another trip through the security lines.

Someone please help me...