What’s the big deal?

I have been getting “groped” by Transportation Security Administration (TSA) agents since they were first assigned to airports. My friends and I, who have a variety of disabilities, have endured hundreds of undignified full-body searches in the interests of keeping air travel safe. As someone who uses a power wheelchair, travel has never been simple and airport security has always been especially problematic. With that in mind, I don’t understand all of the concern now being expressed by those who have simply been able to walk through metal detectors before grabbing their carry-on bags off the scanner belt and heading for their planes with minimal delays in the past.

Despite numerous requests to do so, I have never walked through a metal detector or removed my belt, coat or shoes. I did remove a wool neck scarf once, for a search in Boston, but when I returned to retrieve it a few minutes later it had disappeared. I avoid the disrobing by explaining that my attendant dresses me in bed each morning before transferring me into my wheelchair. After pondering that, no TSA agents have been willing to put my clothes or other items back on me again, so the hands-on search is their preferred choice.

At first the searches were only a quick pass-over with a hand-held metal-detecting wand. Eventually the agents began to do rubdowns with the backs of their hands, avoiding those “intimate areas.” After a few well-publicized breaches of airport security worldwide, the searches got more complicated. There were plenty of disclaimers of course, asking if I had sensitive areas, and explaining over and over that they would only use the backs of their hands to fondle my “junk.” I guess that backhand method makes it okay, but I wouldn't recommend trying that approach on a first date or in other settings.

No matter how much I lobbied for it, I have never been able to get the agents to throw in a quick massage when their hands were roving over my back and shoulders. I also think there is some money to be made by the first person who mixes in a little shoe polish with the explosive-detecting swabs that they rub over my shoes each trip. Nobody seems interested in either of those options—yet.

I will have to admit that it gives me a type of perverse pleasure when the new agents who are usually assigned to frisk me come across the latex tubing that meanders from my private parts down the outside of my leg and hooks up to the dreaded leg bag and beyond that to the electric leg bag emptier. No, I don’t forewarn them, as that wouldn’t be anywhere near as interesting. I have, however, tried to guess whether they would simply ask what this apparatus was that they were feeling rather than retracing the route and trying to figure it out on their own. The two approaches to solving that mystery are about equally divided so far.

Once the security forces are assured that I am not a rolling explosive device of some type, it is usually the practice to get me approved and out of their area as quickly as possible. It is almost as if they have been caught doing something that they shouldn't have been doing.

I’ve picked up a few tips for reducing the stress of the security processes during the past few years. They may not work for everyone, but they work for me:

1. Don’t get uptight. This is important. It’s likely that the security staff are as intent on doing the right thing as you are and, to top it off, their boss might be watching.

2. If you use a mobility device, know how it works. Be prepared to explain what is located under a particular cover, what that switch operates and what type of batteries it uses (if it has any).

3. When you’re done, say thanks and ask if they have any questions. You might be surprised at the responses you get.

Since it takes me about five times as long to get through security as those who are walking through, I predict plenty of long lines and much frustration in airports across the land during the busy travel season ahead as other travelers are introduced to the joys of frisking. In consideration of that, I’m staying home for the holidays.

© 2010 Michael Collins