[Son of the Night,
June 15, 2009]
When Things Go Beep
In the previous post King David wonders, "I hope they brought back some marmite with them; I know Ben always spoke highly of it and how much he loved it. (or did that get confiscated at the airport as a banned substance[?])"
He really hit a nerve with that question. You see, eight days ago I was traumatized by airport security at London Heathrow. In preparing for our trip back from the old country Faith and I had carefully packed our various items in two suitcases and two carry-ons so as to maximize efficiency, spread the weight to avoid surcharges, and protect against breakages. For the most part this worked well. Nothing was broken and we didn't have to pay anything extra for heavy suitcases, though they were heavy! But one part of our plan went disastrously wrong.
I passed through the metal detector without causing alarm and was beginning to congratulate Faith that we'd run the gauntlet successfully when a fateful noise rang out "BEEP!" My bag was shoved to one side for inspection. "Fiddlesticks," I thought, "they're going to root about in my bag like truffle seeking pigs." The 'truffle seeking pig' in question was an amiable women in her forties. Upon finding some vacuum sealed jars from the grocery store she apologetically explained that the police state in Britain loved free food and would be requiring mine. "But you can buy some more duty free! The store's right over there."
I passed on the opportunity to replace my purloined items, not least because I was all out of pounds. Then, as we sat and waited for our gate assignment, Faith encouraged me not to be bitter and I knew that she was right. And so I relate this story out of sadness and grief, not anger. I'm sure that some government bureaucrat in London needed another jar of Branston Pickle for his bag lunch. I'm sure it was very tasty.
He really hit a nerve with that question. You see, eight days ago I was traumatized by airport security at London Heathrow. In preparing for our trip back from the old country Faith and I had carefully packed our various items in two suitcases and two carry-ons so as to maximize efficiency, spread the weight to avoid surcharges, and protect against breakages. For the most part this worked well. Nothing was broken and we didn't have to pay anything extra for heavy suitcases, though they were heavy! But one part of our plan went disastrously wrong.
I passed through the metal detector without causing alarm and was beginning to congratulate Faith that we'd run the gauntlet successfully when a fateful noise rang out "BEEP!" My bag was shoved to one side for inspection. "Fiddlesticks," I thought, "they're going to root about in my bag like truffle seeking pigs." The 'truffle seeking pig' in question was an amiable women in her forties. Upon finding some vacuum sealed jars from the grocery store she apologetically explained that the police state in Britain loved free food and would be requiring mine. "But you can buy some more duty free! The store's right over there."
I passed on the opportunity to replace my purloined items, not least because I was all out of pounds. Then, as we sat and waited for our gate assignment, Faith encouraged me not to be bitter and I knew that she was right. And so I relate this story out of sadness and grief, not anger. I'm sure that some government bureaucrat in London needed another jar of Branston Pickle for his bag lunch. I'm sure it was very tasty.
Actually, the issue isn't that Ben tried to smugle; it's that he got caught. He needs to learn a thing or two from his bride who somehow managed to get a huge bottle of hair product through security in her carry-on bag. Perhaps she was able to avoid detection due to the distraction caused by the turmoil of the Pickle Alert.
I was also surprised to learn it did not involve Bill Clinton.
Picklewieners!
Kevin, these are educated pickles who want to assimilate.