Just a Guy
Salt Lake City International Airport
Friday, June 11, 2004
9:20 AM
I got flagged for the full security screening. Just my turn. Just a guy selected at random. I've passed many of them in the past few years.
I was standing on the footprints, legs spread, arms extended outward - basically being frisked with the metal detecting wand.
I was extra uncomfortable because they didn't even take me over to the side, against the wall. No, I was right there in the path of everyone walking through the regular metal detectors. They had to veer right or left to pass me.
OK. No biggie. They're doing their job. I have nothing to hide. I was wearing jeans, a tee shirt, and a baggy camp shirt, bottom two buttons closed.
All four pockets of my jeans have metal rivets. My left rear rivet set the detector off first. The guard, a short, pleasant asian man, reached right over, and pulled that corner of my shirt up to see what was there.
I jumped as his hand contacted my butt. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Have to check," he said, "It's just rivets." Down the leg, up the front, and another rivet, and lifted my shirt again.
OK. No biggie. Just doing a job. He has to SEE the rivets. No problem. This is not a violation of my body, not a violation of my personal space. Could I be in a safer public place? Twice more, the rivets sang.
My wallet beeped too. I keep a spare car key in there because there was a period when I locked my keys in the car regularly. He patted the wallet, and by that point, it was nothing - I was more concerned I'd have to empty my wallet, wondering if there's anything in there that could embarrass me.
Then my crotch. Button fly, so he didn't hear the steady beep he expected - it was beep..beep..beep..beep..beep.
He did it again. "What's that?" "Button fly", I said. You'd think he would have encountered a button fly before. I guess not. Wait - maybe he thinks I have some piercings down there? Ouch! He had to see. He held up my shirt, and I moved the flap to show him the buttons.
At that point I was wondering if anyone noticed the attention to my crotch. Do THEY think I have piercings? Do they care?
Nah. Just some guy getting the full search. If they're thinking anything, it's "Hope I don't get picked."
Oh well. Just a job. And now it was over. A little creepy, but not near as bad as some medical routines. No biggie, I just wanted to get to the gate.
Ah, but my bag had to be searched. I travel light on these one-week business trips. Everything fits in one soft-sided, carry-on bag, with room left over for a book or two, and manuals or files I have to drag home.
The bag has a zipper all around so it opens like a book and lays flat. Another guard opened it just as I stepped up to the table.
Right there in the center, face up was the last thing I had thrown in as I packed that morning; my well worn copy of "Victims No Longer". Right there for the guard to see and anyone walking by to see, and the heavens to see.
It took me a long time to buy that book. I went into Barnes & Noble 3 or 4 times in a one month period; I'd pick it up, put it back; pick it up, start walking to the register, decide there were too many people on line, put it back.
I had heard about this book, read about this book, had it recommended to me. I wanted this book, but back then, 7 years ago, I couldn't let anyone see me buying or holding it.
I finally got it on a trip to Boston. I was there for two weeks, and on Saturday, July 26th, 1997, I walked around town and browsed in many of the shops I passed. Finally I came to a small bookstore.
I browsed, just killing time. I got to the self-help section, and there was my book. I picked it up and bought it right then. Case closed. The clerk barely looked at me. No bells sounded. No one noticed and looked at me with suspicion or pity or disgust. No one noticed at all.
Just a guy buying a book. Happens all the time.
But that book stayed out of sight until last summer. I kept it in a drawer, or in the bookcase with the spine turned in, or hidden in a pile of books.
My business, you know? I've taken it on trips before, all over this country, but it always got packed first, so it was under everything else. And back then, it got put in the drawer under my clothes, or into my suitcase, when I left the room. Back then.
But now, here it was face up in a busy airport, indisputably, undeniably mine. The guard picked it up. And she read the title, and she must have read every word on the cover, except the tiny print on the bottom. She placed it to the side, nearest the people walking past, right side up, title clearly readable by anyone who looked. She finished going through the rest of my case.
She smoothed everything back down, picked up the book, and placed it back in the center where she found it. "Thank you sir, have a nice trip."
When I got to the gate, the flight was delayed; an extra 45 minutes to kill. I took my book back out, and continued where I had left off the night before.
Just a guy, sitting in an airport reading a book. You see it all the time.
