Security Check

"You need to complete this form," the flight attendant told me and fellow passengers on a plane from Tokyo, Japan. She was distributing and holding arrival cards for the inevitable descent and entrance into the United States.

I had no intention to enter the country. I was just coming back from a week-long vacation that was long needed and I wanted to go home. But I had to complete an arrival card anyways.

That's the cost of flying these days. Many passengers who plan on going to faraway countries are sometimes restricted by requiring a connection through the US. Thanks to airline alliances and the hub and spoke system, the economy of flying in recent times meant the most interesting trips through American security.

I have no beef or any kind of protein towards the theory; if it means I can fly with whomever I want under a reasonable fare, sign me up. But sometimes the checkpoints of airports in the United States can be stunningly tactless.

I recall my first trip to Tokyo, coming home with a delicate present made of glass for a close friend of mine. As I approached the security checpoint at Chicago O'Hare, my bag was gregariously emptied, its contents making a big thump. The oversensitive red-haired officer squealed that I couldn't touch my backpack whilst I was trying to help.

But sometimes, one will find a bit of heart inbetween the metal detectors and security equipment.

This time around, I was guarding against any future damaged souvenirs. I am probably worried enough about what I carry after the security check, to the extreme point of making sure I didn't splurge in the airport shops on anything delicate or breakable.

As the backpack went through the machine, a security officer yelled "bag check". I cringed at the fear of another uncomfortable experience.

The second officer passed on the bag to me, unemptied. "Am I alright?" I asked.

"You're good. You have a nice day, sir."

Maybe this "third country" idea isn't as bad.