The insecurity of security.

After checking-in, security. Security is a test. It’s like going into the confessional. Once you get out safely you’ve been absolved and forgiven. All your potential sins have been cleansed. The sky has never been so handy. Just one more gate.  

I didn’t need to take out my laptop. Some other times yes, not today. I had to take off my sweater. And my shoes. I took off my hat. The TSA gentleman told me I didn’t need to take off my hat. I put my hat back on. Not because I needed it. Only because I could.

I asked him, “Is a hat less threatening than a sweater?” He started twitching his mustache, blushed a bit. He was not expecting this. But my question brought him some form of embarrassment, along with some relief. Finally someone else, besides himself, wanted to know what the deal was. I felt that he had never really concocted a question to answer this point. Questions bring complexities because they spread question marks. For some, question marks are more threatening than sweaters. The insecurities of security.  

He got rid of me by placing my shoes into the box very, very carefully. Maybe his intention was to make the separation between me and them less harsh after all the stress he had generated for me. But the biggest alleviation was to let me go. 

Ironically, one shoe broke during the treatment of the X-rays. I realized it had broken the second I repossessed them after the carousel. It didn’t bother much that one shoe broke. More concerning was that the other one didn’t. There’s always a reassuring feeling in symmetries.