I am due to depart from Brisbane shortly. As I walked through immigration and luggage screening a short while ago, two security officers pounced on me. I must say that they, an older woman (W) and a younger man (M), looked positively delighted at the opportunity to finally put into practice the theory it must have been painstaking for them to learn. They were not the intimidating, sweat inspiring types we see in the movies. These two looked like they could be guest relation officers at a theme park for children. As they shepherded me to the designated area, I swear I could see them trying to remember their lines. And to appear nonchalant and suave as they told me, almost with a nudge and a wink, that I was being randomly selected for a more thorough check. Random? I don’t think so. The delight they were expressing made me think that they had probably been waiting for a very long time for someone who looked like me.
I was taken into a makeshift room and told by W to assume the position – hands outstretched - for a further screening with a hand held device. As I was trying to do that, I was asked by M whether I had a laptop, even as he looked at my laptop (I was trying to put it back into my messenger bag when I was pounced upon). I told him I did indicating the laptop he was looking at. He asked me to put it into my bag. As I was trying to, he told me they had to screen my bag first. W meanwhile was trying to screen me. M asked whether I had internet access, glaring at me in what I suppose was intended to be an intimidating manner rather that the cute and cuddly it was. I told him that my laptop was wifi enabled. He looked bewildered. W interceded, saying ‘wireless’ sagely, nodding as she motioned me forward for the screening.
It was surreal. I wondered whether David Lynch had spent some time in Brisbane Airport.
Somehow, it all happened. I was screened. And the results of the screening tested through a machine designed to pick up traces of explosives were negative. I was fitting my laptop back into my bag when W exclaimed, in a happy, 'you’ve won the lottery' voice, ‘Congratulations! You’re clear.’ M tells me with a big smile, ‘You’re really lucky!”, stopping short of clapping me on the back, I think.
Alright, I had the luck to run into not one, but two, rednecks in Brisbane Airport Security. They deserved starring roles as deputies in re-runs of The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo. But, honestly, ‘congratulations?!’. For what, NOT being a terrorist? ‘Lucky?’ For what, NOT having carried explosives this time?!
But then, even as I was plotting how to exact some pain for this ridiculousness, I realized that in as much as I was offended by the obvious profiling that had taken place, we had our own share of prejudiced idiots on the Muslim or Indian or Pakistani or Malaysian side (depending on how I am categorized). People who were as inept and unprofessional as these two were. And our society is guilty of praising its own purported professionalism and sophistication as much as the next, even though there is little or no basis for such claims. Who was I to expect from these security officers what I would not even dream to expect from our security personnel.
I walked away into the departure area trying my very best to look like a thwarted terrorist. I figured it was the least I could do for them. After all, everyone deserves a little sunshine in their lives from time to time.
I tried not to think about what would happen if they chanced upon someone who was really intent on mayhem.
MIS
I was taken into a makeshift room and told by W to assume the position – hands outstretched - for a further screening with a hand held device. As I was trying to do that, I was asked by M whether I had a laptop, even as he looked at my laptop (I was trying to put it back into my messenger bag when I was pounced upon). I told him I did indicating the laptop he was looking at. He asked me to put it into my bag. As I was trying to, he told me they had to screen my bag first. W meanwhile was trying to screen me. M asked whether I had internet access, glaring at me in what I suppose was intended to be an intimidating manner rather that the cute and cuddly it was. I told him that my laptop was wifi enabled. He looked bewildered. W interceded, saying ‘wireless’ sagely, nodding as she motioned me forward for the screening.
It was surreal. I wondered whether David Lynch had spent some time in Brisbane Airport.
Somehow, it all happened. I was screened. And the results of the screening tested through a machine designed to pick up traces of explosives were negative. I was fitting my laptop back into my bag when W exclaimed, in a happy, 'you’ve won the lottery' voice, ‘Congratulations! You’re clear.’ M tells me with a big smile, ‘You’re really lucky!”, stopping short of clapping me on the back, I think.
Alright, I had the luck to run into not one, but two, rednecks in Brisbane Airport Security. They deserved starring roles as deputies in re-runs of The Misadventures of Sheriff Lobo. But, honestly, ‘congratulations?!’. For what, NOT being a terrorist? ‘Lucky?’ For what, NOT having carried explosives this time?!
But then, even as I was plotting how to exact some pain for this ridiculousness, I realized that in as much as I was offended by the obvious profiling that had taken place, we had our own share of prejudiced idiots on the Muslim or Indian or Pakistani or Malaysian side (depending on how I am categorized). People who were as inept and unprofessional as these two were. And our society is guilty of praising its own purported professionalism and sophistication as much as the next, even though there is little or no basis for such claims. Who was I to expect from these security officers what I would not even dream to expect from our security personnel.
I walked away into the departure area trying my very best to look like a thwarted terrorist. I figured it was the least I could do for them. After all, everyone deserves a little sunshine in their lives from time to time.
I tried not to think about what would happen if they chanced upon someone who was really intent on mayhem.
MIS
