The logic of air travel security

If you had brittle fingernails like I have, you would surely be just as annoyed as I am each time you travel by air. No, I am not talking about the nails becoming more brittle in the low-pressure air in the aircraft cabin, though that is indeed what happens. I am talking about the post-Sept. 11 airport security check.

The one cosmetic implement I need most -- since my nails seem to break if someone simply looks at them -- my nail clippers, are invariably confiscated, because this seemingly innocuous item is classified as a dangerous weapon.

What exactly can you do with a pair of nail clippers? Grab a pretty flight attendant, wave your nail clippers in her face, snarl and whisper threateningly, "Listen honey, tell the pilot to reroute this flight to Acapulco or I'll give you a manicure!"?

Or, if you happen to have a more substantial pair of nail clippers than mine -- known as toenail clippers -- saunter nonchalantly toward the front of the plane, pretending you think you can use the executive class toilet, then when nobody is watching, burst into the cockpit, point your "weapon" at the pilot and scream, "Alright, drop everything and listen to me! Take me to El Dorado or I'll cut your toenails!"?

You would think there is a reason behind every new policy imposed by the security department of airport managements, since they seem to have synchronized the new regulations. Take the cutlery provided with your meals.

Instead of a decent knife, you will be given a plastic one. That is perfectly understandable, since in my case the plastic implement and my fingernails immediately embark on mutual destruction while the chicken schnitzel will subsequently have to be dealt with by my teeth. So I cannot imagine how anyone could invoke anything but mirth or a sneering reprimand of: "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to do that?" if they point that plastic knife at anyone.

The fork, however, is a different story. The fork is never plastic. It is the usual solid metal. And it is definitely lethal, otherwise how could I bury the prongs in my schnitzel in order to take it to my mouth? I imagine anyone with no experience in martial arts would think twice before trying to tackle a would-be attacker while staring down at the sharp end of a fork one centimeter from their face, especially in such a confined space as in today's tightly seated aircraft.

So, where is the logic in determining what items are potential weapons and what items are not?

Today, going through an airport security check can be as entertaining as watching, or even acting in, an episode of Seinfeld.

The other day I walked through the metal detector gate while beside me a huge pair of black farm boots, not exactly spotlessly clean, disappeared into the dark compartment over the conveyor belt, where two security officers were whispering and discussing, studying the monitor in front of them. Not far from me a stocky, no-nonsense, suntanned man was watching with an unamused face. On his feet he wore only socks.

The sight was so surreal I began to chuckle, completely unaware that I had activated the alarm of the metal detector. I was promptly ushered to the side, and a woman security officer began to wave her handheld metal detector around me. She stopped at my waist.

"Can you take your belt off please, ma'am?" she said with a stern face.

I blushed. The belt was totally instrumental in holding up my trousers, because the zip had broken. As I stood embarrassedly holding my trousers up, waiting for the security officer to place my belt on the conveyor belt, I saw the stocky man's face as he looked up from fastening his boots.

We both laughed. And I had to surreptitiously untangle my jagged fingernails from the silky fabric of my trousers.

-- Dewi Anggraeni