{"id":27,"date":"2010-01-18T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2010-01-18T08:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/?p=27"},"modified":"2011-03-31T23:49:16","modified_gmt":"2011-03-31T21:49:16","slug":"agent-terroriseur","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/2010\/01\/agent-terroriseur\/","title":{"rendered":"Agent Terroriseur"},"content":{"rendered":"
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(image by sugarpie honeybunch<\/a> on Flickr)<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n

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Clutching my laptop and hauling my now considerably lighter carry-on bag I head for Security, anticipating all sorts of faffery. \u00a0In this, I am not disappointed. \u00a0There is, of course, the usual plastic bag farce. \u00a0I’m prepared for this, and have already extricated my make-up bag from the tangle of cables in my suitcase. \u00a0However, unlike when I first flew to Italy from Terminal 2, when the nice lady at Security had a good old chat with my mum and me while she decanted all my make-up into the plastic bag for me, the chap at Terminal 4 just shoves a bag in my direction and points me to the side while I sort myself out. \u00a0Given that I’m already juggling a laptop and a suitcase, this actually takes quite a while. \u00a0Still, I get it done eventually, and head on to the queues of people waiting to be allowed through Security.<\/span><\/div>\n

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Given Gordon’s blustering about the immediate installation of X-ray scanners<\/a>, I’d half expected to see them here. \u00a0Thankfully, however, it seems it’s still just the standard metal detectors. \u00a0We do all have to remove our shoes and every single layer of outer clothing, though, so the queue is moving desperately slowly. \u00a0I’m absolutely sweltering, having dressed in about 100 layers when I left home in the snow that morning. \u00a0Every time I think about taking my coat off and shoving it in my bag, though, the queue moves forward and I’m left desperately trying to rezip, while trying to pick everything\u00a0that I’ve just dropped\u00a0up from the floor. \u00a0I give it up as a bad job, and continue to sweat.<\/span><\/div>\n

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Finally I reach the front of the queue, and obediently remove my shoes, remembering just too late that I’m wearing ridiculously garish socks. \u00a0Damn. \u00a0I shuffle through the metal detector. \u00a0It beeps. \u00a0A particularly serious-looking woman beckons me over and asks what I think might have caused it. \u00a0I assume it’s my belt, so remove it. \u00a0She also suggests that it could have been my necklace, which I’d forgotten about. \u00a0I shrug and smile. \u00a0She glares at me. \u00a0Oops. \u00a0She gestures that I should assume the position, and pats me down almost indecently thoroughly. \u00a0Thank goodness she’s wearing gloves, as the sweat patches under my arms are, by this stage, less patches and more rivers. \u00a0The Italians would be scandalised. \u00a0Not finding anything obviously bomb-like, she scowls and fetches the mobile metal detector, which she proceeds to run over me. \u00a0Sure enough, my necklace sets it off, as do the rivets on my jeans. \u00a0She then runs it down my right hand side, and it beeps. \u00a0There is a moment of confusion and then I realise what has caused it and burst into laughter. \u00a0She gives me a death stare to beat all death stares. \u00a0I can’t stop laughing, though. \u00a0“It’s my bra! \u00a0It’s the underwire in my bra!” I manage to splutter. \u00a0I giggle helplessly as she pats me down yet more thoroughly. \u00a0Security lady is, like Queen Victoria, unamused.\u00a0I, however, chortle all the way to the boarding gate. <\/span><\/div>\n
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