So I went down to the City-County Building yesterday to vote. The fact that I felt compelled enough to participate in this November's National Upchuck that I actually paid six bucks to park had me in a pretty irascible frame of mind to start with. What happened when I got to the Palace of Government, however, really made me get my Wookie on.
The security checkpoint at the front door is only marginally less intrusive than that at an airport, in that you can keep your shoes on, but it lacks the warm, courteous efficiency of the TSA. I had divested myself of my heater, my pocketknife, and even the dinky little knife on my keychain, with its fixed blade all of an inch long, When I saw that they were making people remove belts, I began to worry that they might freak at the sight of my empty holster. The truth, however, was even worse.
The security guard scrutinized the tray containing my keychain, pointed a finger in it, and growled “What's this?”
Oh, crap, what's she freaking out about? I wonder whether it's the dinky plastic Glock or the paracord monkey fist, with its 3/4” steel core. Following her quivering finger, I see that she's pointing at...
“That? That's just a WiFi detector. You push a button and it lets you know the strength of any WiFi signals...”
“They won't let you take that in,” she snapped.
“Wha... why?” I stammered back.
She called her supervisor over. I identified it for him, too. “Uh-uh,” he shook his head “They won't let you take that in.”
So I went back to my car, and threw my entire keychain, except my car key, and my belt and empty holster into the trunk.
I went back into the checkpoint, stripped of a dumb RF receiver, and was allowed through with two transmitters (cell phone and Bimmer key fob) not to mention a pressurized incendiary container full of highly-flammable butane.
Pulling my stuff out of the tray, I looked back at the guard and asked, as sweetly as possible, “So, where do I go vote... for whoever's gonna fire you?”