Airport Shoes

9-11 ushered in many new changes in our lives as we witnessed a horrific event on a grand scale of incomprehension. Many changes occurred in the airport. Security grew into a whole new industry over night. We all had to learn how to adjust to the security procedures that placed wanted assurances on our safety. I’ve never felt the need to complain about the inconveniences. I prefer living.

But in time, like it often does, idiocrasy drifts into the chaos of day to day life. One unstable soul decides to put explosives into his shoes and attempt to blow up a plane along with his feet. Who saw that coming? I didn’t.

So, we all learned to add our shoes to the endless line of sliding containers feeding into a security camera system for inspection. Do we put the shoes in? Do we add our belts? These questions received random answers for years. I could never come to any conclusion on the proper procedure until I realized that perhaps random rules might trip up the next psychopath that wants to arm his underwear with a bomb. So, mix it up boys, mix it up!

I had been walking through security lines at airports shoeless for years when one day I found myself in a bit of a pickle. Let me roll back seven days and introduce you to the wonderful vacation my wife and I had just completed. During our boating years, we found ourselves in the company of our neighbors and boating friends in the Florida Keys at wintertime. Nothing is better than escaping the Chicago winter arctic weather for some boating sun & fun, Florida style.

The last day is always hard. Trading out shorts and sandals for heavy jeans and boots is tough to adjust to, but our time had come. I packed my luggage that morning wondering when we might return to the Keys, a paradise in its own. I paused while dressing and decided to shake some baby powder into my boots, a little pampering goes a long way when you pack your beach towel away for your parka. We all climbed into a taxi van bound for the Ft. Lauderdale airport.

The airport was packed, so was the security line, huge lines in fact. By the time we reached the stack of plastic grey bins I was about done with it. I just wanted to resume my post boating pleasures. But no. Like cattle, I made my way to the bins. I removed all of the mandatory clothing items, belt, sweater, empty pockets, etc.

“Sir, please remove your shoes.” The security guy lacked all sense of human behavior. I looked down at my boots. This was going to be hard. I unlaced. I pulled tongues out. I bent over in need of a chair that wasn’t there. And in time managed to remove both boots. But of course, these would be required to enter the system in their own grey bin. I found myself moving back and forth along the conveyor belt managing my boots and the other six bins filled with our possessions.

“Mommy, look at that man’s socks.” It was a little girl, waist high to her mother, pointing at my black socks, my black socks with baby powder. I left tracks up and down the conveyor belt floor carpet, white footprints, size 11. What does Anthrax smell like?

Sensing a turn in luck, I pushed my way through the body sensor machine without incident. I retrieved my boots and started the arduous effort of reentry. On the other side the mother was talking to a security man. Our bags had all passed through the system and now lay piled up on rolling conveyor wheels. I did a quick snatch and followed my wife out of the security area, safe and sound.

Life lesson: Suck it up buttercup. You can soak your feet when you get home.

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