2011-05-24 13:17![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldisciplinePhoenix Sky Harbor has backscatter scanners deployed for the majority of travelers, at least on their C Concourse in Terminal 4. As I was directed to enter it, I turned to the agent and said "I'd prefer to opt-out, please."
The screener paged "Male opt-out, lane three," and I asked her if this happened frequently. "Not so much, really."
Three pages were needed before a TSA dude to perform my pat-down was acquired. It turned out to be the same agent who had checked my ID and boarding pass five or ten minutes prior.
"Which bags are yours?"
"The green one, and the bin with the combat boots."
We wandered fifteen feet past the scanners, still in the main security lobby, and he asked me to step away from my belongings, but remain facing them.
"I'm going to explain what I'll be doing. I will be using the front of my hand everywhere except in the area around your groin, where I will use the back of my hand. Because you have the kilt on, when I get to your legs, I'll need you to place one foot forward and one back. Please extend your arms to your sides, palms up. Okay, please take a step back with your right / left leg. Now, take another step back and I will check your front. Please wait here while I perform the chemical test on my gloves right over there."
"You might find gunpowder residue. I wore this kilt to the gun range a couple days ago." (I had taken the quartet of spent brass cartridges that had fallen or been ejected into my pockets out.)
The pat-down was, surprisingly to me, almost a non-event. I didn't feel anything worse than amused inconvenience (and, having already learned that my departing flight was delayed two hours, it's not like I was in any kind of rush, so the extra five minutes weren't make-or-break). I wasn't socked, fondled, groped, or anything untoward.
I have to say that my preferred travel wear - workout shirt, short socks, and Utilikilt - make this almost trivial for the screeners (the heavy "workman" model kilt was the only minor impediment; had I been wearing a lighter one, that probably would have been less of an issue). Plenty of exposed skin, and what's covered is not swathed in layers or bagginess.
So, my experience with the pat-down was about as positive as this kind of ritualistic security theater is apt to be - it was quick, polite, genial, respectful, and utterly uninteresting (except for the novelty factor).
After hearing the horrible things that other people had been subjected to, I had far worse expectations.
The screener paged "Male opt-out, lane three," and I asked her if this happened frequently. "Not so much, really."
Three pages were needed before a TSA dude to perform my pat-down was acquired. It turned out to be the same agent who had checked my ID and boarding pass five or ten minutes prior.
"Which bags are yours?"
"The green one, and the bin with the combat boots."
We wandered fifteen feet past the scanners, still in the main security lobby, and he asked me to step away from my belongings, but remain facing them.
"I'm going to explain what I'll be doing. I will be using the front of my hand everywhere except in the area around your groin, where I will use the back of my hand. Because you have the kilt on, when I get to your legs, I'll need you to place one foot forward and one back. Please extend your arms to your sides, palms up. Okay, please take a step back with your right / left leg. Now, take another step back and I will check your front. Please wait here while I perform the chemical test on my gloves right over there."
"You might find gunpowder residue. I wore this kilt to the gun range a couple days ago." (I had taken the quartet of spent brass cartridges that had fallen or been ejected into my pockets out.)
The pat-down was, surprisingly to me, almost a non-event. I didn't feel anything worse than amused inconvenience (and, having already learned that my departing flight was delayed two hours, it's not like I was in any kind of rush, so the extra five minutes weren't make-or-break). I wasn't socked, fondled, groped, or anything untoward.
I have to say that my preferred travel wear - workout shirt, short socks, and Utilikilt - make this almost trivial for the screeners (the heavy "workman" model kilt was the only minor impediment; had I been wearing a lighter one, that probably would have been less of an issue). Plenty of exposed skin, and what's covered is not swathed in layers or bagginess.
So, my experience with the pat-down was about as positive as this kind of ritualistic security theater is apt to be - it was quick, polite, genial, respectful, and utterly uninteresting (except for the novelty factor).
After hearing the horrible things that other people had been subjected to, I had far worse expectations.
