- Top Features:
- War Room
- Glenn Greenwald
- Broadsheet
- Joan Walsh
- Camille Paglia
- Since You Asked
- Follow Salon:
Read other letters about this article
About a year ago I was flying domestically SFO -> Tampa. I'm a quadriplegic woman - enough strength in my hands to drive my wheelchair, that's about it. I was traveling with 2 family members and my service dog (who accompanies me in the cabin).
The SOP for security screening of people with disabilities is pretty much as ridiculous as it is for able-bodied folks. I get patted down, but the staff is usually so afraid of hurting me that it's pointless. I don't go thru a metal detector, and because metal rods support my spine, the wand is usually disregarded. And my shoes get to stay on. The only "real" security screen is done with little pieces of paper that are swiped over various points of my chair & my body and then put in a little chemical sniffer. The whole thing usually takes less than a minute.
This day in SFO, however, the "officer" assigned to me swiped my palms -- something they'd never done before -- and wouldn't you know it, that set the sniffer off. (Seriously, an actual alarm went off.) I - and my dog, who was none too happy at this point - was immediated surrounded by TSO officials wanting to know if and when I'd handled firearms, ammunition, explosives, and so forth. Try as I might to explain that I don't handle *anything* -- even offering to demonstrate my amazing physical prowess by failing to pick up a bottled water -- The Man was not to be swayed. So I went thru another round of patdowns and chemical swipes (again, positive) while a freaking platoon of TSO employees continued to gather.
After about 15 minutes, we were at an impasse. I couldn't explain what was setting their machine off (especially because the machine apparently doesn't tell them *what* it detects, just that it's Something Bad(tm)). And they weren't about to let me on an airplane with my suspicious (albeit completely useless) hands intact. I just sat there rolling my eyes at my family (who were never questioned or searched) while the storm troopers poked at the machine, looked at me, and whisered amongst themselves.
Finally, a (completely unrelated-to-me) member of the crowd that had gathered to watch the prosecution of Gimpy bin Laden went off in search of a higher authority (you gotta love San Francisco). I never learned the identity or position of the man who arrived, but he was wearing a real (not rent-a-cop) uniform and clearly outranked everyone else on scene. When he found out what was going on, he busted out laughing.
It turns out that a number of prescription medicine, including ones I'd taken that morning, excrete byproducts in sweat that mimic explosive residue. This is something that apparently the TSA is aware of, at least at some levels, but won't make public because The Terrorists could simply take those medications to mask "real" evidence. So across the country, quadriplegics and little old ladies get pegged as the Ones to Watch.
Oy.
