Security’s great, and the people that work in airports as security guards, customs inspectors, etc. have necessary, but virtually thankless jobs.  Nobody’s happy to see you.  Everyone complains.  There’s always some stupid traveler who has read nothing about what is/is not legal to bring on an airplane.  I can’t imagine how it must be to spend the day explaining to idiots the reasons why kitchen scissors are not appropriate to have in carry-on luggage.

 

And then there’s security on a different, smaller level — building security.  Now . . . building security is important, yes.  But I like a little bit of common sense with my security.  And I’m not convinced that all of the security guards in my office building possess a strong grasp of common sense. 

 

For example, we have those x-ray machines w/conveyor belts often found in airports.  If you have a briefcase, it gets scanned.  If you have a purse, it generally doesn’t — unless it’s gargantuan.  And I’m known to carry the variety of handbag in which one can fit a small child.  So, needless to say, I’m always getting scrutinized by the likes of guards Happy, Sneezy, Flirty, Perky, and Grumpy (the female security guard) and being forced to x-ray my purse.  Sometimes I take it in stride.  Other days, when I’m WAY too in touch with my inner bitch, I glare at them.  I understand them, and they understand me. 

 

What I don’t understand, however, is when they’ve seen me walk outside, and insist on x-raying the bag TEN minutes later when I walk back in.  As if these people — the ones who see me every day — think that, with my Subway value meal, I picked up an AK-47 and camouflaged it with Coach.  WTF?   One of the guys did that to me this morning when I ran out for oatmeal, and I swear it was everything I could do to keep from taking my mid-sized, dense, admittedly overloaded Kooba handbag . . . and knocking him in the head with it.  But, because I try to avoid arrest whenever possible, I refrained.

 

Some of those guys downstairs are pretty funny.  One of them was in love with my co-worker (who might be a bit overly friendly and chipper), and actually made her a (gasp) MIX TAPE.  And yes, this was in the recent two years.  Who DOES that in the new millenium?  And who listens to cassettes anymore? (if you do, please don’t embarass yourself by making a negative comment to this post.  Seriously.)  I’ll bet he taped songs off of the radio, becoming upset when the DJ cut in on the beginning or the end of the song — ruining the flow of his “love tape.”  She never listened to it, but I think she still has it.  I’ve been suggesting that we convene at her house with several bottles of wine, listen to the tape, and have some great giggles.  So, if you’re reading this, Miss LD, I’m waiting for my invitation!  I’ll bring the two-buck Chuck.