Does Anyone Really Know What Time It Is?

I went back to Cleveland this past Tuesday for the second time in one week. This time, it was for business. As you can maybe imagine, a bingo caller is not required to go on a lot of business trips. In fact, this was the first one I ever had to go on with this job, and I have been there for over seven years.

Anyway, I have not flown all that much since eleven-nine. (I'm European.) So, I do not know all of the security rules and regulations. Because of this, I get very nervous when traveling through security checkpoints at airports.

While my bag is rolling through the x-ray machine, I worry to myself, "Is it legal to bring fingernail clippers on a plane?" Or, "Is the bag screener going to mistake my nine inch black dildo for a billy club?" Or, "Did I remember to take that Ginsu meat cleaver out of the secret compartment of my carry on bag before I left for the airport this morning?"

So, of course, you can imagine how much I was sweating when a TSA agent picked my bag up off of the conveyor belt and asked, "Whose bag is this?"

I raised my hand, timidly, and nervously muttered that it was mine.

"Could you please step over here sir?" The officer asked.

I did what I was told. He took me off to a secluded corner of the screening area.

"Do you have any knives or other sharp objects in your bag today, sir?" I was asked.

"Um, I have fingernail clippers, but I thought that they were legal to carry on," I said as I reached to open the zipper pouch on the front of my bag.

"Do not touch the bag, sir!" The officer bellowed.

I withdrew my hand very quickly.

"I'm going to have to open your bag and look inside, sir." The officer said.

"No problem," I replied, trying to sound as cool as possible even though I was terrified that they were going to open my bag and find WMD's hidden in there or something like that.

The officer pulled open the front zipper pouch and poked around inside there with a wooden stick. Suddenly, his eyes opened up very widely as he quickly snapped on a rubber glove and reached in to my bag.

"Oh shit," I thought. This is it. I'm going to jail. Obviously, there is something in my bag that shouldn't be there. I thought that I was careful. I really did. I left my brass knuckles at home. I left my buck knife at home. I didn't pack any handguns this time. What in the hell was he going to find in there?

Then, to the gasps and horror of everyone within sight, he slowly pulled out this...



Yep, that's right, my tire pressure gauge. The same one that had been in my bag through three other security checkpoints and on three previous flights, all without incident or embarrassment.

I really do wonder sometimes. Do they really know what they are looking for, or are they just making it up as they go along?