“We will need to take a closer look at this, ma’am,” says Miss Airport Security.
Of course you will. You always do. It’s the long, rectangular paperweight that holds my book open. It’s always a major concern in airport security. Everyone in uniform fears I’m packing heat with a weapon of mass destruction. With my initials on it.
“That’s fine. Would you like for me to tell you what it is?” I offer humbly.
“What is it? It’s not a slapjack is it?”
“Its not a slapjack. It’s a bookmark.” and then I wonder to her, “What is a slapjack?”
She raises one eyebrow. “Why did you say ‘no’ if you don’t know what a slapjack is?”
“Because I know what this is, and it’s a bookmark, regardless of what a slapjack is.”
For crying out loud.
I really don’t mean to be a smartass about it. But, c’mon.
I tell her she can confiscate it if she needs to. I defer to the rules of the FAA, the many people in line, and real terrorists who need this attention instead.
Her supervisor told me I could have it. Just after he told her what a slapjack is.