The Security Queue

Queues normally bore me. Not the one waiting to go through security at Sal airport.

I involuntary laugh out loud at the sign showing the items you’re not allowed to have in your hand luggage.

Included are a machine gun, a grenade and a stick of dynamite. I want to photograph it, but guess I’ll be whisked from the queue pronto if I try.

Then there’s the woman in two places in front of me. She’s Amazonian in stature and wearing the shortest dress in the known universe. It’s more like a tee shirt, a short tight tee shirt at that. Body paint couldn’t be a snugger fit.

The guards tell her to remove her shoes before she walks through the security scanner. In an instant she changes from towering above me, to being quite a bit shorter. Her dress is short, her heels are skyscraper high.

Directly in front of me is a seriously sharp dressed dude. He walks with a swagger. He’s travelling light; no bag – nothing.

I lose count of the number of attempts it takes him to get through the scanner. First he’s sent back to take off his shoes. Then it’s his belt. Then an earring… sunglasses… watch… gold chain… a bracelet on his right wrist. He makes another attempt. The scanner beeps. He’s still got a chain on his left wrist. The guard is bored by this point and waves him through anyway.

I follow. There’s no beep. The guard asks me what the bulge is in my pocket. I think it’s a bit of a personal question (it’s a travel pack of tissues).

We’re immediately herded straight onto the bus. One person isn’t ready. Mr travellin’ light. He’s still putting his jewellery back on.

The bus leaves for the plane without him.

As I settle into my seat, I notice the bus goes back for him. He doesn’t look quite so cool now.

As soon as he boards, the stewardesses prepare the plane for take off.

Our flight leaves Sal 20 minutes earlier than scheduled.

I wonder if this is what they meant when they said flights were unreliable.

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