Ben Gurion Airport is a beautiful edifice, it’s cool by its sandstone coloured palette and the fountain court bubbles and drips soothing the soul. To walk freely around the spend-heavy duty-free I had to check two bags in, two back packs.
Looking like 2 condoms stuffed with macadamia nuts, my two bags brimmed with 4 and a half months of middle-eastern sun stained clammy clothes. The front desk couldn’t handle them and so they were sent to the small security and x-ray zapping machine to the side to be checked in. There some fat bastard with a shiny badge sitting by with a displeased grin posed along the safety deposit lift. before I got to introduce myself and my two haggis-like bags to him and his over grown handle-bar moustache, two girls bursting out of their tight security uniforms, their buttons posing like ground to air missiles, were required to survey my package, my luggage.
I offered to assist the ladies by placing my within-weight-limit back-packs on the MRI. Without a word, they shook their heads and sniggered knowing they simply didn’t need some wimpy, pasty yeshiva lad for this one.
Buzz bizz, the specimens enter through the giant sausage machine, and on the screen the purples and the whites express something obscure, something alien, something that says ‘sweet gsus that’s just not normal’.
The pony tailed one comes over to me, ‘sir, we have noticed something that needs identification, would you mind if we open your bag?. Squeakily I respond, ‘uh, sure, I apologise in advance for any dirty, skiddied traumas.’ I go through the files in my head-any herbs, any white powders, any body parts-i can’t recall packing any of the above.
one by one, they slap on the rubber gloves, thwack thwack and start digging. ‘I got it’ she says.
Looking like 2 condoms stuffed with macadamia nuts, my two bags brimmed with 4 and a half months of middle-eastern sun stained clammy clothes. The front desk couldn’t handle them and so they were sent to the small security and x-ray zapping machine to the side to be checked in. There some fat bastard with a shiny badge sitting by with a displeased grin posed along the safety deposit lift. before I got to introduce myself and my two haggis-like bags to him and his over grown handle-bar moustache, two girls bursting out of their tight security uniforms, their buttons posing like ground to air missiles, were required to survey my package, my luggage.
I offered to assist the ladies by placing my within-weight-limit back-packs on the MRI. Without a word, they shook their heads and sniggered knowing they simply didn’t need some wimpy, pasty yeshiva lad for this one.
Buzz bizz, the specimens enter through the giant sausage machine, and on the screen the purples and the whites express something obscure, something alien, something that says ‘sweet gsus that’s just not normal’.
The pony tailed one comes over to me, ‘sir, we have noticed something that needs identification, would you mind if we open your bag?. Squeakily I respond, ‘uh, sure, I apologise in advance for any dirty, skiddied traumas.’ I go through the files in my head-any herbs, any white powders, any body parts-i can’t recall packing any of the above.
one by one, they slap on the rubber gloves, thwack thwack and start digging. ‘I got it’ she says.
A bag of Leanne’s ones ‘n two’s, shoes.
‘Sir how come you have women’s ones-and-twos in your bag? I say, ‘oh, so my wife, uh they’re my wife’s shoes, she asked me to bring them cos her bag was full and i’m so angry with her now, im gona scream and shout like a raging banshee, argh!!, well not really, huh nervous *giggle giggle*
Specimen number two, now it’s you. Biizzz buzz. And it’s through. ‘sir, seems we have more to extract, no need to fear, we do this all the time.’
ruffle ruffle dig dig. ‘got it’. Out pops a hair dryer and a bag of pasta. They’re laid to rest in the specimen tray.’hmm, i’m thinking, one could be a weapon at a stretch and a blow, and the other could give you constipation, but other than that, surely i’m innocent?.’
‘Sir how come you have women’s ones-and-twos in your bag? I say, ‘oh, so my wife, uh they’re my wife’s shoes, she asked me to bring them cos her bag was full and i’m so angry with her now, im gona scream and shout like a raging banshee, argh!!, well not really, huh nervous *giggle giggle*
Specimen number two, now it’s you. Biizzz buzz. And it’s through. ‘sir, seems we have more to extract, no need to fear, we do this all the time.’
ruffle ruffle dig dig. ‘got it’. Out pops a hair dryer and a bag of pasta. They’re laid to rest in the specimen tray.’hmm, i’m thinking, one could be a weapon at a stretch and a blow, and the other could give you constipation, but other than that, surely i’m innocent?.’
With her rubber gloved hands she beckons me. ‘uhm, that’s my wife’s too’. ‘sir, is it new? uh I think it’s like 4 months old. ‘Okay its fine. And sir, the pasta?. What’s with the pasta?’. Feeling a little daft, and just wanting to break any silence with lots of babbling talk I tell the security lady that, well, we’d been staying in an apartment in Jerusalem and when we left I didn’t want to waste or leave behind anything so I brought it along. I was brought up never wasting, for there are starving Ethiopians who could do with a bag of pasta. I continue by telling the svelte cop that my wife bought it at the store and well we didn’t eat it since I don’t eat carbohydrates.’
‘the ‘i-don’t-eat-carbohydrates’ swung the whole precarious shoe bomber investigation in my favour. The more bulbous of the two asked me about my diet. ‘whaaaat, you haven’t heard of High Fat Low Carb? i pique her perky interest. She tells me she’s been trying to lose weight. Im now comforted and my chips are on the table and im holding 4 aces.”eat all the fat you can, google Tim Noakes, cut out the on-board nuts.’
and well they let me go my way, she smiling, me informative, and Tim Noakes saving the day.
go on, Get High, and Get Fat
the Russian Bear Hunter.
and well they let me go my way, she smiling, me informative, and Tim Noakes saving the day.
go on, Get High, and Get Fat
the Russian Bear Hunter.
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