Nine

Nine.

There were nine folks in front of me who’s age had to be somewhere near double mine.

Maybe this was the standard deal for an early Saturday morning flight – I’m not sure. The impressive thing isn’t that 9 people of that age could still fly to New England (or walk through the airport…what ever). The amazing thing was that all nine of them set off the metal detector.

Every one.

Now I know what you’re thinking. It had to be pace-makers or titanium hips but that wasn’t the case. The first guy had to take off a wrist watch that was only slightly smaller than Big Ben another gentleman had a stainless steel comb big enough to double as a lawn rake. It wasn’t just the guys. One woman had a necklace that would make a gangster rapper drool while another was packing bracelets the size of hula hoops.

Had these people never been through airport security before? Did they think they could dial 911, say “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” followed by “I don’t know where I am – use the helicopter with the metal detector and find me!”? The mystery completely eludes me but it was comprehensive and total.

I was thinking it had to be some sort of anomaly I finally got to the front of the security line. I made eye contact with the TSA agent and was waved through the metal detector without incident. Upon clearing the cavity search section I heard a loud thunk behind me as someone dropped a large magnet (or car alternator) I can’t be sure, into the scan tray.

Turning I saw four more folks behind me that made the nine people in front look like middle school students. They were bent forward as the more experienced members of our populas often are. The woman at the front walked through the detector, setting it off. Throwing a small fit as the guard asked her to go back and remove her metal she pulled massive C-Clamp ear rings off and dropped them in the tray that was offered by the security agent.

As she was unhooking her “tire chains” neck decoration the epiphany hit me – she stood taller as the ear rings came off. The tire chain necklace cemented the realization. As she dumped the neck armor into the tray she stood as straight as a marine guarding the tomb of the unknown soldier . She then walked through the detector, avoiding the alarm.

I hung back among the old folks who were still working to get a shoe on and waited. Sure enough, as she put the junkyard of accessories back, on she was slowly bent forward under the weight until she was once again hooked over in a posture where she could truly admire the blue toe protruding from her dark hosiery.

So now I get it. It isn’t curvature of the spine or weaker muscles that offer us a view of the blue hair follicles – it’s the metal. It’s all that metal.