How I Ambushed Airport Security with a Tiny Purple Laser Gun
I never thought they’d actually confiscate my gun. I was eight years old. I didn’t even know what confiscate meant.
My carry-on backpack held all the trappings of an elementary school boy: Walkman, magic markers, a few Garfield coloring books, and a travel tic-tac-toe game.
But the new pride of my toy box was Shockwave: a purple, plastic toy robot able to transform into a laser pistol in five seconds flat. When he wasn’t battling evil archrivals in robot form, he and I were saving the world one space age gun battle at a time. My grandparents had just gifted him to me for Christmas. I nearly tore out my mother’s eyeballs when she insisted I put him away and go to bed.
Nearing the end of our holiday vacation that year, it was time for Mom and I to say our last goodbyes to our northern relatives. With hugs and waves exchanged, we stepped out of the frigid New England air into the warmth and hustle of Boston’s Logan International Airport to board a plane homeward bound for Florida.
We were unaware that the next five minutes would indelibly change our lives.
At the security checkpoint, she removed my backpack, threw it onto the conveyor belt and ushered me through the metal detector. Within seconds, the entire line grinded to a halt. The conveyor lit up like a Christmas tree with the operator frantically shouting security codes at every uniformed guard within ear shot. I was barely in third grade, but I knew what “red alert” sounded like in the movies and this was deep red – crimson even.
An agent removed my pack from the machine with a level of care usually reserved for nuclear bombs and newborn babies. He, along with a crowd of armed security guards, instantly snapped to attention and surrounded me.
Staring my mother down, he sternly asked, “Is there a weapon in this bag, ma’am?”
“A weapon? Please. Shockwave isn’t just a weapon. He’s a Transformer!” I thought. Shame I wasn’t mature enough to roll my eyes at him in disdain.
Instead, in one blissfully ignorant childlike act, I lunged toward the bag, shoving my hand inside to proudly show them that Shockwave and I were on their side. Within seconds, ten men flanked the security post, pointing guns at me and anyone who so much as looked twitchy. The air froze with the halted gasps of passengers as the agents radioed for immediate backup.
It was the most surreal experience of my young life, a scene out of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation: a dozen armed TSA agents, pistols drawn, encircling a dumbfounded eight year old boy clutching a purple plastic laser gun; my mother gasping, helpless and confused; and the nearby food court radio cheerfully belting out Burl Ives’ “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas”, while hundreds of holiday travelers carried on, delightfully unaware of the terrorist robot gun standoff unfolding mere yards away.
Free of a firm and mature grasp of the gravity of my situation, I defused it the only way I knew how: with the shy, “aw shucks” precociousness of a child.
“It’s just a toy,” I said calmly, as though that’s all they wanted to hear. “It’s a Transformer.” How could anyone in the universe not know that?
“Wha … what? Show me,” replied the guard nearest me with an air of cautious authority. He reached in and slowly handed it to me, keeping his palm inches from the gun and ready to snap it away at the slightest whiff of any sudden move.
I began proudly and expertly clicking all of Shockwave’s robot parts into place. In mere seconds, I’d demonstrated his remarkable transformation from laser gun to robot hero before a crowd of frightened and bewildered onlookers.
Fortunately, we were allowed through with a wink and a curt apology. Were we to try that stunt in today’s alarmist, post-9/11 world where shampoo and baby formula are terrorist contraband, we’d still be serving out an indefinite “guest” sentence at Guantanamo Bay.
But I’m confident everyone learned something that day.
The airport security guards found that real guns are, in fact, not purple and plastic. Nor do they require batteries and elicit space laser sounds.
My mother learned that TSA agents are perhaps a little too crazy - a lesson that seems truer today that it was then. That day, I think she also vowed that I would be her one and only child, lest some trigger-happy Men in Black types ever again try to snipe one of her babies.
And me? I confirmed what I knew all along: Shockwave was definitely the coolest Transformer ever. After all, he and I nearly took down New England’s largest international airport at Christmas and I never even had to let him out of my backpack. http://www.vagabondish.com
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How I Ambushed Airport Security with a Tiny Purple Laser Gun
I never thought they’d actually confiscate my gun. I was eight years old. I didn’t even know what confiscate meant.
My carry-on backpack held all the trappings of an elementary school boy: Walkman, magic markers, a few Garfield coloring books, and a travel tic-tac-toe game.
But the new pride of my toy box was Shockwave: a purple, plastic toy robot able to transform into a laser pistol in five seconds flat. When he wasn’t battling evil archrivals in robot form, he and I were saving the world one space age gun battle at a time. My grandparents had just gifted him to me for Christmas. I nearly tore out my mother’s eyeballs when she insisted I put him away and go to bed.
Nearing the end of our holiday vacation that year, it was time for Mom and I to say our last goodbyes to our northern relatives. With hugs and waves exchanged, we stepped out of the frigid New England air into the warmth and hustle of Boston’s Logan International Airport to board a plane homeward bound for Florida.
We were unaware that the next five minutes would indelibly change our lives.
At the security checkpoint, she removed my backpack, threw it onto the conveyor belt and ushered me through the metal detector. Within seconds, the entire line grinded to a halt. The conveyor lit up like a Christmas tree with the operator frantically shouting security codes at every uniformed guard within ear shot. I was barely in third grade, but I knew what “red alert” sounded like in the movies and this was deep red – crimson even.
An agent removed my pack from the machine with a level of care usually reserved for nuclear bombs and newborn babies. He, along with a crowd of armed security guards, instantly snapped to attention and surrounded me.
Staring my mother down, he sternly asked, “Is there a weapon in this bag, ma’am?”
“A weapon? Please. Shockwave isn’t just a weapon. He’s a Transformer!” I thought. Shame I wasn’t mature enough to roll my eyes at him in disdain.
Instead, in one blissfully ignorant childlike act, I lunged toward the bag, shoving my hand inside to proudly show them that Shockwave and I were on their side. Within seconds, ten men flanked the security post, pointing guns at me and anyone who so much as looked twitchy. The air froze with the halted gasps of passengers as the agents radioed for immediate backup.
It was the most surreal experience of my young life, a scene out of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation: a dozen armed TSA agents, pistols drawn, encircling a dumbfounded eight year old boy clutching a purple plastic laser gun; my mother gasping, helpless and confused; and the nearby food court radio cheerfully belting out Burl Ives’ “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas”, while hundreds of holiday travelers carried on, delightfully unaware of the terrorist robot gun standoff unfolding mere yards away.
Free of a firm and mature grasp of the gravity of my situation, I defused it the only way I knew how: with the shy, “aw shucks” precociousness of a child.
“It’s just a toy,” I said calmly, as though that’s all they wanted to hear. “It’s a Transformer.” How could anyone in the universe not know that?
“Wha … what? Show me,” replied the guard nearest me with an air of cautious authority. He reached in and slowly handed it to me, keeping his palm inches from the gun and ready to snap it away at the slightest whiff of any sudden move.
I began proudly and expertly clicking all of Shockwave’s robot parts into place. In mere seconds, I’d demonstrated his remarkable transformation from laser gun to robot hero before a crowd of frightened and bewildered onlookers.
Fortunately, we were allowed through with a wink and a curt apology. Were we to try that stunt in today’s alarmist, post-9/11 world where shampoo and baby formula are terrorist contraband, we’d still be serving out an indefinite “guest” sentence at Guantanamo Bay.
But I’m confident everyone learned something that day.
The airport security guards found that real guns are, in fact, not purple and plastic. Nor do they require batteries and elicit space laser sounds.
My mother learned that TSA agents are perhaps a little too crazy - a lesson that seems truer today that it was then. That day, I think she also vowed that I would be her one and only child, lest some trigger-happy Men in Black types ever again try to snipe one of her babies.
And me? I confirmed what I knew all along: Shockwave was definitely the coolest Transformer ever. After all, he and I nearly took down New England’s largest international airport at Christmas and I never even had to let him out of my backpack.
http://www.vagabondish.com
Mike Richard, Contest, 01/10/2008