  Security at Toronto's Lester B. Pearson airport is very strict. It is also exceedingly polite. Maybe I looked like a terrorist, or like I was smuggling drugs (I was wearing hippie orthopedic clogs), but I was a marked woman on Monday. Coming through the metal detectors, I set off an alarm as my one carryon also was x-rayed and deemed to have suspicious material. I went through the detector twice, once with shoes and once without. Then I was wanded.
I think my jeans zipper or rivets may have been setting it off, but no matter. I still got patted down. A petite, very manly female security agent with a thick and nasal French Canadienne accent came up to me. "I must pat you down. May I? " She waited.
I didn't think she was really waiting for an answer, but after a moment, I said, typically American-ly, "Uh, yeah. " She wanded me some more, and then felt the areas that were setting off the detector--rivets, outside button and zipper. Then the wand went off near my chest--most likely because of the underwire. She asked again, "May I check? If you are wearing a bra, it may be the underwire" and I replied, "That's probably it, since it is an underwire. " So she felt for the underwire as John laughed his fool head off at me, was deemed secure, thanked for my patience, and then I got to the next security agent who was waiting for me with my suitcase.
He was another little security agent, but he was Indian and had a thick Indian accent to boot. He asked me to open my suitcase, please and thank you included, and then began rifling through my items. "What is this? " He asked pointing at my evening purse decorated to look like the Anick Goutal parfumerie in Paris. "It's a purse. " I opened it for him.
"Ahh. Thank you. And what are these? " He pointed to my clear zippered vinyl bags that I keep my toiletries in. Aparently the deodorant bottle and toothbrush weren't explanation enough. "Those are my toiletries.
" "What's in this silver bottle? May I open it? " "Yes, it's soap. " "Liquid soap? " He said this incredulously, as he opened the bottle and sniffed it. "It smells funny.
" He gave me a dirty look, like it was some sort of drug or biological substance of which I have no concept of since I'm an English major. "It's organic citrus-thyme body wash." I try not to roll my eyes. "Oh. Okay. " He puts away the toiletries bags and then turns to my mesh pouch on the inside of the suitcase. "Is this cough syrup?
Do you have a cough? " "Yes I've been having allergy issues. " The woman behind me is desperately trying not to laugh. "What about these? " He holds up my two prescription containers, both clearly labelled. "The Celexa is an anti-depressant and the Neurontin is a mood-regulator.
" I try not to cringe. "Oh. What are they for? " The woman behind me begins to laugh openly. I'm glad, because I can't, because mounties might arrest me. "One makes me not sad and the other regulates my moods.
" And combined, they keep me from losing my patience and ripping off people's heads first thing in the morning when they ask me stupid questions!!!! "Oh. And what's this? " He holds up a baggie with a tube of clear liquid in it. John sits on the ground about 50 feet away and laughs uncontrollably. "Oh, that's my personal lubricant.
" The security agent thanks me for my time and sends me on my way. The woman behind me pats me on the shoulder, and says in a Irish accent, "Well my dear, so much for hiding the dirty laundry! " I laughed. Indeed. Then the same thing happened pretty much verbatim before boarding the plane. I only wish I had one of those gigantic porn-quality vibrators that's purple and glittery and veiny for security to question me about.
Ha! 
