Fear of Flying

Flying has indeed become terrifying for many folks, but sometimes more because of the security measures than anything. When I went on line yesterday, I was confronted with a disturbing picture of an airport security officer giving a man in a business suit what appeared to be a hand job. All in the name of an "orange alert." Maybe it was just his game face, but I could swear I detected a bit of a leer in the frisker's expression. I couldn't see the "friskee's" face, but I would imagine his appearance was not one of relaxed pleasure. Especially since the officer seriously appeared to be on the verge of doing a taste test. Very thorough.

I am by no means a white knuckle flyer, but, up until seeing that picture, I have had no problem with the post 9/11 security delays. I must admit I've done my own secret share of racial and ethnic profiling as I've sat in gate areas awaiting my flight. And, I admit I've often been puzzled by the rigor with which airline personnel will question and search folks who just don't fit the bill, when I know for a fact that several swarthy acquaintances of Middle Eastern descent, Americans who would submit willingly to a little additional grilling, routinely breeze through security without so much as a raise of an eyebrow.

Actually, I think my mother is on some kind of watch list, and I swear I did not put her there. How else can I explain the fact that she gets pulled over for some extra special frisking every time she flies? I remember watching helplessly a few years ago as this elderly, thin, stylish woman had every inch of her mink clad frame patted down by an airport security officer in Paris, who then proceeded to open and search every meticulously wrapped Louis Vuitton package she carried. Maybe they had good reason to believe she was a threat to international security, and not just to her own bank account and to her decidedly unfashionable daughter's psyche. Or maybe they had just never seen so many designer shopping bags on one woman's arm. But wait -- this was Paris! Pick on someone your own size, guys.

Well intentioned policies do have a tendency to run amok. Like the code of conduct at a well-known university attended by a boy I know, who was recently dragged through the mud by some girl who filed a sexual harassment claim against him, and thrown to the wolves by an administration so in fear of reprisals by "protected groups" that it has abandoned every shred of common sense. Hell hath no fury like a woman (or a man, for that matter) scorned, but sexual harassment policies were not, as far as I know, created to avenge your basic teenage blow-off. The complaint described a victim of what appeared to be nothing more than hurt pride; it was about as thin as the paper on which it was drafted. This girl, who was shamelessly airing her sour grapes by maligning the boy mercilessly on Facebook on the off chance the university would choose logic over a politically incorrect decision, was needlessly covering all the bases. The mere mention of sexual harassment, however implausible the case may be, gets academics quivering. I can only hope they don't become jaded by the silly cases, and will be appropriately vigilant when a girl comes in with a real complaint against a guy who has done something a bit more coercive and threatening than failing to call after a "hook-up."

I suppose there's good news in all of this. If I want to guarantee myself a hassle free security check at the airport next week, I'll wrap myself in a burqa and wear a suspiciously bulky vest underneath. And if I get pissed off at a man (like that ever happens!) I'll just sue. Tort reform is a long way away, and if I play my cards right, I can probably get enough of an award to pay for my divorce, with a little left over for a down payment on a trailer.