Born to Hand Job-I Mean Jive

I am once again sitting in the peaceful confines of the Southern Home, after barely escaping the latest "snowmageddon" yesterday morning. No gloating from this girl. I know that I got out just in time. But I still cannot help but chuckle at the latest in a string of airport travel experiences that seems to lump me together with others of like skin tone. What, you say? That would be racial profiling and we do no such thing in North America! Bullshit, says I although I know that I could never conclusively prove it. How is it then, that I am ALWAYS (and I mean, ALWAYS) singled out and targeted for full on inspections at every airport from which and into which I fly? A Facebook friend yesterday reminded me of my somewhat swarthy appearance-smooth dark hair, olive skin and eyebrows that need to be tamed, lest I resemble Bert from Sesame Street-but c'mon. Enough already. On to yesterday's up close and personal account.

I was travelling alone. Probably my first mistake. Suspicious people always travel alone, don't they? I didn't have any luggage except for a backpack. Mistake number two, although in today's day of luggage fees most people are attempting to cram two weeks worth of personal belongings into oversized carry-ons. I used my NEXUS card to skirt the customs and immigration lines. Not a mistake. I still highly recommend this. Shaved at least 1/2 hour-forty minutes off of my experience. I walked towards the security lines when a turbaned gentleman in an official looking CATSA uniform approached me and pulled me over. He was quite a lovely man, very soft spoken and almost apologetic in his tone that he had to inconvenience me in such a manner. My question still remains. Why me? Why not the guy with multiple tattoos and piercings following directly behind me? Why not the briefcase-toting, frazzled-looking businessman? Why not the entire Asian family that had trouble locating their travel documents? WHY ME? He asked me to hold out my hands while he scanned them for traces of explosives. He grinned as he did it and then smiled as he told me that I popped positive. WHAT?? Me? The leftist, pinko socialist (or so The Li'l Bro believes!) that thinks weapons should be banned for the collective good. Me! The girl who needed tutoring in Grade 13 chemistry, and can't remember the difference between a mole, a compound, or an ester. Oh my God!! The nice turbaned guy told me that I shouldn't worry. I was the third woman in the last hour that blew the machine and it was probably a compound (?) in my makeup or lotion that was setting off his sensors. Isn't it nice to know that Western civilization is being kept safe from Estee Lauder and Oil of Olay? He needed to get a supervisor and I could then be on my way.

It took fifteen minutes for Claudia to arrive. Another lovely person working for CATSA who seems to know that there are major flaws in their systems. She informed me that she would have to take me into a separate room and ask me some questions, but not to worry-it was all very routine. Claudia asks me for my name, birthdate and finally for my profession. I tell her that I am a cantorial soloist and she immediately looks at me quizzically. I start to explain, but she stops me. "I know you", she says. "Are you at Temple ......?" "You play the guitar, right?" I am about to answer, but she excitedly tells me that she is at our sister congregation on the other side of Yonge Street, that she knows my colleagues there and she begins to play Toronto Jewish geography with me. She immediately apologizes for the hassles that I am currently undergoing, and she promises that she will have me out in 5 minutes. I still undergo the full body strip search, with special emphasis on feeling me up and around my lady parts, and they ripped apart all of my carry-on baggage-checking each and every item for explosive residue-but sure enough Claudia was true to her word. I was on my way in 5 minutes. She came over to me, shook my hand, and promised to come and visit us on an upcoming Shabbat.

I am still uncertain why it is that I am forced to undergo these procedures each and every trip, when my blond haired, blue-eyed friend simply saunters right through. Racial profiling is indeed a fact of our travel lives, even though every single official will deny it exists. I am a living, breathing example of the treatment. But for one brief moment of clarity and karma I had a landsman friend in the right place and at the right time. Claudia was right. It IS all about who you know.

Stay warm and dry my friends.