People who know me well, will not be surprised, but now it’s official. I am Iron Man. No shadow of a doubt. I have a gazillion security officers who are willing to testify: this guy’s made of iron. Pure steel. It becomes almost embarrassing. Each time I queue up happily @ airport security, I go through The Ritual: ipod, jacket, wedding ring, coins, Bluetooth headset, phone, wallet, pen, … go neatly in the tiny box. But hey, I am a co-operating citizen: Diesel belt, sturdy shoes and 180 grams of Breitling watch follow.
As the security officer looks suspiciously @ the tiny cupper logo of my Burlington socks, I take them out. And then: the dreadful moment when I walk casually through the softly buzzing detector. Oh yes. Depending on the airport, it shrieks, whistles, groans, and shoots inhuman amounts of decibels at random. Security officers do and re-do their thing, waving Star Trek like detectors all around me. They beep. I know. I am Iron Man. Potential Threat and Danger. I tangle up security officers for insane amounts of time. Even stripped (pardon my French) I beep.
And by the way: these are not freckles on my face. Just the rusty ends of my nerves of steel…
