Safety Precautions.

In her novel, Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver relates the tale of a Southern Baptist missionary to the Congo in 1959 through the eyes of his four daughters. Early in the story, Leah recounts the difficulties they faced in determining what to pack: latrine spade or hand mirror, aspirin tablets or canned ham, and of course, powdered cake mix. Their plans were complicated, however, by the luggage restrictions enforced by the airline that was to fly them across the Atlantic.

"Getting here with even the bare minimum was a trial. Just when we considered ourselves fully prepared and were fixing to depart, lo and behold, we learned that the Pan American Airline would only allow forty-four pounds to be carried across the ocean. Forty-four pounds of luggage per person, and not one iota more. Why, we were dismayed by this bad news!" (14)

After weeding out some less-essential essentials, like the eldest daughter's beloved toiletries, their luggage was still overweight, not surprising since, as Leah put it, they carried the "full measure of civilization's evils" they would have access to during the one year mission (14). Eventually, however, with some hints from the Mission League, they stumble upon this creative solution:

"Through an oversight (or else probably, if you think about it, just plain politeness), they don't weigh the passengers. ... We struck out for Africa carrying all our excess baggage on our bodies, under our clothes. Also, we had clothes under our clothes. My sisters and I left home wearing six pairs of underdrawers, two half-slips and camisoles; several dresses one on top of the other, with pedal pushers underneath; and outside of everything an all-weather coat. ... The other goods, tools, cake-mix boxes and so forth were tucked out of sight in our pockets and under our waist-bands, surrounding us in a clanking armor. We wore our best dresses on the outside to make a good impression." (15)

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The above passage came to my mind a week and a half ago as I waited for my flight from London to Philadelphia. It was Sunday morning, more than 24 hours after I landed at Heathrow International Airport. After two cancelled flights, sight-seeing with a good friend, and a night spent fighting jet lag in my complimentary hotel room, I was tired of traveling. According to the Departures board, my flight was still on, and I had rechecked my luggage.

When I reached the Security check-in, the officer read my ticket before eying my backpack and carry-on bag. She then informed me that new regulations forbid more than one piece of hand luggage on flights bound for the US. Never mind that all their signs still stated that travelers could carry one smaller piece of luggage plus a briefcase/laptop bag/etc. Granted, my backpack was a bit fuller than necessary for just a laptop, but that wasn't what she was taking issue with: "Ma'am, you need to either put everything into one bag, or check another piece of luggage."

Now, remember that I hadn't slept more than 8 hours in the past 50, I had already stood in three long lines this morning, and the deathly cold had settled into my bones: I was a bit snappish in response to this woman, demanding that she return my passport and ticket so I could go away and think a bit, then suggesting that they publicize such new restrictions more widely.

I found a seat and spent a few minutes contemplating my best course of action (despite the coffee I'd had earlier, my mind wasn't working too quickly at this point). My carry-on actually wasn't too full: mostly winter clothes in case my luggage didn't arrive at the same time as I did; I'd already removed a couple kilos of mangoes as a gift to my friend the previous day. My backpack held my laptop, a few books (I've learned never to put in my luggage anything that I can't stand to live without), my favorite blanket, and my travel documents - but there was no way I could just stuff it inside the other bag.

My eventual solution was like that of the Prices in Kingsolver's novel, though I didn't have any cake mixes to worry about. Grateful for bathroom stalls as large as most walk-in closets, I sorted through the clothes in my carry-on. I was already wearing undergarments, tank top, button-up shirt, sweater, jeans, belt, socks, sneakers, coat, scarf, and quite a bit of jewelry. I added the two shirts I had been wearing the previous day, a skirt, a second pair of socks, and a second scarf, tying my hoodie around my waist like a third grader. Into the pockets of my coat went my travel documents, passport, money, ipod, hat, gloves, and zip-loc bag with lotion, toothpaste, etc. Everything else, backpack and laptop included, got stuffed into my carry-on bag, and I traipsed back to Security.

After getting past the officer at the first desk, I then stood in line to go through the metal detectors. At the front, I piled into the bins: laptop, coat, ziploc bag, hoodie, shoes, belt, and carry-on bag. Waiting to bundle up again on the other side, my anxiety spiked again when the officers pulled my zip-loc bag out of the bin and started checking the things inside it. "Pardon me, is there a problem?" I asked as they opened the bottle of cough syrup that I was using to fight a 2-day-old cold. No problem, they just wanted to "test" it.

Two hours later, waiting in line to get my bag hand-searched and my body patted down so I could enter the gate, I learned the reasons for these new precautions from other passengers: America was still on super-alert since the last plane bombing attempt. Personally, though, as I stretched out my arms for yet another officer to ensure that I wasn't packing explosives, I didn't really feel any safer.

I just felt tired. And annoyed.