My mother is visiting for a few days and I picked her up at the airport last night. As we drove home, she told me a little story about her dealings with the TSA at the D/FW airport.
First they took her can of frosting and made her throw it away. (Don’t ask me why she was bringing frosting.)
Next they wanted to seize a fairly expensive bottle of moisturizing liquid. “Liquids must be three ounces or less,” the guy told her.
“But this is a six-ounce bottle and it’s less than half full,” she said.
“We have to go by what it says on the bottle,” he said.
My mom also had with her one of those single-size two-ounce bottles of mouthwash. “Can I just pour out the mouthwash and put the moisturizing liquid in this two-ounce bottle?” she asked.
“It doesn’t work that way,” she was told.
So she threw the bottle of moisturizing liquid away.
But my mom is a frugal lady. My sisters and I spent our childhood in the car, being carted from one store to the next while my mom looked for the best bargains.
So she asked another TSA guy: “My luggage to be checked is right over there. Could I put the moisturizing liquid in it?” He said it was okay. So she dug the bottle of mouthwash out of the trash, went out of security — and went to a bathroom, where she performed the prohibited act of transferring the moisturizing liquid into the mouthwash bottle. Most of it fit into the two-ounce bottle.
She then went back through security. The guy who had told her that she wasn’t allowed to transfer the liquids was still there. A different person looked at her carry-on bag with the liquids, and asked Mr. Don’t Transfer the Liquids if her carry-on bag was OK. “Yeah, I already checked it,” he said, without giving it a second look.
She told me this story as we raced along the 110 Freeway. She added: “But they let me bring some cheese and grapes on board.” I munched on a few of the grapes as she said: “I wonder how they knew these grapes weren’t all little bombs.”
I laughed and munched on a few more grapes.
There was a lull in the conversation as I drove further down the freeway.
Then my mom said: “But they didn’t give me any trouble over my hypodermic needle . . .”