Coonridge Digest: An exasperatin’ ordeal

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

London hasn’t changed much, but the process of gettin’ there has turned a flip-flop. The 4,000 miles from St. Louis to London is still an inconveniently tolerable sojourn, but the 40 yards between the ticket desk and the plane has become an exasperatin’ ordeal.

The government wonders if the new security procedures are makin’ any difference. Since they’ve yet to call and ask me, I’ll tell ‘em anyway.

Freida Marie’s Observations on air travel, 2002.

1. I have discovered the root of world terrorism: Ben Laden is bein’ sponsored by the manufacturers of scissors. It’s the one item they’ll never let you carry on a plane and it’s the one that’s absolutely indispensable once you get to your destination. The boys at the scissors factory have devised a plot to make you own a pair on each side of the ocean.

(Of course the fact that they won’t allow sharp objects on planes was a pure joy to Herb and it’s all that allowed that old dull blade I married to get on.)

There is absolutely no packaging nowadays that you can rip open with your fingers. Everything in your hotel room, from coffee to shampoo is now protected by a bomb-proof plastic wrapper that no set of dentures in the world can penetrate. I personally wrestled a packet of Nescafe to the carpet of our London hotel room. And the soap was labeled with a sort of Joke of the Day, which read, "Tear here." Like heck, Hilda. And my conscience has forced me to make an admission: I have never stolen a hotel towel or bar of soap in my life, but in case any maids at the Holiday Inn South Kensington read this, those are my denture marks on the TV’s remote control. By the time our stay had ended I was so used to bitin’ things to get ‘em open that I mistakenly attacked the remote.

The scissors makers are financin’ Ben Laden and somebody needs to look into it while we’ve still got teeth.

2. I appreciate the National Guard bein’ on duty but does it seem strange to you that their camouflaged uniforms, designed to make them blend in, now make these soldiers the most conspicuous thing in the airport?

3. We ain’t got it all that bad. When Herb and I went down to the local Tube Station to buy our Travel Cards, it was closed because of a bomb threat. When I asked a Bobby if we were in any danger, he replied, "Oh it’s a daily inconvenience. Once we find the bugger you’ll be on your way."

4. The best way to put up with the newest airport security is the Kidney Stone Rule: This too will pass. Shut up and put up with it. I stood in line behind one jerk who refused to walk across the six feet of carpet to retrieve his shoes. He demanded they be carried to him. If they’d not been so watchful for any signs of passenger violence, I’d of suggested a new and excitin’ place to stick his shoes. I’m goin’ to London to see performances. I don’t need any in the airport.

5. Sewin’ buttons on your suspenders works. It’s the first and only good idea Herb Crump has ever had. Of course when he tried to reenter the country with his customary metal clips, the security man’s wand went off like a terrorist on steroids.

6. Airport security is a great way to bond with your fellow passengers.

Soon as we touched down in London we made friends with a delightful couple from Atlanta and spent most of the next few days hobnobbin’ with the southerners. But our relationship was never so close as we stood sock-footed, defrocked, and stripped to the essentials in the Gatwick Airport security line. There’s somethin’ about bein’ scanned in public that can make a lastin’ relationship.

7. Although I’m sure it was an oversight, you’ve informed the American public about the new security measures, you’ve told the press, and you’ve even done a pretty good job of cluein’ in the terrorists, so would it be too much to ask of you to tell the airlines? They’re still schedulin’ flights so close together that the only way to make your connection is to strip naked and run through the airport shoutin’ "I’m clean! I’m clean!"

Finally, Herb is an idiot. This has nothin’ to do with airport security. I just thought I’d throw it in. When faced with an entire airport full of yackers with cell phones permanently attached to their ears, I looked over and saw that my husband had pulled the insole out of his shoes as was talkin’ on it. He allowed as how he looked strange without his own phone and that it made him feel more secure. I told him, "Herb, your Doctor Shoals label is a dead giveaway," but he smiled and continued to buy 2000 shares of IBM. There’s little to fear from a crazed terrorist when you’re married to a lunatic old boob.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.