I've recieved some light-hearted ribbing in the past couple of years over my bearded resemblance to Osama Bin Laden. While I prefer to think of it as the "Jesus look" myself, I've discovered that the Polish Air Police disagree.
The ordeal began in an innocent enough way. When I checked in for my flight from Krakow to Berlin I was asked if I had a visa for Germany. Trick question? I wasn't aware I required one as a New Zealand citizen on holiday. When I said this, she thought about it, then agreed and gave me my ticket.
Familiar by now with airport security, I've managed to streamline my preparation process so I have as little fluster as possible. I take off my jacket and hoodie, place the hoodie inside the jacket, and close it. Next I take out all of my metal things such as phone, iPod, keys and coins. These go into a jacket pocket. Then I proceed to the queue, and all I have to do is lay down my jacket and bag, take off my belt, and walk through the metal detector, all in one fluid, graceful motion. I like to think the security appreciate and admire such efficient style.
So far so good. But today the x-ray machine picked up some questionable items in my backpack. I was taken to the side and started to have a dig around to grab the blocks of stone carvings in question. It must have been too slow for the army outfitted security man. He mumbled something in Polish, grabbed my bag and checked out my Polish vodka before finding the slabs of stone. After banging them together for a bit, and supposedly weighing up the potential damage one could do with a head between them, he decided they were ok; I was free to go.
Just as I'd finished packing my things back into the bag, another official came up behind me and requested that I follow him. I turned around and he waved me into an open-ended cubicle, like an elongated doorway, with a black square painted in the centre beneath the frame. The cubicle had two flashing green lights at eye-level on the far side. I walked in and when I reached the black square, they changed to red.
A calm, automated female voice came through an overhead speaker, "Please - stand - still... ... please - stand - still... ... please - stand - still... ..." A moment later she said, "Air-pressure on", at which point small blasts of air shot successively up my body from my feet to my shoulders. I got a helluva fright. I was expecting this to be another metal detector. She then switched back to her "Please stand still" mode.
After about a minute the lights went green and the security officer told me to come out and stand at the door. On this side he was looking into a computer screen waiting for the results. I waited a bit then ventured (in my best politely-inquiring voice) "May I ask what this machine does?". He stared at the screen for a another few seconds before half-glancing over his shoulder, "It is an explosives detector."
The computer printed out its findings receipt. I peered over his shoulder to read what it said: in big capital letters at the top it read: "EXPLOSIVES DETECTED".
Up until this point, I thought this was quite a funny experience to have. Now I was envisaging more of a cavity search experience. Then I remembered that I wasn't carrying any explosives, which made me feel at least slightly better.
The officer looked down at this receipt, then turned to me again, and in his monotonous english-as-second-language voice said, "We are going to have to do the test again".
So I walk back around and into the machine. The lights, the voice, the air, the lights. I walk off. The receipt.
I didn't see the receipt this time, but it must've been ok, because I was allowed to go - relieved at the non-cavity-search but somewhat perplexed that a 50/50 result of explosive detection was supposedly not great, but good enough to fly.
