Bags only sir

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A small anecdote:

Washington was my favorite part of our East Coast tour for SB 05. Kyle, Bri, Kelley and I had a great time together. My last visit there was during a 7th grade D.C. trip with Mr. Memmelaar when Linsey Bradshaw was my girlfriend. I believe I talked to her twice on that trip, but hey--you can't hurry love, right? Now she's probably kicking down doors and arresting drug dealers with SDPD; she always was a bit rough to me.

Anyway, this time, things were different in Washington. Since 9-11, every place feels like an airport because of the tightened security. On our way into the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, I was ready for the same routine that we had been following all that day.

"Place your bags on the x-ray belt and walk through the metal detector," the old man lazily mumbled as if the phrase had become a burden to repeat. But I was ready for him and his little procedure. Since I hate buzzing while going through the metal detectors, I had everything remotely metal in my jacket so I could simply hand him the jacket and slip through the metal detector, undetected.

"Here's my jacket," I said in an extremely pleasant tone (I was trying to counteract his bad attitude).
"Just bags sir," he repeated as if he was about to fall asleep.

Still being perky and thinking he didn't hear me, I repeated myself, "Here's my jacket."
"Just bags sir."

Realizing he DID hear me, but still thinking that my jacket was an exception, I said, “But here's my jacket; my keys are in the pocket.”
Annoyed, with a little more force, "Just bags sir," he replied while never looking up at me.

The line was getting shorter and I was getting scared. I didn't want to walk through the metal detector and have everyone look at me while I spread my arms and legs to get dreaded "pat-down".

"Sir! My jacket, it's going to set off the alarm! Please, take it!" I was begging for his attention; "Look at me while I'm talking to you", I thought.

"BAGS ONLY SIR!" He said, finally looking me straight in the eyes. Now, being more scared of him than the metal detector, I held my breath and stumbled through—head down, outstretched arm, jacket in hand, and wincing. Shortly after opening my eyes and realizing I made it through "unalarmed", I found out they were not using the metal detector in the Smithsonian that day. But I didn't care; I had made a friend—a friend who had only one thing to say to me:

"Bags only sir."

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