In the midst of my travels through the past month, there have been several times that I was sure I’d end up causing something of a scene. Taking <em>hemp</em> into and out of Mexico? How about the Japanese bondage porn that my host gave me (“Usually obscene items are not allowed…” according to customs)? And there was no way they’d let us take the Crimson Canes of Ama D.F on our international flight?
But no. All of my efforts to be a bad-ass suspicious international bondagero were for naught (or knot, as I guess you could say…heh). The Mexican women at the flight didn’t open my bag to see the bondage porn; the dogs didn’t smell the hemp; the 50′ coil of 1″ thick cotton rope in the bottom of my bag apparently doesn’t resemble a nuclear device.
But the canes! Theses are long, pointy weapons! Finally, a look of – well, ok, not suspicion or wariness, but at least puzzlement. “What are these?” the officials asked, several times.
“Pointers,” I answered, every time. “We’re presenters. We use them to point out things.” I mimed pointing here, here, and here in the air (“This is her ass…this is the rope mark on her arm…this is her right nipple…”). I braced myself for the search, for the demanding of my passport, for the necessity of selling my petite blonde traveling companion in order to get over the border…
Instead, I got shrugs, and they handed them to me. Every time.
I almost got some fun this morning, though, going through security at O’Hare on the way to Detroit and the MI-GRUE. “Baggage check!” yelled the screener, and I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have tried for the carry-on after all.
“I’m a performer. You’re probably seeing my ropes, swivels, and props,” I said conversationally as she opened the case, to look at ropes, swivels, underwear, black shirts, a Shibaricon bag, and –
“Whoa!” she exclaimed, holding up a shiny piece of silver. “I think this is too sharp. Melis-SA!!!” She called several times for her supervisor, a short, mature, businesslike woman. I smiled and said, “It’s a $10 prop – I’ve got no problem with leaving it behind…” But Melissa came over and looked at the offensive piece.
“Oh,” she shrugged. “That’s a Wartenburg wheel. It’s just a sex toy. No problem.” The screener put it back, a little hastily, and wished me well. Melissa touched my arm and smiled. “Have a good flight.”
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. I don’t think we’re as edgy as we think we be…
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