The Need for Security

Ah, LaGuardia. The armpit of an already smelly city. New York smells of sweat and dreams unfulfilled, and wishes, and all sorts of evil. LaGuardia smells like New York’s armpit. It feels like it too. Crowded, people right next to one another, jostling, bustling, in your personal space. I come from a country where people do not know the concept of personal space. So many times I have stood in bank lines with people peering over my shoulder or at some office or the other, with people standing on either side, and behind me in the line. Fewer of that last one though. No personal space. At the grocery store, i can feel the rustling of people’s shalwaar kameez on my behind. And LaGuardia reminds me of home, in the worst way possible. 

The ground was sticky, like the subway station, my feet making a crunching sound beneath me as they pulled away from the ground. The air smelled of far too many travellers without cologne, and I could see the small stands selling things that were four, sometimes five times their price outside of this stratified airport air. There were my favorite snacks, BarkThins, for 14.99, on the outside, within this expensive city though, they cost 3.99 USD. 

We made our way to the check in counters, we were cutting it close, but I was not concerned. The line was not too long yet. And we were through a little bit. Security, i had also accounted for. For me and my brother, my brother and I, for all you grammar/soup Nazis, my brother and I, they would check us, and our baggage, as we were also Pakistani citizens, and security meant security. ‘Random’ checks, as the joke went. If you know, you know.

And they did. Two men in blue uniform and one lady went about opening my one small suitcase, and backpack. They took a toothbrush, well metaphorically at least, but the device they were using was like a toothbrush, long handle with a small thing at the end, that they brushed inside the entire suitcase and on the lining, and in the pockets. My brother waited behind me. I tapped my foot impatiently, part of me wishing I would stop lest they see that as a sign of suspicion. They looked at me with forced smiles, and we waited an awkward silence while they put the ‘bristles’ of the security toothbrush in their machine and waited. It beeped, I actively did not look over, again, lest they should think I was displaying signs of suspicion and/or nervousness. Clear.

Then they moved on to my brother. The whole rigamarole repeated again. Three people for one suitcase. And one backpack. They could have done both of us together. But they chose not to. All in all, this took upwards of twenty five minutes. When they were done, we raced to our gate. The gate was closed, the plane was moving away. There was nothing we could do. The airline moved our flight, and we sat and slept in the airport for the next eight hours.