So my friend from Florida is visiting me in New York while I’m at home. It comes time for him to leave, so we take the train into NYC and hop in a cap to the airport. (I love taking subways, but we were carrying a lot of stuff (he packs like a woman, but I digress.)) So he’s flying delta. The cab takes us to the Delta terminal and I go in with him to help carry all his crap to the luggage check-in. Normally, they put the metal detectors at the entrance to the gate, but for some reason they had one right at the entrance to the airport today. He goes through. No problem. I go through. BEEEEEEP. I get a plastic tray shoves in my face. Keys, a fistful of change, and a pocket knife land in the tray. I walk through. No problem. I reach for my stuff, only to hear “Hold on a second.”
One of the other security people was inspecting my knife. Now this isn’t a little swiss-army knife, it’s slightly bigger; a three-inch lock-blade Buck knife. My techie knife. The knife that has helped me solve many problems. It has sentimental value.
“You can’t take this into the airport.”
“It’s a dangerous weapon.”
“No, it’s a utility knife.”
“Well you’ll have to put it in your luggage.”
“I’m not traveling, I’m just helping my friend carry his luggage to the terminal.”
“Well, you’ll have to leave it here at the security desk.”
I say OK, and stand there, waiting for my receipt.
“You can go in now.”
“Uhhh, don’t I get something…a receipt or something?”
No, just come back to the security desk and pick it up.
“I don’t feel comfortable leaving it with you unless I have something in writing. It’s an expensive knife and has sentimental value.”
“Well, either you leave it with us, or it goes in your luggage.”
I eye my friend at this point and we telepathically decide to put it in his bag, and we will go to the terminal, and he’ll give it back to me before he checks his bag.
That’s the plan.
He puts the knife in.
Security woman grabs the bag, informs us that she will “escort” us to the check-in, where she cuts the line, checks his bag for him, and I watch my prize buck knife begin its journey to Florida.
My friend mailed it back to me a week later.
Is it just me, or is this utterly rediculous? Was I right in demanding something in writing to leave something with security? And were they right about being so paranoid over a friggin three inch utility knife?
This is why I like trains.