Ask the pilot

Batteries pose a fire hazard and new airline rules for computers make sense. So why can't the same cool heads prevail when it comes to airport security?

By Patrick Smith

Read more: Technology & Business, Business, P. Smith, Ask the Pilot

Sept. 22, 2006 | At the Buenos Aires, Argentina, airport on Monday, security staff have set up a secondary checkpoint just prior to boarding. All passengers bound for the United States are herded into gate-side holding pens for the purpose of eviscerating their carry-on bags. We've already been through the standard X-ray and metal detector process, but apparently that isn't good enough.

At the table, a gray-haired gentleman pores lovingly over my belongings. He removes my laptop computer and asks me to please turn it on. "What, you mean right now?" I warn him that the old and semi-functional Apple iBook takes several minutes to boot up, but of course rules are rules, and everybody knows that a computer that actually turns on can't possibly be as dangerous as one that doesn't.

Five minutes later, with the iBook still clicking and clattering through its start-up dance, the annoyance of the people behind us grows palpable. I shoot the man an I-told-you smile. He nods, frowns and begins to claw furiously through my toiletries kit. His attention to detail shall not be in vain, as he quickly confiscates an almost empty, travel-size container of shaving cream. Unbeknown to me, the can had been sitting at the bottom of my bag for at least three weeks, and had yet to cause a moment's trouble on half a dozen flights since the ban on liquids, creams and gels became effective in August. At last it is rooted out by the keen eye of an Argentine screener. He holds up the can like a prize, aiming its little white snout at me and making a "Psssssshhht" noise. "Peligroso," he declares, his eyes widening.

Yes, clearly.

He keeps digging. He suspects there is more, and he's right. Naturally the only thing more peligroso than an empty, nonaerosol can of Foamy is a tiny glass jar of aromatic muscle balm -- Balsem Kaki Tiga brand -- purchased in Bali a couple of years ago. As with the shaving cream, I'd forgotten it was in there. Again the man fondles his trophy, bouncing it in his palm, causing me to wonder if he's not being paid by the ounce. Problem is, he can't get the partially rusted lid open to see inside. Peering through the opaque container, it's impossible to tell if the thumbnail-size blob of yellow goo is actually a forbidden gel. Just when I think he's about to ask the manager for a pair of pliers, he gives it one last twist, shrugs and returns the Kaki Tiga to my bag. Better sorry than safe, I guess. He looks almost sad.

Ah, but then something incredible, almost beyond belief, catches his eye from deep within the gaping pocket of my zipper case. It's a small pair of scissors. The man's eyebrows nearly spring from the top of his head, as if he has come across a pinless hand grenade or a petri dish bubbling with anthrax. With trembling fingers he lifts the deadly Fiskars for all to see. The blunt-tipped, inch-and-a-half cutting blades glint menacingly in the fluorescent light of the terminal.

"No, no, no," he says.

Mind you, these scissors, similar to the ones handed out in kindergarten, were purchased expressly for travel, and are perfectly legal per the Transportation Security Administration's detailed (and rather hilarious) roster of carry-on contraband. Unfortunately, I am 5,000 miles from the TSA's jurisdiction, and when I protest the loss of my scissors, a conversation ensues with an Argentine supervisor, who proudly informs me that their rules are even tougher than America's.

To this point, having visited 30 or more countries since Sept. 11, I've been impressed with the more logical and sensible protocols ordinarily found at airports overseas. America might be home to the most security-obsessed airports in the world, but we also have the most illogical, chaotic and jury-rigged procedures. It's disheartening to see our bad behavior spreading to South America. Curiously, though, the Argentines reserve such tender care for only those fliers headed for the U.S. At the adjacent gate, travelers bound for Brazil are watching us with amusement, free to board at their leisure with no additional checks or confiscations.

"Perhaps you didn't hear," I'm informed by a fellow passenger. "A few weeks ago, somebody tried to get on a plane here with a stick of dynamite."

Tried and succeeded. On Aug. 24, a 21-year-old college student from Connecticut boarded a Continental Airlines 767 here with a half-stick of dynamite, a blasting cap and a black-powder fuse in his checked luggage. The suspect told authorities he'd purchased the materials as souvenirs during a trip to one of the popular silver mines in Potosi, Bolivia. The items weren't discovered until a sniffer dog got whiff of them after the jet landed in Houston, so it's pretty apparent he hadn't intended to blow up the plane.

Either way, it fails to justify the procedures: Because a person smuggled dynamite inside a checked suitcase, we're going to take kiddie scissors and tiny cans of shaving cream from your carry-ons. That sounds suspiciously like TSA thinking, so I have to wonder who, exactly, has ordered up this rigmarole? Was it Argentina's call, or have America's homeland security wizards asked foreign airports to enhance their inspections? (Later, when I try to find out, nobody in Washington or Buenos Aires returns my calls or e-mails.)

At one point I count 10 gate-side security screeners assigned to our flight. Four, anchored behind a low table, are doing the bag checks. Another two, off to the left, are in charge of Phase 2: a pat-down and a head-to-toe scan with a magnetic wand. Three others are milling around shouting orders. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the people of Argentina having good jobs and a stronger economy, but am I to assume that an equal number of uniformed personnel are busy down below, giving our checked luggage, which is much more susceptible to deadly import -- like half-sticks of dynamite -- equal attention? I have my doubts.

Next page: What would have happened had my notebook computer failed to boot up?