Friday, December 17, 2010


I was at Brisbane airport the other day, coming through security, when I was stopped for one of the trace explosives tests. I’ve been stopped for a few of these. I don’t think I’m being targeted because I look like a terrorist. I think I’m being targeted because I don’t look like a terrorist, and they can use me as an example to show they don’t racially profile people.

The security officer motioned me over to the side, and said, “Have you done one of these before?”

“A few times,” I told him.

“Ah,” he said with a cheeky wink, “so we haven’t caught you yet?”

“Not yet,” I agreed with a smile as he swiped the little thingy over my hand luggage and shoes. “Hang on, we’re not allowed to make jokes about terrorism in airports, are we?”

“If we weren’t allowed to have a joke, what sort of world would that be?” he asked me.

Um, it would be this world, my little flower, this world. But he was a nice man, so I didn’t want to be the one to break it to him. 

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