I’ll admit it; I’m a criminal of the modern age, a subversive in the Global War on Terror. I smuggle toothpaste.
My work requires me to fly every five or six weeks. After last summer’s “liquid bomb scare” in the UK, travelers have been prohibited from carrying any but the smallest amounts of liquids and gels through airport security. The amounts – three ounces or less – we do carry must be sequestered in a one-quart plastic bag which must be displayed for security screeners.
Toothpaste, as the name implies, is neither liquid nor gel. It’s paste. So why is it on the list? I’m no expert, but I’ve never heard of a bomb being made with toothpaste. I suppose some vile substance might be substituted, but I’ll refer you to the old saying about the difficulty of getting spent toothpaste back in the tube. I think it’s only on the list because the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) started rummaging through people’s toiletry bags and decided to make a clean sweep.
At first, I tried in vain to locate a three-ounce tube of toothpaste. They’re not easy to find, so I would buy larger tubes in far-off cities and leave them with someone when I returned home. Want a baffled look? Offer someone a slightly used tube of toothpaste as a parting gift.
I found a small tube (2.7 ounces) at an airport newsstand ($2.99!), but I quickly used it up. No surprise there. I suppose I could have bought several at once, but what would I have done with them? I could only bring one through security; should I have mailed the rest to myself from the airport?
Then I tried reason, a foolish endeavor. I packed a half-full, four-ounce tube into my one-quart plastic bag with my little bottle of shampoo. The screener pulled it out. “This is too big,” he said.
“But it’s less than three ounces,” I protested. “See? It’s a four-ounce tube, but it’s half empty, maybe more than half empty. Are you going to disqualify me for extra packaging?”
He did. “You can either put this in your checked luggage or throw it away.” I threw it away.
At another airport, a woman visiting from Argentina was upbraided for placing her three-ounce-or-less products in a two-quart, rather than one-quart plastic bag. “But they’re only taking up a quarter of the bag,” she pleaded. “I couldn’t find a smaller one before I left.” Too bad, out they go and – welcome to America. She could have used that cold cream to remove the ink from her hands after they fingerprinted her – and most other foreign visitors – at the port of entry.
In desperation, I decided I had no choice but to go underground. As toothpaste tubes are now plastic, rather than the metal of my youth, I can slip one into the pocket of my trousers and it passes through the metal detector undetected. I smile at the TSA screeners, knowing I’m putting one over on them. Sometimes in the gate area, I’ll head for the men’s room for a victory brushing, just because I can.
It’s easy to think the life of a toothpaste smuggler is all jet-set glamour, but I’ll soon be overshadowed. Last week, the New York Times reported that a system called “Clear” which the Times describes as “a sort of E-Z Pass system for registered travelers” is being tested around the nation. Pay an annual fee, submit to a more-intense-than-average one-time screening and you can reduce your security waiting time. Like the rest of the American class system, it’s about money.
After the election but before the new Congress is sworn in, the Bush administration’s Customs and Border Protection Service announced that as of January, all travelers crossing U.S. borders will need to show passports, including those from western hemisphere nations like Canada. Formerly, all that was needed was photo ID. Americans making trips to nearby countries will need passports to get into the U.S., or if you forget the new policy during a day trip to Niagara Falls, you can smuggle your kids back home.
Two weeks ago, the Associated Press revealed the Department of Homeland Security’s Automated Targeting System has been secretly assigning risk scores to all travelers crossing U.S. borders. The program – which is of dubious legality and will come under scrutiny when Congress reconvenes – rates the perceived danger of each traveler based on they type of ticket purchased, how it was paid for, travelers’ motor vehicle records and the type of meal eaten on the airplane (a culinary version of racial profiling.)
The records, which cannot be see or challenged by the traveling public, will be kept for 40 years, which gives me second thoughts about the toothpaste smuggling. I wonder if they know already. Forty years – by the time I clear my name, I won’t even have teeth.
The Toothpaste Smuggler
I’ll admit it; I’m a criminal of the modern age, a subversive in the Global War on Terror. I smuggle toothpaste.
My work requires me to fly every five or six weeks. After last summer’s “liquid bomb scare” in the UK, travelers have been prohibited from carrying any but the smallest amounts of liquids and gels through airport security. The amounts – three ounces or less – we do carry must be sequestered in a one-quart plastic bag which must be displayed for security screeners.
Toothpaste, as the name implies, is neither liquid nor gel. It’s paste. So why is it on the list? I’m no expert, but I’ve never heard of a bomb being made with toothpaste. I suppose some vile substance might be substituted, but I’ll refer you to the old saying about the difficulty of getting spent toothpaste back in the tube. I think it’s only on the list because the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) started rummaging through people’s toiletry bags and decided to make a clean sweep.
At first, I tried in vain to locate a three-ounce tube of toothpaste. They’re not easy to find, so I would buy larger tubes in far-off cities and leave them with someone when I returned home. Want a baffled look? Offer someone a slightly used tube of toothpaste as a parting gift.
I found a small tube (2.7 ounces) at an airport newsstand ($2.99!), but I quickly used it up. No surprise there. I suppose I could have bought several at once, but what would I have done with them? I could only bring one through security; should I have mailed the rest to myself from the airport?
Then I tried reason, a foolish endeavor. I packed a half-full, four-ounce tube into my one-quart plastic bag with my little bottle of shampoo. The screener pulled it out. “This is too big,” he said.
“But it’s less than three ounces,” I protested. “See? It’s a four-ounce tube, but it’s half empty, maybe more than half empty. Are you going to disqualify me for extra packaging?”
He did. “You can either put this in your checked luggage or throw it away.” I threw it away.
At another airport, a woman visiting from Argentina was upbraided for placing her three-ounce-or-less products in a two-quart, rather than one-quart plastic bag. “But they’re only taking up a quarter of the bag,” she pleaded. “I couldn’t find a smaller one before I left.” Too bad, out they go and – welcome to America. She could have used that cold cream to remove the ink from her hands after they fingerprinted her – and most other foreign visitors – at the port of entry.
In desperation, I decided I had no choice but to go underground. As toothpaste tubes are now plastic, rather than the metal of my youth, I can slip one into the pocket of my trousers and it passes through the metal detector undetected. I smile at the TSA screeners, knowing I’m putting one over on them. Sometimes in the gate area, I’ll head for the men’s room for a victory brushing, just because I can.
It’s easy to think the life of a toothpaste smuggler is all jet-set glamour, but I’ll soon be overshadowed. Last week, the New York Times reported that a system called “Clear” which the Times describes as “a sort of E-Z Pass system for registered travelers” is being tested around the nation. Pay an annual fee, submit to a more-intense-than-average one-time screening and you can reduce your security waiting time. Like the rest of the American class system, it’s about money.
After the election but before the new Congress is sworn in, the Bush administration’s Customs and Border Protection Service announced that as of January, all travelers crossing U.S. borders will need to show passports, including those from western hemisphere nations like Canada. Formerly, all that was needed was photo ID. Americans making trips to nearby countries will need passports to get into the U.S., or if you forget the new policy during a day trip to Niagara Falls, you can smuggle your kids back home.
Two weeks ago, the Associated Press revealed the Department of Homeland Security’s Automated Targeting System has been secretly assigning risk scores to all travelers crossing U.S. borders. The program – which is of dubious legality and will come under scrutiny when Congress reconvenes – rates the perceived danger of each traveler based on they type of ticket purchased, how it was paid for, travelers’ motor vehicle records and the type of meal eaten on the airplane (a culinary version of racial profiling.)
The records, which cannot be see or challenged by the traveling public, will be kept for 40 years, which gives me second thoughts about the toothpaste smuggling. I wonder if they know already. Forty years – by the time I clear my name, I won’t even have teeth.
© Mark Floegel, 2006