Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to TSA and whatever its Mexican counterpart is for giving us at least the illusion of aviation security. But in the past few years those intrepid inspectors have been collecting, thanks to me and my aversion to checked baggage, their own little Dopp kit full of my essential—though apparently lethal—personal items.
The first time the Mexican gatekeepers took my corkscrew, I had no idea the thing could be used to bring down a plane, but I took their vehement word for it. The next time, I made sure I was on solid footing, finding corkscrews (without blade attachments) on the list of specifically TSA-allowed items. ¡Por Dios! Nope, still lethal in Mexico. So now, to deny yet another over-zealous so-and-so the hand-wringing delight of disarming me on my way home, I drink only at those Mexican establishments licensed to safely own and operate these weapons of oenology.
Then there are my beloved nail scissors. I also use them to trim my mustache, fishing line, dangling threads or any other loose end. I used to assume no one would mind my invaluable little multi-function Swiss Army penknife with scissors, but, having gifted five or six to TSA, I resigned myself to disheveledness. Then I read that TSA now allows “Scissors - metal with pointed tips and blades shorter than four inches.” At last, here was my grooming salvation, and sure enough, I got them through in my carry-on for Veracruz. But not so rápido, amigo. They weren’t coming home. The offshoot? Exactly! (I think my title says it.)
Oh, and then there’s that volatile bought- after- security- check drinking water. ¡Aye! Don’t get me started!
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