I have indecently curly hair. Essentially, imagine a girl Krusty the Clown and that is me when I wake up in the morning. Now in terms of life problems curly hair is not a biggie. I have grown resigned to the constant surprise of what I see in the mirror in the morning, and I barely even notice when my colleagues play buckaroo with my hair when I’m on the phone (what you can’t see in the photo below is the two iPhone chargers & a spoon lost in the curls). But recently my hair came under the heavy scrutiny of airport security.
I was flying to Belfast for work, it was all going swimmingly, I even made it to the airport with time to spare. But then I went through security, and the metal detector had the audacity to beep when I walked under its hallowed arches. In years gone by the security woman would have waived her metal detecting wand and found the source of the beep, now what happens is you get put in another machine which highlights the area of concern.
My area if concern looked a little something like this.
Yeah. Krusty the Clown was all of a sudden a possible terrorist.
The security woman asked what I had in there. I replied I didn’t know. Possibly not the best answer I could have given.
She then asked if I had any hair clips or bobby pins in my hair, to which I again gave the somewhat dubious answer of “it’s possible”. Now let me explain that one, at any give time I could have between 0 & 20 pins in my hair without them ever being seen. #curlyhairproblems
Security woman (who by this point thought I was certifiable) then asked me to take them out. To anyone with vaguely normal hair this is a valid and completely reasonable request, but anyone with curly hair would have cringed as soon as they read the words. With a day full of meetings ahead I just couldn’t risk looking like Albert Einstein, so I responded in the only possible way to the scary airport security lady “no it would ruin the curl”.
That one went down like a lead balloon.
After staring at me open mouthed for a minute or so, trying to decide if I was a new kind of terrorist or just a vain Shirley Temple, she turned away and got what at first glance looked like a magicians wand. It was the hair probe (not its official name) which without warning went in one side of my head and out the other.
With that, curls still intact, I was free to go.