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Secure for takeoff

I have a love-hate relationship with the CBC. Right now, mostly hate. Every since September 11 th , a recurring story on The National has been how crowded, constipated, and generally frustrating Canada?s major airports are.

I have a love-hate relationship with the CBC. Right now, mostly hate.

Every since September 11 th , a recurring story on The National has been how crowded, constipated, and generally frustrating Canada?s major airports are. The stories usually open with interior airport shots reminiscent of Woodstock but without the mud, naked flesh and abundance of tie-dyed clothes. People mill around wall to wall looking like they?re moments away from breaking into full-fledged ground rage.

Accompanying commentary blames the general lack of movement on heightened security. Of course we all know the real reason is the incredibly inefficient computer system run by Air Canada, something hopefully on Smilin? Bob Milton?s lengthy list of things to fix when the government bails his ass out, a list I?m betting starts with the words "Big raise for me."

But if you?re anything like me, you?re at least willing to believe the crowds are real and not just generic crowd shots dubbed into airport backgrounds. I don?t know when that footage was shot but I?ve come to believe it must have been sometime around 3 p.m. on the 11 th . Here?s why.

Being naturally cautious and having a mild phobia about being late, missing my plane and ending up throwing myself on the mercy of an Air Canada ticket agent ? an act of desperation akin to yelling "Nice doggie" and hoping it will placate a foaming pit bull in full charge ? I tend to arrive early at airports anyway. But the CBC?s reports had me wondering if maybe I shouldn?t get there the day before my flight and hope I squeaked past security in time to make an OJ dash for the departure gate.

I compromised and got to the Vancouver airport three hours early.

Until that moment, I?d never seen an airport ticket corral with only one other person in it. I serpentined through the 47 switchbacks just to be ornery and give myself time to figure out what exactly was going on. By the time I got to the front of the "line," agents of United were ? I?m not kidding ? fighting amongst themselves to see who would actually get to help me. I paused a moment to see if any of them might throw a twenty in my direction to sway the decision their way but finally just chose the nearest counter. I swear I heard sobbing from the agent furthest away.

I dug out the e-ticket fax I?d finally cajoled Air Canada into sending me just one day before my flight, after several previous failed attempts to get any confirmation; I handed it to Mr. United, a proud member of the Star Alliance, whatever that is. Naturally, I wasn?t in the computer. Any other time in the modern history of commercial air travel, I?d have been sent packing, forced to go hat in hand to Air Canada to wait in line and let them try to figure out how they screwed up? again.

But the United guy was so desperate for something to do he brushed what should have been a fatal flaw off with a shrug and issued me a ticket based on the paperwork I had in hand. In no time at all, I had my ticket. AND HE APOLOGIZED FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

Then he said the words I?d been waiting to hear. "I have to ask you some questions." I think the list of suggested security screening questions is up to 125. He asked if I?d packed my bag. Yes. He asked if it had been out of my direct control. No. He said, "Have a nice day" and pointed me to my next destination.

The next level of security was the dreaded "Duty Free" cop who wanted to examine my boarding pass to ensure I was really headed out of the country. When he was satisfied, I entered the land of cheap booze and cigarettes.

The last time I was in the Duty Free shop that leads to US Immigration, the lineup for immigration control snaked past the 47 corral switchbacks, into the shop, around the perfume counter and back to the maple syrup display. This time, I could see the Immigration officers. They looked just like the United guys only more serious. They were bored. No one was waiting, no one was in line.

That?s when I realized I was going to need something to drink. It was shaping up to be a long wait before flight time.

Duty Free scotch in hand, I walked up to the nearest Immigration officer, offered him my passport, smiled my best I?m-no-threat smile and waited for the questions to start.

"Traveling alone?" he asked.

In the next three seconds my brain raced through the possible answers to that seemingly innocuous question. "Well, no. I?m sure there will be at least the flight crew with me." No, that sounds too smartass. "Yes, I am." Too suspicious, might fit the profile of a deviant loner with nothing to lose. What to answer?

"My wife couldn?t make it." Oh Jeez, what a stupid answer that was.

"Okay. Have a nice day."

You?re kidding. That?s it? Another have a nice day?

I strolled briskly past the black Customs drug-sniffin? Lab hoping he didn?t go ape when he smelled Zippy the Dog remnants and stepped up to Customs. The bored looking officer took my declaration, shot a glance at the bag of scotch, and wished me another nice day.

The guy at the baggage ramp loaded my bag for me.

When I finally got to security, I walked right through while they smiled knowingly at the laptop and tape recorder being X-rayed in my briefcase.

THAT WAS IT!

Twenty minutes. A record. It used to take longer than that to get to the departure lounge before there was such a thing as airport security. I had better than two and a half hours to kill and the only thing I could think of to kill was Peter Mansbridge.

Then I remembered the scotch. I was sure it was 4 p.m. in the Maritimes ? 4:30 in Newfoundland ? so cocktails seemed the best way to pass the time.

That?s when I solved the whole airplane, terrorist security thing. Everything currently being done, at a cost of several jillion dollars, is pointless. Dedicated terrorists will build a better mousetrap. If George W. Bush and his "brother" Jean want to make flying the skies of North America completely safe, I mean foolproof safe, I have a better plan.

Spend 1/100 th the dough they?re determined to spend on security on liquor. Make every passenger hammer back shots in the departure lounge until they can?t walk. Pour them into their seats. Start serving coffee just before the plane lands. Problem solved. No thanks needed.