As I was boarding my flight in San Pedro Sula, heading back to the US, there was one final security check at the gate. It consisted of two women and a man at a folding table, looking through everyone's bags by hand. I got the guy. He opened my backpack, pulled out the ziploc bags I had at the top, set them on the table, and said, in Spanish, "You have three bolsas. You are only allowed one bolsa."
There were indeed three ziploc bags. One was gallon-sized and contained my toothbrush, a scrubby thing, my comb, and soap. The other two were quart-sized. One contained all of my liquids, per TSA regulations, and the other one contained things like hair ties, face powder, and eye shadow.
"Only one bag has liquids," I told him, also in Spanish. "The other bags are only to organize things."
"You are allowed one bolsa," he insisted.
"I am allowed one bolsa with liquids," I said.
"You have too many bolsas," he repeated, and called over someone who spoke English.
"He says you have too many bags," the new guy said.
"Yes," I said, "but the rule is that I can have one bag with liquids. Only one bag has liquids. The other bags are only to organize other things."
"He says you can only have one bag," the new guy said again, shrugging. "I don't understand why. He says he will have to take two of them."
"Fine," I said, up-ending the gallon-sized bag into my backpack, dumping out the contents and pulling out the empty bag, to the horror of the inspector. "I will get rid of all the bags except the one with the liquids."
The inspector grabbed at the stuff. "You aren't allowed to have this!" he said, reaching for a container of baby powder that I use as dry shampoo.
"It's not a liquid," I pointed out.
Frustrated, he put it back and opened the little bag of liquids. He triumphantly pulled out my four ounce bottle of lotion. "This is too many mL!" he said. "It is too big!"
"He says it is too big," the interpreter said.
"Yes," I said, picking up the other quart-sized bag and getting ready to dump it in the backpack. "That's fine. He can have that one. He can have the bags, too. I will just put everything in the backpack without the bags."
The interpreter took both of the small bags and put them into the gallon-sized bag. "Now you have one bag," he said. "He says you can only have one bag. You can go."
I didn't even bother protesting at the insanity of the fact that I now had one gallon-sized bag with the two small bags inside it (note: still three bolsas) and the rest of my stuff scattered wildly through my backpack, when the actual rule is intended only to limit the quantity of liquids. I took off down the jetway, shaking my head at the result when the bureaucracy tells the people enforcing the rules what to do but not why they are doing it.
"You made it!" one of the pilots said as I got on the plane, having passed me as I was fighting with the inspector.
"Barely," I said, stomping down the aisle for effect, but more amused than annoyed.
There were indeed three ziploc bags. One was gallon-sized and contained my toothbrush, a scrubby thing, my comb, and soap. The other two were quart-sized. One contained all of my liquids, per TSA regulations, and the other one contained things like hair ties, face powder, and eye shadow.
"Only one bag has liquids," I told him, also in Spanish. "The other bags are only to organize things."
"You are allowed one bolsa," he insisted.
"I am allowed one bolsa with liquids," I said.
"You have too many bolsas," he repeated, and called over someone who spoke English.
"He says you have too many bags," the new guy said.
"Yes," I said, "but the rule is that I can have one bag with liquids. Only one bag has liquids. The other bags are only to organize other things."
"He says you can only have one bag," the new guy said again, shrugging. "I don't understand why. He says he will have to take two of them."
"Fine," I said, up-ending the gallon-sized bag into my backpack, dumping out the contents and pulling out the empty bag, to the horror of the inspector. "I will get rid of all the bags except the one with the liquids."
The inspector grabbed at the stuff. "You aren't allowed to have this!" he said, reaching for a container of baby powder that I use as dry shampoo.
"It's not a liquid," I pointed out.
Frustrated, he put it back and opened the little bag of liquids. He triumphantly pulled out my four ounce bottle of lotion. "This is too many mL!" he said. "It is too big!"
"He says it is too big," the interpreter said.
"Yes," I said, picking up the other quart-sized bag and getting ready to dump it in the backpack. "That's fine. He can have that one. He can have the bags, too. I will just put everything in the backpack without the bags."
The interpreter took both of the small bags and put them into the gallon-sized bag. "Now you have one bag," he said. "He says you can only have one bag. You can go."
I didn't even bother protesting at the insanity of the fact that I now had one gallon-sized bag with the two small bags inside it (note: still three bolsas) and the rest of my stuff scattered wildly through my backpack, when the actual rule is intended only to limit the quantity of liquids. I took off down the jetway, shaking my head at the result when the bureaucracy tells the people enforcing the rules what to do but not why they are doing it.
"You made it!" one of the pilots said as I got on the plane, having passed me as I was fighting with the inspector.
"Barely," I said, stomping down the aisle for effect, but more amused than annoyed.
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