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I, being half-Arab but fully looking the part, tend to take extra precautions when traveling to the airport so you people don't 'Jeff Gillooly' my kneecap or treat me like a Guantanamo escapee. A finger in the ass during sex is one thing. A finger in the butt from Richard 'the Customs Official' ain't the same sensation, let me tell you. And he isn't just poking it in there because he lost a bet with some friends. He's actively searching, if you know what I mean; looking for something like an anteater does. But let's not get into shitty situations. Just know that ever since that fateful experience on Kuwaiti Air, I arrive at the airport clean shaven, I take off my sunglasses, wipe the grin off my face and don't carry business cards of taxi cab drivers who have the name 'Mufassa' in my backpack. Nonetheless, trouble seems to find me. The random passenger search is a funny thing. They might as well stamp your forehead with 'Al Qaeda Operative' because anyone that sees you getting frisked thinks you're a threat for the duration of their time with you no matter what. Incidentally, the random passenger screening seems to randomly fall on me as many times as Lindsay Lohan randomly has cocaine in her system. But I'm not the only one they are taking extra precautions with on this particular day. Off to my left stand 3 Hispanic musicians that haven't been to their 'English as a 2nd Language Class'... ever. They are being dubiously searched thanks to their instrument cases boasting a 'nontraditional instrument shape' according to the TSA official. This is no secret as many people have already been pointing for a while, speculating as to what kind of pipe bomb or plastic explosive this Mariachi band is attempting to bring onboard. Thanks Antonio Banderas. Thanks Desperado. To my right is a disheveled man whose demeanor broadcasts that his wife has sucked the will to live out of him and he's all but given up on making any meaningful decisions in life. How do I know this? His comb over is not combed over. It sways in the air like a stalk of barely in the breeze, wanting to fall over ever so badly but without the fortitude to do so. He's wearing an overstuffed fanny pack that's not even centered on his body. The sagging pouch rests on his right love handle making him look like an off kiltered marsupial. He's donned in black running pants whose material more resembles ski pants. These have a tight elastic waist but are sitting about mid-glute level, well below the fanny pack line. I had to agree with the TSA that no self-respecting man could go through an entire day looking like that. He's gotta be one inch away from morphing into Michael Douglas in Falling Down. So there we were. The 5 apparent biggest threats to the airline industry, 1 of whom seemed warranted. The funniest part of the whole thing was that the 5 of us ended up sitting near each other on the plane, much to the chagrin of the frantic people around us. Not wanting to draw attention to myself a la Fokker in Meet the Parents, I try to not do anything rash on the way to my seat. The guy sitting by the window in my row definitely looks shadier than I do though. I smile, and he smiles but I know he didn't mean it. I throw my backpack in the overhead compartment without causing an aisle blockage and hop in my seat. Phew! The Hispanic guys are not so lucky. They keep going up and down the aisle with their oddly shaped carryon cases. Everyone watches intently as the flight attendants try to find overhead space for these bizarre objects and then try to convey to the amigos that there is no room. This is causing more confusion than when Alberto Gonzales speaks at a congressional hearing. Since they can't communicate with the flight attendants, the men continue to talk to each other in Spanish which raises the terror level of everyone in the immediate vicinity. Newspapers fall on laps and heads poke into the aisle to see what's going on. The paranoids all look at each other and have that silent conversation: tilt the head to the side, raise the eyebrows and inhale/exhale heavily as if to say, 'Oh Christ, they don't speak a lick of English. They want to kill us.' Our plane has yet to leave the jetway and tensions are high. Then there's the soulless body of that married man festooned in those running pants that make the 'VVVP VVVP' sound every time he moves. He never really seems to get comfortable in his seat and could care less about nonnegotiable airline rules. We get a taste of this when he is secretly talking on his cell phone while the front tires of the plane are leaving the tarmac. He's constantly fidgeting, always walking around when the seatbelt sign is on, wildly stretching in the middle of the aisle and he is flat out stealing pretzels from the bag that is hanging in the middle of the cabin. I'm serious! He walks up to the bag holding the only food we'll see for the next 5 hours, grabs like 3 or 4 bags at a time and basically rips open a bag in a mid-aisle walk, jamming a bunch of tasty treats in his mouth. And with the 'VVVP VVVP' sound of his pants, nothing he does is secretive. He literally looks around daring anyone to peer his way. And since this guy was already screened by the TSA, most people make eye contact with him like he was the sun. He is ritualistically eating all the food we have for the rest of the flight and we can't so much as say a thing about it. He SO wouldn't last on 'Survivor' but that does us no good here.
With everyone on pins and needles, I decide that I need my headphones. My headphones are in my bag which is in the overhead compartment. I know that as soon as I stand and open up the overhead compartment, 88% of the people behind me are going to think that my hand will come out wielding an AK-47. But I need my headphones! Casino Royale is about to start so I hop up real quick and open the overhead compartment to find it horribly stuffed, blocking access to my bag. My backpack is smushed to the back of the compartment like it was the all-crust piece of baggage in the loaf of luggage. So instead of removing some of the bags, I kind of freeze, say 'Fuck it' to myself, shut the compartment and sit back down. Right now I know everyone behind me is tapping each other whispering, 'What the fuck was THAT all about?' Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm such an idiot. The movie's starting and I really want to watch it so I do the biggest red flag thing ever. I get back up and open the compartment again but with more conviction this time as if last time I wasn't sure if I wanted to go through with my diabolical plan. I was half expecting some dude to just fly in, take me down and rip out my trachea in one fell swoop. I remove the briefcase that was blocking my access and hold it up like it was a dirty diaper. Why do we do this? Why do we hold other peoples' belongings as if they were radioactive? I kind of make a half mumble in the general direction of the aft part of the plane resembling, 'Is it ok if I move this? I just have to get my...' and I trail off to something not very confident. I am zero percent helping my cause right now. Without any objections, I place whoever's bag it was that I was holding onto my seat hoping that no one will cause a fuss. I then pull my backpack a little closer and open up the zipper as my hand dives inside the bag. Ah ha! I think, as my hand finds my headphones. I can't pull them out fast enough. Problem is, anytime you have more than one cord in your backpack, they intertwine like DNA. As I pull out my headphones, entangled in its cord are my laptop, blackberry and Ipod cords, all of which happen to be of different colors. There is a white, red and black cord. I've seen enough episodes of '24' to know that multiple cords of different colors are usually not a good thing and this marriage of colors on a plane is definitely not a good thing. I can't disagree with the alarmed murmurs going on behind me.
I realize that I have to get these headphones, stat! I take my backpack out, place it on the aisle and kneel next to it not realizing that this move is on the 'How NOT To Ease an Unruly Crowd' List. If I don't figure out this knot quickly, like in 5 seconds, I'm going to get bashed in the back of the head. I do finally untangle the cords and kind of show everyone the headphones like it was the winning fish in the Bassmasters Tournament. The Air Marshall holsters his pistol. The plane continues on its desired course. I couldn't get back in my seat quick enough. The weird guy next to me has since vanished. I now have a full row to lie in since no one dares sit next to me. The pretzel guy offers me a bag from his stash and the Mariachi's play me a little tune in my head. Then they decide to change the movie to Music and Lyrics. Fuck, now someone's really going to bring this plane down! 
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