Up until last week, my most memorable TSA experience was when I was told “your hair looks a lot better now” when the officer handed over my driver’s license. This time, it was my chest that was handed-over, not once, but twice.
Allow me tell you about the time I decided to wear lingerie on an airplane. Not really lingerie, but a very lingerie-esque brassiere. I like to say brassiere because it sounds fancy and this is clearly no ordinary bra. Most would maybe refer to it as a lingerie bra. Now I don’t really own any lingerie, but I’m a sucker for a bra that fits. I was what most would consider a late bloomer but they soon became heavy and cumbersome. My back ached, neck hurt, and I have indents in my shoulders still visible 12 years post surgery. Life stages of my development could be best characterized with overwhelming, under the knife, and under-producing. It’s true, my girls and I have had our ups and downs. And I’m sure as I age, we will have many more downs if you know what I mean, because well, gravity y’all. The point is, I haven’t always loved or celebrated this particular part of my body. It’s hard to be excited when dress shopping is a nightmare and you accidentally starve your newborn for a week (true story, he’s since recovered). So when I have something to get excited about, I celebrate it. This particular bra, I get excited about. I wore it that morning, not because I was headed on a mini getaway with my husband, but because it was comfortable and it looked great under my new boyfriend sweater.
If you’ve flown in the recent past, you’re likely familiar with the body scanners. Step in, hands arced over your head, 3 second scan, and you’re all set. Not if you’re wearing a fancy bra, turns out. “Ma’am, you’re alarming in your chest area, I’m going to need to pat you down”. I was then asked if I’d like the luxury of a private room. Um, no thank you. At this point, it became clear to me that my corset style bra was over the metal threshold to escape detection with this fancy scanner. I stifled a laugh as I realized the humor of my bra making me a security concern. I found the situation hilarious, and as the agent described what she had to do to perform the pat down, my husband was texting our friends that we’ll be right there after TSA is through feeling me up. While I obviously had nothing shoved between my breasts, as the scanner led them to believe, even after explaining the wire-ribbed corset, the agent was unsatisfied with my explanation of why there are wires at the top of my bra cups. “That’s just the way this bra is,” as I shrugged my shoulders. That earned me a questioning look and pause before she informed me she was going to need to get her supervisor. I realized as she was returning with said supervisor that she had called over another TSA agent to stand with me until she returned. While I understand this is probably standard procedure, it’s all the more humorous that my boobs seemed that dangerous, y’all. I thought they could only be used as a weapon when I was trying to run without a good sports bra. I’m just kidding, I don’t run.
Thankfully, the supervising TSA agent nodded enthusiastically as I explained the intricacies of my bra as she apparently had some experience. Despite the first agent still showing some confusion, after one final pat down, I was free to leave.
Next time I need to face airport security, I’ll do so with a t-shirt bra. I just have to find one that fits and keeps the girls above the lap belt. May the odds be ever in my favor.