The World's Toughest Airport

Yesterday I wrote about our vacation trip home but I neglected to tell the story regarding security at the Minneapolis airport. They should more aptly be called, the pit bull brigade. More on them later.
I've had the opportunity to go through many, many airports in my life and since 9/11 I take stock of the "hard to get through" kind. Des Moines, Iowa is a tough crew. I believe because it's manned by a slew of finicky older types trying to be the best that they can be. Wait! I'm wrong. That's another group of hardcore types. Regardless, they're tough.
This might knock your socks off. Brainerd, Minnesota ranks up there with the best of 'em. Brainerd is a fifteen minute rubber band flight from Minneapolis into the recreation lakes area of northern Minnesota. Their people suffer from the Barney Fife syndrome. You know them. Small town cops with big time ambitions. They'll reprimand a person for bringing a Snickers bar through security instead of their preferred Milky Way.
I've been to Europe a number of times. Going and coming, the Internationals have nothing on Brainerd for being like the meanest witch in Salem, Massachusetts. In a sense, it's a good thing unless you enjoy sitting on a powder keg that might be inside an airplane.
Minneapolis International, however, is the toughest of the tough. You'll recall I had a hip replacement last March. My doc put in a ceramic hip instead of titanium for two reasons: (1) they last thirty years as opposed to fifteen; (2) secondly, "Dr. Know-it-all" told me I could walk through airports, NO PROBLEM! When I strutted through the magic portal it was a twelve alarm fire. Granted, I neglected my belt, then my rosary(one can't be too prepared), followed by my watch and, lastly, my fingernail clipper with a small Swiss Army knife attached. There was nothing left but my shirt, shorts and skivvies. I was doomed for a full body scan. How come at times like this it can't be done by a look-alike Shania Twain instead of Mr. Tubby Two by Four?
Uh-oh! Then it hit me. I forgot to put my knife in my golf bag instead of my carry on. I was in a panic. It would be given over to the government never to see service again. Now, if anyone knows me I always carry a nail clipper. 'Trim' style ones are the very best. For reasons to be explained I am an expert on nail clippers. Along with a small Swiss Army knife on a chain these inanimate items are my two best friends. I've carried my buddies around for over thirty years. I actually began carrying a clipper in 1963. You see, until I was seventeen I bit my fingernails like they were a porterhouse steak garnished with mushrooms. I chewed on them so much I'd sometimes make them bleed. A very special lady in my hometown told me if I carried around a clipper I'd stop. Then my nails would grow and my fingers would be suitable for a Mediterraneaan prince. I wouldn't look like a sideshow freak anymore. Somewhere along the way I began attaching the knife. The combination of these two has become an obsession. I have them in hand when I drive, in church, in restaurants. Sometimes I find them on my matress when I awaken in the morning. God God! I was so embarrassed standing on the alter when we were married. Lizzie, the smartest woman in the world, says there's a psychological name for this. I call it a habit. Lizzie refers to it as 'fingusnailusstupidestophobia' or something like that.
What to do at 'Checkpoint Charley' of the Minneapolis airport? the TSA guy's name was Loren; maybe ten years younger than I and tall and large--really, really large. He tried to unhook the tiny chain connecting my lifeblood; couldn't do it. I reached in to help and Loren told me to: "back off". Did I mention he was a large man? Finally, he unsnapped the chain and handed me the clipper but as he got ready to throw the knife away I blurted out, "Please, take anything. Take my wife but leave me the Swiss Army knife." I knew I was doomed when he told me, "Hey, pal, we're on the the lookout for people like you; people with 'fingusnailusstupidestophobia'. We had you pegged when you walked through the doors. Now be on your way before I take your rosary." Man O man, I told you these guys were tough.