I've just come back from yet another trip where I lost my sunscreen and moisturizer on the way in (both slightly over the size limit), and the burn lotion on the way back (which I think the first airport should have paid for!). For the record, do not suggest dumping out the surplus into one of those plastic trays until it's under the limit. While this seems to mathematically solve the issue, they don't seem to have a sense of humour about it. I've had me and my luggage examined enthusiastically by drug-sniffing dogs (oddly, I've only had this done in US airports, and never anywhere else).

In the past, I've had my suitcase entirely disassembled and then duct-taped back together again, including having the lining removed via the extremely delicate use of an x-acto blade (hey, how come he gets to use one!?!?) as a result of travelling with my friend, who apparantly looked very much like a Phillipino drug smuggler. We were 16 at the time, and the resulting body search stopped just shy of cavities, for which I was relieved. I've surrendered a number of excellent pocket knives (which I very much needed where I was going). I've had them run a camera through the machine over and over again until the film was wiped out. I've had pat-downs that range from the pathetically useless to the far-too-enthusiastic (really... the inside of my bra is pretty much the same as the outside, let GO!). I once had them tear a perfume sample card out of a magazine I had bought at the airport (granted, this one I would count as a public service, as even I found the scent offensive).

While I appreciate the need for airport security, I have always felt that the efforts were always put in the wrong places, using the wrong techniques. I, personally, have flown with a knife with an 8" blade (in the cabin) and four different endangered wild cats which required international CITES permits... but no one ever actually looked at the paperwork! I have family members who have flown with guns (concealed carry, visible carry, and once stacked in a plastic egg crate), ammo, a compound bow, and any number of combustibles of varying sorts. My father came back from Africa with an eight foot elephant horn under his arm. When asked if he had anything to declare, he said no, and went through the turnstile, albeit somewhat awkwardly. None of these things ever caused a fuss.

I would love to see the system overhauled to put the emphasis in the right places. I don't mind the diligence, but I want very much for it to be meaningful, and produce results.