Airport security in Oslo, Norway has pulled my backpack off the belt and re-scanned it three times now.
Security Woman: “Ecksluter skala ut?” (Or something along those lines)
Security screener makes direct eye contact with me.
Security: “Luftputebåten min er full av ål?”
Oh, they must want to know whose bag this is.
Me: “Oh, That’s mine.”
A (cute) security man takes me and my bag over to a 2-walled cubicle. Ohhhhh–maybe he’s gonna frisk me!
Cute Security Man: “Ett språk er aldri nok.”
Me: “Scuzi?” (this is my attempt to impress him with my linguistic skills.)
CSM: “Metal? Anything metal?”
Me: “Maybe my hiking boots.” I have no idea why I blurt this out. I guess I figure the shape of a boot is similar to a large handgun.
He puts on his gloves and looks at me for permission to search my bag. (Shouldn’t he have to search me, first? Damn!)
As Cute Security Man pulls out my boots and inspects them, I can’t help but notice they still reek of all the sheep-shit we’ve trampled through. Reaching further into the depths of my backpack, his face contorts into a look of “ah-ha”. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls out—— Willy and the Boys— dressed to the nines in my beige silk panties I had wrapped around him to protect from scratches. I had totally forgotten about the possibility that Willy, made of metal, could throw a red flag at security.
Intrigued (or embarrassed), he delicately removes my undergarment from Willy’s head and places them back in the pack.
Me: “Willy! Sorry! I forgot!”
CSM laughs. (with me or at me?) He takes Willy over to the security woman and “dances” Willy in the air in front of her. They both say something unintelligible and have a chuckle. As CSM hands Willy back to me I realize that, once again, my “ambassador of goodwill” has given me another story for my travels.