Sometimes I think that I have no shame. So many people have told me that I have no shame, that I’ve started to believe it. Not much phases me. Normally I can brush things off easily and move on. Growing up with my dad, it’s a skill that I had to learn. Especially when he would hear a mall alarm go off and he would take off sprinting while everyone stared and you either had to run with him or pretend you didn’t notice him. Anyway. I’m pretty sure that I have next to no shame. Especially after the time a security guard at Heathrow Airport pulled a sex toy out of my bag.
You see, on night in Wales I was packing to fly home for winter break. My teammates and friends were coming over to my place to help me carry my bags to my bus and see me off. My backpack was stuffed with my hoodie, a couple of books that I needed for a research paper, and my bags were more or less packed. I was excited to be going home. My room was even clean so that I would come back to a tidy room!
There was also a sex toy out on my desk and my door was opening and my friends and teammates were about to walk in.
In a panic I grabbed my sex toy and jammed it into my backpack.
I didn’t remember the toy in my backpack until I was going through airport security the next day. I had just pulled my laptop out and put it in a bin with my phone and send my backpack through the scanner ahead of my boots that were in a bin of their own. Usual airport stuff right?
Then I was asked to step aside so my bag could be searched. I’ve had my bags go through random searches more than a few times so I knew the drill. I stepped off to the side and stood by quietly while the security officer went through my bag.
Compartment, by compartment my Swiss Army bag was opened and sifted through. My knick knacks and thingamajigs were pulled out and examined. My hoodie was tugged free and set aside. My comfy socks were tossed on top of my hoodie. Item by item, the security officer looked at my things while I patiently waited because there was nothing else for me to do. For the record: Swiss Army backpacks are basically Mary Poppins bags on steroids. Those things will hold everything plus a clunky Buick.
Until he pulled a bright purple vibrator from my bag.
My jaw dropped.
It was then I learned that I still had some shame left in me as this poor man gingerly held up a thing that was essentially a big, purple dick and asked me what it was. I heard someone gasp behind me. This man was making no secret that he had found something in my bags. He asked me again what the grape coloured, one-eyed monster was that he was holding between his thumb and forefinger. He knew what it was. The way he was holding it away from himself made it obvious. He was holding it like it was a snapping turtle that was about to attach itself to his nose and never let go. I honestly thought the airport was about to turn into that scene from Monsters Inc when that one monster had a sock on its back.
I didn’t want to make a scene so I told him it was a vibrator.
He told me I couldn’t keep it.
I didn’t fight him on it.
I quietly thanked him for his time while giving thanks that no one could see me blushing even though I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Then I packed everything back into my backpack while staring longingly at what was my favourite toy. It had taken me so long to find a toy that I loved like I loved that one. It was also damn expensive so I was sad to see it go.
After that day I learned to double check my bags before heading off to the airport. Now I know to never travel with anything that I wouldn’t want airport security to publicly confiscate. I also generally try to remember not to have sex toys sitting out when friends come over to avoid frantically hiding them.