One more story about my recent trip and then I’ll move on to other topics.

Airport security screening has settled into an understandable routine, and is about the same in each airport through which I have traveled in about the past year. That’s a good thing, because the unpredictability about what one would be asked to do next — from placing no more than three ounces of liquids such as shampoo and toothpaste in a resealable plastic bag to taking off one’s footwear while going through the magnetometer (sometimes called a “metal detector”) — was frustrating to many.

Infrequent travelers still hold up the line, but signage and explanations that are ubiquitous in airports helps a lot. “1-2-3” directions (show ID and boarding pass, take out liquids and laptops, remove footwear and jackets) have pictographic directions that are easy for almost anyone to understand.

So there I am on a Monday morning, which is a time when airports are crowded with business travelers, waiting for the screening agent to look at my boarding pass and driver’s license. He is trying to be jovial and friendly, which is better than a surly attitude I have experienced sometimes.

I have learned that when dealing with officials in this capacity, it is better not to try to initiate conversation. A pleasant “hello” or “good morning” is enough. So in Phoenix I said, “Good morning!” and the agent smiled. Then he said, “well, it’s not a good morning if you saw the [football] game last night. Wasn’t it awful when [name of player] … [did something wrong]?”

I replied, “sorry, I didn’t see the game.” I thought that would change the direction of the conversation, but the screener continued, “well, when [name of player] … [did something wrong], I thought he should have [done something else] and the coach should have [done something about it or to him].”

I just shrugged. He continued to examine my driver’s license, even by pulling out a magnifying glass to look more closely at it. I guess they don’t see that many Maryland licenses in Arizona and he had to check the date to ensure the license was valid. Then he remarked, “What do you think about [name of player on the local football team]?”

I said, “I don’t know. I don’t follow this team.”

ooops…

“I guess you’re a [Baltimore football team] fan, being from Maryland.”

I replied, “umm… uhhh…” I just tried to mumble and not say much, hoping he would just give me back my driver’s license and scribble whatever he has to scribble on my boarding pass and let me go. This was taking much too long.

“Or do you watch the [team from Washington]?”

Finally, I said, “not really. I don’t watch football.”

Then he said, “oh, you must be gay, but you don’t look it.”

WHAT????

Instead of making a federal case out of it and filing a written complaint — the guy wasn’t really trying to be difficult as much as he was trying to make a very bad joke which, to him, was funny, I said this:

Yes, in fact I am gay. But tell me, do you think that all men who do not care for football are gay? Really? Is that what you believe? And what do gay men look like?”

His response was both amusing and telling. He stammered, then profusely apologized. He said that he was “just talking” and didn’t mean anything bad. He quickly gave me back my driver’s license and boarding pass, and escorted me personally to a magnetometer station that was just opening so I could go through first, ahead of others. He kept glancing around. I guess he was looking to see if other people overheard us and if he were going to get into trouble if I made a scene.

This happens from time to time. Straight people just don’t get it, and sometimes say really stupid things without thinking. It happens more often after straight guys have been drinking alcohol which loosens their tongue and clouds rational thinking, but I have had it happen on several occasions in the most unusual circumstances where alcohol isn’t involved (such as this situation.)

This guy works long hours and in a difficult job. I am sure that he gets his share of grief from various passengers who think nothing of yelling and screaming if they become upset. Rather than go nuts, I took a deep breath and calmly said:

Thanks for getting me to this line. And remember, everyone is different, and you can’t make assumptions that if a guy looks like me that he is a football fan and that all football fans are straight. I know a lot of gay guys who enjoy football. I don’t happen to be one of them, but it doesn’t mean that it’s fair that you can make broad generalizations like that. Be careful.

He meekly apologized again and returned to his station. I pulled out my liquids and laptop, pulled off my boots, and put these things and my carry-on bag on the belt, sent them through the x-ray, walked through the magnetometer, gathered my belongings, pulled my cowboy boots back on, reassembled my carry-on, and walked to a restaurant to have some breakfast.

I thought all was said and done when a man in a suit came up to me and asked if he could sit at my table. Sure… though it wasn’t crowded, but I was at a table for four all by myself. He sat down and introduced himself. He said that he worked for the federal agency that oversees the airport security screeners. He said that he observed what happened, and listened to what I said. He commended me for my patience and calm demeanor. He also said that he documented the incident and will follow up.

I told him that I didn’t want that screener to get into trouble. He said that training is offered to screeners on how to talk with passengers and how to respect differences and be tolerant of diversity. He said that he would refer that screener for more training. Well, okay… that’s fine.

Life is short: patience is a virtue.