Frisky Business

Tomorrow, I will be frisked.

Because, apparently, I am a threat to all airplanes and they must ensure I haven't been creating explosives with my paralyzed hands and hiding them in my seat cushion. Obviously the best, most comfortable, place to keep a handmade explosive is under your bum.

The second most comfortable - and convenient place - to keep them is in my shoes, which they will remove.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for the safety of airplanes. I just think that their predictibility in frisking every wheelchair user is a little, well, predictable. Surely any conniving disabled person is smart enough to hide their treachery on an unassuming frisk-free able bodied accomplice.

Do I look that dangerous? Or is it that I look that unassuming and surely would accept any unmarked suitcase from a stranger if he asked me to hide its contents on my chair?

My favorite is when they tell me to raise both my arms and lean forward so they can swipe the back of my chair (for explosives, of course). I end up flopped over my legs like a rag doll, much to the surprise of the frisker, who seems to always believe that if I look like a normal, able bodied person who just happens to be sitting, surely I am. The lack of back muscles surprises them.

My second favorite is when they ask me to lift my legs so they can swipe the foot rest (again, for explosives). Lady, if I could lift my legs, I'd kick you.

Well, tomorrow morning I'll be frisked again as we head out to Florida to speak. Maybe I'll throw myself out of the chair and army crawl through the metal detector.

...but then I'd have to wait on the floor while they frisked my chair. Which, of course, was the culprit to begin with...