“We will need to take a closer look at this, ma’am,” says Miss Airport Security.

Of course you will. You always do. It’s the long, rectangular paperweight that holds my book open. It’s always a major concern in airport security. Everyone in uniform fears I’m packing heat with a weapon of mass destruction. With my initials on it.

“That’s fine. Would you like for me to tell you what it is?” I offer humbly.

“What is it? It’s not a slapjack is it?”

“Its not a slapjack. It’s a bookmark.” and then I wonder to her, “What is a slapjack?”

She raises one eyebrow. “Why did you say ‘no’ if you don’t know what a slapjack is?”

“Because I know what this is, and it’s a bookmark, regardless of what a slapjack is.”

For crying out loud.

I really don’t mean to be a smartass about it. But, c’mon.

I tell her she can confiscate it if she needs to. I defer to the rules of the FAA, the many people in line, and real terrorists who need this attention instead.

Her supervisor told me I could have it. Just after he told her what a slapjack is.

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