It was a slack day at work. The economic climate had severely reduced traffic through the airport, and there were only three of us working the security gate: two on the x-ray machines, and one for checking anything suspicious. My colleague had gone for her break, so I was sitting at the terminal. I saw the woman approach but I didn't really pay attention as I was thinking about my plans for the weekend. She put her oversized handbag on the conveyor belt and stepped through the gate with no alarms going off.
I stared intently at the contents of her bag on the screen. How come women put so much stuff in there? Why do they need to have it all to hand? My eyes alighted on what looked like a case for spectacles, but the thing inside it didn't look like glasses at all. I studied it for a while but couldn't make it out. I knew I had to check it out. I pushed the button for the conveyor belt to let the bag go through, and looked back towards the entrance -- there was no-one else waiting or arriving.
I stood up and looked at the woman. She was maybe in her mid-thirties, wearing a lowish-cut sweater with just a hint of what looked to be a very nice cleavage. She held herself well and her clothes were nicely cut. She was attractive and classy.
"Sorry ma'am, but I'm going to have to check through your bag," I told her in my professional voice, my face serious as I was supposed to be.
She smiled and nodded, and I proceeded to open her purse wide. There was all the usual stuff and then some: two wallets, a credit-card holder, passport, document holder, keys, hairbrush, tissues, a few pieces of make-up, a folded cloth grocery bag, chewing gum, a cellphone, a packet of mints, a brooch, a toothbrush and a mini-tube of toothpaste, a Ziploc containing some fabric, and the spectacles case. I held up the Ziploc.
"Can you tell me what this is ma'am?"
"Yes," she said, "It's a pair of clean panties for when I arrive." She was unfazed, didn't even whisper. But I'm sure I blushed slightly.
I hurriedly put the plastic bag back in her purse and brought out the spectacles case. "Would you open this for me please, ma'am?"
She opened the case and turned it towards me so I could see the contents. It was purple and shaped a little like a lobster claw. It appeared to be made of some sort of shiny-looking rubber. I looked at the woman and found she was staring me right in the eyes -- quite intently I'd say. Her face didn't betray any emotion. Her mouth wasn't smiling exactly, but I could see the beginning of a dimple in one of her cheeks. Was she laughing at me? Or maybe she was challenging me. I couldn't really decide.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's a vibrator," she said matter-of-factly.
I could feel my eyes had suddenly gone wide. It didn't look like any vibrator I'd ever seen. I pulled myself together.
"It's Canadian," she said, stressing its nationality, as if that was supposed to make me feel more patriotic. It just made me suspicious.
My colleague came back from her break, giving me the opportunity to investigate a little further. In these days of terrorist threat, you cannot be too careful. I asked the woman to pick up her bag and accompany me to the office.
Closing the door behind her, I asked her to take a seat and explain again. While she fished the case back out of her bag, I rooted around in the drawer of the desk for my list of permitted and non-permitted items. I scanned the electronic devices category but couldn't find anything pertaining to sex toys.
"It's called a We-vibe," she elucidated further. "See, the logo is printed inside the case." I looked at where her finger was pointing. Effectively, it did say that, but I wasn't convinced. "Let me show you," she continued.
