Today I felt like a terrorist. Or a dumb ass. Maybe both.
I had to go to the county courthouse on this muggy smoggy, okay typical for San Bernardino County, September afternoon. Last time I had the joy of visiting the San Bernardino Courthouse I was probably nine or ten, tagging after my dad, who, at six four walks very fast, and would never wait up for a scrawny little girl with glasses, practically running in his wake. I remember the courthouse area was huge and confusing and I felt like I walked slashed ran after my father for miles in the smoggy hot California desert. If we were down the hill running this kind of errand then I’m sure that meant my dad was pretty pissed off too. I remember sitting around in a plain eighties hallway for hours, nothing to do and bored starring at dirty tile floors and elevators full of people in the most modern eighties business attire. Lots of shoulder pads.
Flash forward twenty something years and you find me driving through the ghetto of San Bernardino pissed off because the San Bernardino Superior Courts website told me to exit in a place that no longer exists on the frequently under construction 215 freeway. Briefly this morning I was excited to remember there is s court house in Big Bear on my own mountain. The thought occurred to me that, yea, I wouldn’t have to go down the hill to deal with this errand. Yet, alas, the Big Bear courthouse doesn’t handle pending divorces, today’s task of the day. What do they handle? Banjo robberies and squirrel muggings?
I found the courthouse easily, even with the freeway mishap. The good thing about San Bernardo, the only good thing, is I do know the area quite well. I even found a huge parking lot, so I wouldn’t have to parallel park on the street, something I do nor excel at. I learned to drive in the mountains…. we don’t have curbs!
I even found the building I was searching for no problem! How easy was this! Then I walked in the door and saw the airport-ish security check point.
Let me be the first to say, I don’t mind at all, at airports or amusement parks or where ever being searched. I feel the government should do what they feel works to keep this country and state safe. I have no problem with the Patriot Bill; The government can listen in on my calls, I don’t care. I have nothing to hide. I live a pure lifestyle and if taping the wires of a few innocent people to catch terrorists helps this nation stay safe, so be it.
That being said, I think I knew deep in my heart that they would search my hand bag at the court house. I just forgot. I do watch the news occasionally so you think I would be aware what is going on around me. Yet, more then often, I am not.
So I take off mt belt, hand over my hand bag and get ready to make an ass of myself.
The first thing the security guard asks me is
“Ma’am why do you have a box cutter in your purse?”
Really it shouldn’t be a weird question in San Bernardino of all places. I mean this is a bad area and I’m a hundred-pound single girl. Sure I lift weight’s every day, but I’m really not capable of defending myself against thugs. So yes, sometimes I carry a box cutter in my purse, as well as mace, just in case. Oh yea, and I also work in a grocery store. That’s why I have a box cutter. I just really wish I had thought about a possible security search and left all my weapons in the car.
I explained that I hadn’t known there would be a security search because I’m a big retard who doesn’t watch the news enough and is forgetful, and also my car was not parked that close. I really didn’t want to walk all the way back to my car in 103 degree heat for a box cutter.
“Can I just throw it away? I asked.
“No, you can either hide it outside or we can confiscate it” The nice security lady told me. Hide it outside? Really? What if a kid finds it! I’m not hiding a box cutter outside for children to play with! So I handed over my weapon.
“Okay, but you may want to disinfect your hands, that box cutter fell in the toilet recently” I warned as I handed it over. (This happens a lot when you leave items in the back pocket of your jeans)
I guess I deserved the dirty look awarded me at that point.
But hold on, Miss Security Guard was nor through with me yet.
“Ma’am, what is that bottle of liquid in your purse?” I was asked.
I truthfully responded,
” I have no idea. Is it hand sanitizer? ” I did get that Hand Sanitizer Canada bottle recently, perhaps I had left it on me.
” I don’t know what it is, ma’am. Its your purse. Please step over to my assistant.”
At this point I thought I had messed up big time and was about to get a cavity search, and all I wanted to do was file some paper work!
What was the huge and possibly explosive bottle of liquid in my purse? A huge bottle of hot sauce. I carry it everywhere with me! I forgot. Okay, actually both security guards cracked up when they realized it was Franks Red Hot Sauce and not gasoline.
Times like this, I really feel like that mountain hick that doesn’t get out much.
So here I am still at the courthouse, ass going numb on a very hard bench. Its been a two-hour wait so far and maybe? I’m getting a little bored? I can’t even spy on the conversations of people around me because, I mean besides the lesbian tattoo artist sitting beside me, not a single other person in this waiting hallway speaks a word of English. I love the 909! I mean Little Tijuana. I should have guessed my neighbor’s profession but what with the black hot pants screaming fatal across her ass, well really I would have guessed prostitute. This is San Bernardino after all. Her outfit is nothing like the shoulder-padded business attire I remember from the 1980’s hallway of boredom.
I had to go to the county courthouse on this muggy smoggy, okay typical for San Bernardino County, September afternoon. Last time I had the joy of visiting the San Bernardino Courthouse I was probably nine or ten, tagging after my dad, who, at six four walks very fast, and would never wait up for a scrawny little girl with glasses, practically running in his wake. I remember the courthouse area was huge and confusing and I felt like I walked slashed ran after my father for miles in the smoggy hot California desert. If we were down the hill running this kind of errand then I’m sure that meant my dad was pretty pissed off too. I remember sitting around in a plain eighties hallway for hours, nothing to do and bored starring at dirty tile floors and elevators full of people in the most modern eighties business attire. Lots of shoulder pads.
Flash forward twenty something years and you find me driving through the ghetto of San Bernardino pissed off because the San Bernardino Superior Courts website told me to exit in a place that no longer exists on the frequently under construction 215 freeway. Briefly this morning I was excited to remember there is s court house in Big Bear on my own mountain. The thought occurred to me that, yea, I wouldn’t have to go down the hill to deal with this errand. Yet, alas, the Big Bear courthouse doesn’t handle pending divorces, today’s task of the day. What do they handle? Banjo robberies and squirrel muggings?
I found the courthouse easily, even with the freeway mishap. The good thing about San Bernardo, the only good thing, is I do know the area quite well. I even found a huge parking lot, so I wouldn’t have to parallel park on the street, something I do nor excel at. I learned to drive in the mountains…. we don’t have curbs!
I even found the building I was searching for no problem! How easy was this! Then I walked in the door and saw the airport-ish security check point.
Let me be the first to say, I don’t mind at all, at airports or amusement parks or where ever being searched. I feel the government should do what they feel works to keep this country and state safe. I have no problem with the Patriot Bill; The government can listen in on my calls, I don’t care. I have nothing to hide. I live a pure lifestyle and if taping the wires of a few innocent people to catch terrorists helps this nation stay safe, so be it.
That being said, I think I knew deep in my heart that they would search my hand bag at the court house. I just forgot. I do watch the news occasionally so you think I would be aware what is going on around me. Yet, more then often, I am not.
So I take off mt belt, hand over my hand bag and get ready to make an ass of myself.
The first thing the security guard asks me is
“Ma’am why do you have a box cutter in your purse?”
Really it shouldn’t be a weird question in San Bernardino of all places. I mean this is a bad area and I’m a hundred-pound single girl. Sure I lift weight’s every day, but I’m really not capable of defending myself against thugs. So yes, sometimes I carry a box cutter in my purse, as well as mace, just in case. Oh yea, and I also work in a grocery store. That’s why I have a box cutter. I just really wish I had thought about a possible security search and left all my weapons in the car.
I explained that I hadn’t known there would be a security search because I’m a big retard who doesn’t watch the news enough and is forgetful, and also my car was not parked that close. I really didn’t want to walk all the way back to my car in 103 degree heat for a box cutter.
“Can I just throw it away? I asked.
“No, you can either hide it outside or we can confiscate it” The nice security lady told me. Hide it outside? Really? What if a kid finds it! I’m not hiding a box cutter outside for children to play with! So I handed over my weapon.
“Okay, but you may want to disinfect your hands, that box cutter fell in the toilet recently” I warned as I handed it over. (This happens a lot when you leave items in the back pocket of your jeans)
I guess I deserved the dirty look awarded me at that point.
But hold on, Miss Security Guard was nor through with me yet.
“Ma’am, what is that bottle of liquid in your purse?” I was asked.
I truthfully responded,
” I have no idea. Is it hand sanitizer? ” I did get that Hand Sanitizer Canada bottle recently, perhaps I had left it on me.
” I don’t know what it is, ma’am. Its your purse. Please step over to my assistant.”
At this point I thought I had messed up big time and was about to get a cavity search, and all I wanted to do was file some paper work!
What was the huge and possibly explosive bottle of liquid in my purse? A huge bottle of hot sauce. I carry it everywhere with me! I forgot. Okay, actually both security guards cracked up when they realized it was Franks Red Hot Sauce and not gasoline.
Times like this, I really feel like that mountain hick that doesn’t get out much.
So here I am still at the courthouse, ass going numb on a very hard bench. Its been a two-hour wait so far and maybe? I’m getting a little bored? I can’t even spy on the conversations of people around me because, I mean besides the lesbian tattoo artist sitting beside me, not a single other person in this waiting hallway speaks a word of English. I love the 909! I mean Little Tijuana. I should have guessed my neighbor’s profession but what with the black hot pants screaming fatal across her ass, well really I would have guessed prostitute. This is San Bernardino after all. Her outfit is nothing like the shoulder-padded business attire I remember from the 1980’s hallway of boredom.
