After a four-hour flight from Turkey

After a four-hour flight from Turkey
Originally uploaded by Banamine.

After a four-hour flight from Turkey, my partner and I
were tired and disoriented after collecting baggage
from the carousel, then rechecking it in for a
connecting flight. As we made our way through the
doorway that led towards the metal detectors and
conveyor belts and the boarding area,

The uniformed airport official said we had been
selected to trial a new security system. We felt we
had no choice, so we followed, then were separated.

She smiled and led me towards a curtained area, where
she took my handbag and told me to stand on white
markers. She stood in the corner and directed my
poses: hands in the air, to the left, to the right.

I felt silly doing this and, ominously, there was no
click, no flash, just a sinking feeling.

At the completion of the last mug shot - hands down by
my side with my back to the screen - and feeling as
though this woman and I had just made a silent
personal agreement, I made a feeble attempt at humour.

"Am I a Terrorist or Convict?" I said.

"Oh, no. Do you want to have a look?" she said.

"No, thanks," I said, sensing disaster ahead.


"Come on," she said, luring me behind the screen.
Here, another woman sat behind a computer terminal
staring. I walked behind her shoulder and saw the
object of her gaze, although it took a few moments to
comprehend the full horror.


On her 30-centimetre computer screen was a
black-and-white ultrasonic image of me. Nude from behind
with no hair. Nude. From behind. No hair.


I stood, slack-jawed, surveying myself from naked heel
to denuded cranium. Ten kilos heavier (or was that a
true reflection? - my mind was racing), weirdly
distorted bulges made by the impression of my jeans;
15 centimetres shorter and flat-footed, resembling a
cavewoman. I had only about 30 seconds to view this
image, but it has been stuck permanently in my brain.

As we stood there with my two cheeks staring the three
of us in the face, I could hear them saying comforting
yet clearly false things like, "Everybody looks the
same" and "Don't worry, everybody has rolls where they
don't have rolls."

And that was it. Mortified that two strangers were
talking about my naked rolls, I was led away like someone
who had just undergone shock treatment, given my
handbag, a piece of paper explaining how the light
ultrasonic image X-ray works and pointed towards the front of the
conveyor belt queue.Welcome to nude terror