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On the Road: Hijacked

By Mike Morin - For The Telegraph | Apr 3, 2021

Mike Morin

I’ve taken today’s column on the road from our Nashua home because I could. Fully vaccinated and not satisfied with warm spring temperatures, we headed to Florida for a week of 80-degree sun. And since most of you have not traveled by plane this past year, let me bring you up to date on what to be aware of.

Arriving at Manchester/Boston Regional Airport at 7 in the morning, you would normally expect to become part of a vehicle scrum, fighting over curb space for drop off. Not this weekday morning. There were maybe two other cars.

Lady Baba and I grabbed our bags and headed inside the terminal for sign in. That’s when the fun began.

“Is the terminal even open?” I asked Barb. It seemed really dark. No lights on. Nobody home. Then I realized my glasses had fogged due to my mask and I would have to navigate the Southwest check-in kiosk without the benefit of my specs.

Bags checked, we headed for the escalator for the TSA rigamaroll. Nothing new here. Shoes and belt off, jump into the imaging booth, hands over your head as if you are an NFL official giving the “safety” call. This is where the real fun began.

My backpack was removed from the X-ray conveyor belt by the agent to be opened and inspected. Did the screener think my tidy whities were explosives? Did he think my toothbrush was a weapon?

The guy picked through my backpack, bypassing a can of Metamucil and a loaf of homemade bread for my brother and his wife. Then, he got what he was looking for. A plastic jug holding 32-ounces of liquid. The max allowed for carry-on bags is 3.4 liquid ounces. I had ten times that amount. I know better but just forgot about the rule.

What really hurt is that it was a quart of New Hampshire pure maple syrup from Ben’s Sugar Shack in nearby Temple. Liquid gold.

“Sir, you’re welcomed to go back down stairs and check it in or you’ll have to leave it here and we will dispose it,” the gracious agent informed me. I was tempted to cry in hopes of getting a waiver, but did not. It is a tragedy to throw away Grade A dark robust Ben’s syrup. Forget the $16 I’m out. The TSA is required to get rid of all illegal items like my quart of syrup.

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff we throw away every day,” he explained with sincere empathy. Lesson learned. I would have to find another granite state item to gift to my brother and wife for hosting us.

Just as soon as I left the detention center, as if sent from heaven above, I spotted a kiosk with all kinds of New Hampshire-made products. There was salt water taffy, maple popcorn, tee shirts and … wait for it … jugs of Ben’s maple syrup. Yes, I did.

Well I couldn’t just show up in Florida with Metamucil, could I?

Contact Mike Morin at mike morinmedia@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter at @MikeMorinMedia. His column runs the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month.

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