First Leg of the Journey to Rabat: Chicago to Boston

*Blog Post Content Warning: This post contains mentions of period products and personal pleasure toys because the TSA be like that sometimes*

So I’ve got two layovers: one in Boston, one in London.

I just went through O’Hare security, and I’ve got a story about good old security check, but first I want to tell you a little story about the O’Hare Kiss N’Fly, the airtrain to each terminal.

It’s currently under construction. I take the $2 250 Pace bus from campus to the Kiss N’Fly, and when I get to the airtrain, there’s a bus to take passengers to each terminal instead of the airtrain.

Fine. No biggie.

….Except that the parking lot surrounding the Kiss N’Fly is a Jungian, Joseph Campbell inspired maze that if MC Escher had gotten his hands on, would have probably made even him go like, “Hmm, seems a bit complicated.”

The bus ride took a half hour and we spent 20 mins of that looping around the parking lot so the bus could exit.

So anyway, I finally get to my terminal, and then I go to check in my luggage, which is 9lbs over the 40 lb limit Spirit imposes, but this part is actually okay, because I know exactly what to take out. It mostly boils down to a French book I wanted to bring with me, a bottle of green tea I’d forgotten to take out of the bag from breakfast, and a metal water bottle I hooked onto my backpack.

So, I go through security, and Lo! and Behold! I get pulled aside to have my stuff searched.

Before I jump to racial profiling, I do think this part is because I pack my small things in decorative tins, and this probably comes up as a red flag with the TSA agent. I have two more opportunities to go through security on this trip to Rabat. We’ll see how it plays out.

So, the TSA agent checking my luggage, she opens one of my tins, which has my period products in it, and I tell her, “That has my period products in it.”

She gives me a funny look, as though I’m mildly amusing and yet she says, “You don’t…you can just say panty liners.”

And I laugh to myself because she thinks I’m ashamed to talk about this. She has no idea what’s coming.  I go, “Well…but, they’re not. They’re called Flex cups.”

And then I explain/advocate for my period products. Flex cups are basically a alternative to pads/tampons. They’re plastic or silicon disks that you insert to catch your blood, and then pull out up to 12 hours afterwards while in the bathroom. I personally find them much more comfortable than pads and tampons.

So I explain this, and her mouth is slightly agape, which I find inwardly really amusing considering she’s getting paid to rifle through my stuff and it’s my most intimate products are in my carry on. Somebody’s got to feel flustered in all of this, and it’s not going to be me when I haven’t packed anything illegal.

She points to one of my packing cubes after putting my period stuff back. “What’s this?”

“Bras, underwear, socks.”

Her hands, about to open the cube, promptly move to the next thing. She unzips the other half of my suitcase and pulls out a small bag I’ve packed.

“What’s this?”

“It’s condoms, lube, some painkillers, and my vibrator.”

She immediately puts it down, lifts her hands up as if I’m an officer, exhales, and repacks it, shaking her head and vaguely smiling like someone who can’t quite believe this is happening.