Catch Me if You Can

I travel a lot because I live in Chicago and my job is in Seattle. That’s a long story that friends already know and I’m not inclined today to explain it to others-who-really-don’t-care-but-want-to-know-anyway. I’ll leave that stirring drama of heartbreak and triumph for another blog. The blog I’m writing today is far less ambitious, and therefore very much like myself. It’s about having bilateral cochlear implants and going through airport security scanners.

 

As all c. i. users know, when they walk through airport scanners they have a terrific opportunity to educate TSA employees and travelers waiting in line with their shoes off. When the guy with the badge peers at you curiously and says: “What’s that on your head?” you should respond “It’s a cochlear implant” and explain in appropriate detail how the device works and how it benefits you. Then the badge says, “That’s really great. But you can’t take that can of Red Bull through, sir. You’ll have to leave it here.”

 

Well, I’m a lousy implant evangelist. I just want to get through the scanners without a hassle after the mind-numbing cattle drive to get there. With my first c. i. this is no problem. My hair is long enough to cover most of the headpiece and I don't use a T-mic, so the c. i. looks no more than an outsized hearing aid or Bluetooth gadget.  Plus, it has never activated a scanner's alarm. Typically I get through without breaking stride or attracting attention. I then grab my shoes, my keys, my wallet, and other terrorist threats from the portable bin and high-tail it to the terminal. Gate C-26 lounge here I come. Yesss!

 

Now I have a second c. i.; this one has a T-mic that hangs down at a slightly odd angle from my ear. After a year, I still don’t feel comfortable wearing it in tandem with my golden oldie. Part of the reason is that I haven’t gotten notable benefits from C. I. No. 2 yet (another epic blog there…be patient, my friends). So functionally the c. i. is more like jewelry than a life-changing hearing apparatus. And, much to my wife’s distress, I’m not big on jewelry. I’d feel uncomfortable with a flashy lapel pin, cufflinks, or nose ring, too. You can take the boy out of the South Side of Chicago, but you can’t take....etc. etc. It’s true.

 

Another reason I’m uncomfortable going through security two c. i.'s at once is that my bilateral condition seems to capture the fascination of the whole airport community. The first time I did this on a trip the implant set off the scanner and two or three badges converged on me with intent to pat down, looking directly at my head. With forbearance, I explained to them the kind of heat my head was packing. Perhaps they were having simultaneous bad hair days but none of them smiled and said “That’s really great.” Instead, with Buster Keaton miens and barely perceptible nods they sent me on my way. Same to you, guys. Wait’ll you become deaf.

 

Anyway, now when I fly I take off my second c. i. as I approach the scanner. I put it in the bin with my shoes, my keys, my wallet, and my Blackberry, and let it ride on the conveyer belt to the place of safety. Meanwhile I walk through the scanner wearing only one c. i., as I have for more than a decade. The badge looks at me dispassionately, checks my ticket, and motions me through. And that’s it: I’m free to gather up all my stuff and head to Gate C-26, unmolested.

 

As I walk down the terminal reattaching my second c. i., I contemplate wearing both c. i.’s through the scanner next time. And if I get to the other side without setting off a convocation of badges, I’ll very likely say to myself: “That’s really great.”