As with most people, my experiences with the Transportation Security Administration have not been universally wonderful. At the airports in New York, where I live, travelers seem to be treated like inmates arriving at the penitentiary, but perhaps that’s because agents often reflect the personality and intensity of their regions. As the mass-shooting horror was unfolding in Las Vegas on Sunday night, I was a few hundred miles away in New Mexico, about to encounter the local TSA.
I had been performing and teaching workshops at the Albuquerque Ukulele Festival over the weekend. I play a unique instrument called the harp ukulele, which features an extra arm. It looks very different from a standard ukulele, and most people have never seen one.
On Sunday night, heading back to the east coast, I was in the security line at the Albuquerque airport. I always carry my instrument on airplanes since it is comparatively rare and valuable—the Hawaiian company aNueNue has only made a small number of them—and when the TSA agent saw its shape in the x-ray machine, she asked me what it was.
“It’s a musical instrument,” I replied.
“I know that,” she said, “but what kind of instrument?”
I told her it was a harp ukulele and, because she seemed intrigued and perhaps wary, I asked her if she wanted to see it. This was an hour before midnight, the airport was quiet, and the agents had time for small talk. I opened the case and showed it to her. She smiled and insisted that I show it to the agent who was rummaging through my purse and confiscating a forgotten water bottle. And before I knew it three more agents had gathered around, jaws wide open.
Accustomed as I am to dealing with the TSA in New York, I was amused to encounter a quintet of friendly agents who were serious about their job, but not treating me like a recalcitrant sheep.
As it happened, I had forgotten to mail some postcards, and in order to do so, was obliged to retrace my steps to the terminal and repeat the security check. “When you return,” one of the agents told me, “you’ll have to give us a performance.” They were still talking about my harp ukulele when I came back. “Now it’s time for you to play us a song,” one of them said. I told them I’d do it, but from the other side of the scanner.
So I took off my shoes, took my laptop out of its bag, walked through the x-ray—getting patted down on the same mysterious spot on my shoulder which was detected the first time I passed through—and then picked up my instrument and began tuning it. This time, all the agents rushed over and gathered around, and a handful of other passengers looked on in some confusion as I began to play and sing Jimmie Rodgers’ “Waiting for a Train.” (Of course, I changed the lyrics to “waiting for a plane.”)
When I finished, the agents applauded heartily and thanked me for the demonstration. They had seen a lot of musical instruments before, they explained, but never a harp ukulele. I put my shoes back on, packed up my instrument, and walked to my gate.
I was grateful to have had a pleasant experience with TSA agents—it had been awhile since the last one—and as a passenger, I’m more than happy to endure scrutiny before getting on a plane.
When I got to the gate I checked my phone and saw the first details of the massacre in Las Vegas trickling in. My heart broke for the people who were trapped in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the unfair cruelty of it all.
And I thought of TSA agents, grumpy or friendly, doing their best like the rest of us in this increasingly anxious time.
Gracie Terzian is a singer and songwriter in New York. Her album, Saint and Poets, is available on her website GracieTerzian.com, and on iTunes and Spotify.
