Today, showing up in your jammies at the check-in counter would be one of the wisest decisions you?d ever make
THE FIRST TIME I TRAVELED overseas?to Berlin to attend an economic course for journalists in the early 1980s?I was in a suit, pasadya (custom-made), as we then put it, thanks to my mother who sacrificed a chunk of her miserly teacher?s salary so I would at least look as decent as international travel then demanded.

At that time, hopping on an international flight was like attending a singular event, like a wedding or funeral, such that travelers made sure they looked their best. I didn?t make a fashion statement, but didn?t stick out like an infected pimple either.

Those were the days. Then, the assumption was the respect and service you got were directly proportional to how well (i.e., expensive) you looked. Travel was a generally pleasant experience. At the check-in counter, a cargo handler would heave your suitcase on to the luggage conveyor belt so you wouldn?t risk aggravating your back. On board it was even nicer. The stewardess would stow away my brass-buttoned blazer and I could ask for as much booze as I wanted. If I pressed the red button calling for cabin crew, somebody would be by my side, on her knees, in seconds. I don?t think I?d get the same attention if I were dressed like a hippie or a hobo. Actually, I don?t know because, like I said, I dressed to travel.

Today, thanks to 9-11, the clumsy attempts of terrorists to set themselves afire on flights and the even clumsier attempts by authorities to prevent said terrorists from checking in, showing up in your jammies at the check-in counter would be one of the wisest decisions you?d ever make.

Even for a scamp like me, going to heaven should be much easier than passing through airport security. Your jacket or coat, with your shoes, belt, watch, laptop, cell phone?anything that could set off the alarm or which the inspector thinks could be used as weapons, including a half-empty bottle of water?goes into the plastic basket that goes through an X-ray machine.

At San Francisco International Airport, this is done once. At Ninoy Aquino International Airport, thrice.

In pajamas

Which is why traveling is now an occasion to dress down. Think about going to bed, (or now that the security geniuses are talking cavity search, going to the bathroom), which was what I almost did on my last trip to Manila.

I was not exactly in my PJs, but rather in one of my overused polyester jogging pants. I would also have worn the tattered T-shirt and Hooters shorts I slept in, but concerns about hygiene gave me pause. For footwear, I slipped into my well-worn desert-camouflage Crocs. I debated with myself for a while about putting on socks because the screeners could ask you to take them off also. But I decided to risk the inconvenience because I get cold feet easily, literally and allegorically.

Just going through a succession of metal and explosive substance detectors, as well as the multiple body frisks, before being allowed on board should be enough for a reasonable person to question the wisdom of air travel in these times. But that, believe you me, is nothing compared to when you get randomly picked out of the queue to get ?special treatment.?

As what recently happened to me on my layover at Tokyo?s Narita Airport, from San Francisco en route to Manila. Confident that I would raise no alarm in my track pants, faded blue T-shirt and slippers, a female passenger screener, who would turn out to be a Filipina (thankfully no Japayuki, I think), would pick me out of the line and bring me behind a screen. To her credit, she was apologetic from the moment she asked me to step out of the queue, saying it was all random.

?Sir, pasensiya na po,? she kept on saying. At first I was annoyed and made no effort to conceal it. I had been airborne for 15 hours in cattle class with somebody who had bladder problems as seatmate. But after a while, I actually began to feel sorry for her. Being an airport screener has to be one of the most distasteful jobs in the world now; I don?t know of any other job in which being sneered and scowled upon is part of the job description. So I just deadpanned and let her do her thing.

If I were in Chi of Shangri-La Mactan, I would not have minded the hands running all over my body. She took off my socks and proceeded to what I felt was massaging the soles of my feet. Then she opened my two carry-on bags and opened every item in it, including a half-eaten breakfast burrito.

Since SFO, I have now been frisked a total of six times. (I had to stay overnight in Honolulu, which means I had to check into a seedy airport hotel.) One would think that by this time they, the security apparatchiks, would already have found what they were looking for. Or at least, having spent bazillions of dollars on security IT, a punch on the keyboard should already identify me as someone who?s scared of firecrackers and thus is least likely to light up my feet or shove something up my butt other than Wet Ones.

But I have been flying at least four times a year between San Francisco and Manila for the past five or six years and going through the same security checks, I have concluded that these security geniuses do not have a clue as to what they are looking for. Screening has gone from ridiculous to insane.

A few tips

Instead of whining, I have come up with a few travel tips to spare my fellow aggrieved travelers some amount of grief.

1Travel only if you have to, like for really urgent business, a close kin passing on, etc. If your purpose is just pleasure, the pain ain?t worth it.

2Dress down. I mean, show as much skin as your sense of decency would allow, hoping screeners would get a clue that you?re not hiding anything explosive. I?m talking garter or drawstring shorts, T-shirts (some actually wear camiseta), slippers (preferably flip-flops), which are easier to shed because for some mystical reason, the screeners ask you to take them off anyway even if they see your feet.

3When addressed by a screener, respond in a calm voice. Don?t elaborate; if asked about the purpose of your trip, simply say a family member died, but don?t talk about cause of death. Don?t show annoyance. The screener has the judge and jury?s powers over you; he or she could prevent you from boarding your flight if he or she does not like your face, i.e., you look as if you?ve got an incendiary in one of your body cavities.

4Your orifices are another matter. Consider wearing diapers, particularly if you?ve got bladder issues or eaten too much bran. According to the latest regs, you can?t go to the can an hour before landing. Before your trip, you might consider shopping at an outdoors shop like REI and getting yourself a couple of boxes of those handheld johns, which should be good for No. 1. It could be more tricky handling No. 2. (For the uninitiated in the latest American lexicography, No. 1 and No. 2 refer to the body?s plumbing which, if uncontrolled, could cause ?accidents,? which could happen if you eat bad talaba.)

5Don?t expect any pleasantries from the cabin crew. Remember, they?re no longer there to ensure that you have a pleasant flight, no matter what the dude (?This is your captain speaking?) on the flight deck says. The aircraft is a stalag; you, dear passenger, are a presumed terrorist; the stewards and stewardesses are the wardens.

Northwest thugs

Let me expound on this: On my particular Northwest flight (HNL-NRT, in case somebody from Northwest gets to read this), the crew made Hitler?s SS thugs seem like Brownies. Once, I asked for another cup of wine; the stewardess without even looking at me raised her hand as if to shush me. Never got my wine. On another occasion, while the plane was ?on approach,? a steward pointed an accusing finger at me and, without so much as an ?excuse me,? asked me?no, barked at me?to turn off my noise-cancelling headphones.

6Bring your own food. It used to be that flying could be like going to an eat-all-you-can buffet. Well, they do still serve food, but less frequently, which may be just as well because the grub would trigger a riot at the San Quentin maximum-security prison.

7But no drinks (or for that matter, no liquids, including fragrances), please. I don?t even know why the duty-free shops are still selling liquor, beverages, perfumes and other liquid products when you can?t bring the stuff on board. They should actually be selling manuals or instructional videos on what to do when your seatmate starts to light up his shoe.

Here?s the bottom line. Flying sucks. Big time. We can blame bin Laden all we want, but the truth of the matter is that, despite the billions of dollars they?re spending on supposedly making the skies safer, the folks at Homeland Security, the CIA, the MIS, and the other security agencies are just executing al-Qaeda?s objective, which is to make our journeys as miserable as possible.

Lito Gutierrez is the editor of Asian Dragon Magazine and of the San Francisco, California-based monthly Filipino Style Magazine.