Jeremy Corbett: What goes around…

Those of you who have read my column before probably think I am pretty cool. Well, it’s not always the case. Given I criticise others for humour from week to week, I guess it was only a matter of time before my own petard blew up and hoisted me into the air.

Previously, I have scolded those people who, when queuing for airport security checkpoints, hold all of us up by not getting themselves prepared for scanning. I cruelly suggested they should have their own dunce queue.

I claimed never to be that person. I was always organised and prepared. Subsequent to writing that particular column, I just happened to be passing through security in my normal efficient manner when the metal detector went off.

This was no biggie and was not going to slow anyone down. Sometimes it happens when the machines are particularly sensitive. I knew what it was.

I rolled my eyes at the guard and said, “That’ll be my belt”, and I reached down to expose the buckle for inspection as is customary. This showed I was no mug and was au fait with standard security procedure. I would not be the idiot that held up the queue.

The security guard glanced down, but instead of the knowing nod I was expecting, her gaze held for slightly longer than normal and then, with the sort of smile reserved for the slower members of the society, she said, “Which one?”

It seemed to be that I had put on two belts that morning. I wish she had simply sent me to the back of the dunce queue. But no, her laughter increased in volume as she repeated the words “two belts” over and over, looking around to check with surrounding people that she wasn’t dreaming or in a David Lynch movie.

At a security checkpoint there is no running away from such things. You must stand there, arms wide apart, frozen, awaiting instructions. By this time three guards were giggling away and shaking their heads, but that wasn’t sufficient for her. Gary hadn’t joined in.

“Gary, Gary! Come and check this out! This is a first! Look! Two belts!”

Gary initially showed little interest. He’d seen it all. Gary had worked this shift for longer than he cared to remember. He was days away from retirement. He just wanted to work down the clock without any drama.

But when Gary heard the words “two belts” his eyebrows cocked and his head tilted to the side like a dog that has heard a strange sound for the very first time. He spun around and walked over, throwing a quick glance to the whole crew, suggesting they could all stop working while the phenomenon was investigated.

Every checkpoint ground to a halt. The piano player stopped. All eyes fell on me, standing arms asunder with pants held up by not one, but two belts.

As Gary guffawed, shook his head, and said, “Well I’ll be”, I glanced down at the security woman’s ID tag.

The last letter had been scratched off her name – Carmal had become Carma.