How I Narrowly Avoided a Stay at Gitmo

It is a prudent thing to carry a pocket knife at The Homestead. I use mine at least five times a day and won't leave home without it. Unfortunately, I had a meeting at the Federal Building in Salt Lake City this morning and, indeed, arrived at the meeting with not one, but two, knives in my pockets. The TSA/GSA/Federal Marshall that screened me found the small Swiss Army knife that I carry on my key chain, but let me keep it. She could not, however, figure out why I kept buzzing the metal detector. I couldn't either. We took off my sunglasses, my belt, my watch . . . until finally I was clear.

I sat in my meeting until my parking meter had expired and then asked the uniformed guards for permission to go out and come back in. They said, "yes" but wanted to run me through the metal detector again. As I patted my pockets prior to my second screening, I found the seven-inch serrated lock-back knife in my back pocket. I froze. The knife had been there all day. What if the guards discovered I had eluded them earlier? Sweat broke out on my forehead. The guard with the scarred cheek and eyes of ice cleared his throat. What if they thought I had deliberately left my meeting to retrieve a weapon? I could feel a muscle in the corner of my eye begin to jump. The guard with the Grim Reaper tattoo got up and began to circle. I made a dash for the metal detector and slipped through. Nothing. I was clear. I gave the guards a nervous smile and wished them a good day.