This has been a crazy trip.
Indianapolis Airport, if you’re not familiar, has an unusual way of dealing with people who check guns in their luggage. You get a little “permission slip” when you check in at the ticket counter which instructs you to go to the TSA office once you get through security. Then you wait for them to give you the all-clear.
In between the ticket counter and the TSA office, I stopped for lunch. Less than a minute after my meal arrived, I hear “Passenger Todd Green, please report to a TSA Supervisor immediately” over the loudspeaker. I throw some cash on the table and head to security. They get the keys to my Pelican case, metal-detect me, xray my carry on, and then ask me to stand fast until they’ve had a chance to hand inspect my luggage down in the bowels of the airport.
A few minutes later, a TSA blue shirt, an airline representative, and two of Indianapolis’s finest officers let me know that, “It appears you haven’t packed your firearms properly.” They’re completely disassembled inside a locked Pelican case… exactly like they were on the way here. What’s going on?
Then I realized what they were talking about. “You mean the one with the red top half?” Yup. It was my SIRT pistol. I explained what it was, explained how it worked, and one of the officers went down to check everything out. Shortly thereafter, I got the all-clear. In fact, a TSA supervisor came over to apologize for the confusion. Everyone was friendly and professional.
One of the officers suggested that I declare the SIRT as a firearm in the future. (1) It’s not a firearm. (2) When I’ve tried that in the past, I’ve been told that I shouldn’t because of… well, see (1). I may make up a little tag to tie around the trigger guard that says “I AM NOT A REAL GUN” in the future, though.
And that’s why I get to the airport two hours early.
(Ironically, while checking in I specifically asked the ticket clerk if she needed to check to see if the gun was empty and her response was, “I don’t know enough about guns to tell one way or the other.” I wonder if she has any interest in moving to Baltimore?)
Train hard & stay safe! ToddG
Jeebus, I must have summoned the demon by opening my big mouth or something. 😮
“Oh, dude, everybody I know who flies to gun school from IND thinks they’re just teh awesome!”
*headdesk*
Well doesn’t that suck….
I’m betting she CAME from Baltimore… That would explain your whole interchange with her.
You’re just going to have to get that Porsche and start driving to classes…as long as it doesn’t increase tuition!
Hey at least it wasn’t the UPS driver or Peter greeting you at the counter. Things could have turned into a cavity search real quickly! 🙂
You need to go to the Pistol training/forum.com Gulfsteam 4.
When I used to travel for work I took a “Blue Gun” with me to practice my presentations wile in the hotel room. I packed it in my checked baggage and never declared it….. but had a few times the I was called and had to explain what was up about it.
Givens tell’s the story about getting hassled over dummy rounds…. SIGH.
LOKNLOD — You wouldn’t pay an extra $100 per class for the sake of my automotive happiness? I’m heartbroken!
Can I at least get a ride to lunch out of that deal? I can can be persuaded…
I flew from a small regional airport a while ago in the Northeast going down south to see friends and do some shooting. I brought my Armalite AR-180B because it’s fun and not that expensive if Delta decided to eat it or whatever the hell Delta actually does with luggage.
Anyway, my father was dropping me off and came into the terminal with me. So he was a witness.
I inform the ticket lady (there were two there) that I have a firearm and need to check it. She hands me the little card and says she needs to see if it is unloaded. I pull the rifle out of the case and clear the chamber. The ticket clerk indicates that I need to hand the rifle to her. So I do.
The clerk doesn’t know how guns work. The clerk decides that “checking herself to see if it is unloaded” involves putting the rifle to her shoulder, putting her finger on the trigger, looking at the wrong side of the rifle, and pointing the shooty end at her fracking coworker. Coworker giggles and says “don’t point that at me” and pushes the barrel away. Towards me.
My father and I looked on horrified with mouths open. I was too shocked to even correct them.