Ask me about butt plugs...just not in airport security.

by Shawna Scott September 15, 2014

Last week I had the unbelievable privilege to see Kate Bush's show Before the Dawn. I could go on about how spectacular and life-changing the show was, but I think the Guardian's review of it pretty much sums it up. I could also tell you about meeting up with fellow sex toy enthusiast, Andy of Ruffled Sheets fame, for lunch and how that man can wear a suit better than anyone I know. Seriously, we're talking Daniel Craig levels of suit-wearing perfection.

No, no. Instead I'd like to tell you about a funny thing that happened on the way home from London.

Typically airports are very boring places for me. They all have the same shops, same fast-food, same newsagents. Even if I have a late flight somewhere, I tend to blink and yawn my way through check-in and security. I love watching planes take-off and land, but that's usually the extent of my excitement when it comes to visiting an airport.

Last week, however, myself and my boyfriend were flying home on 9/11 so I could be back in time to speak at Made It Series. I expected longer security queues, given the day, but nothing anymore exciting than normal. I started to get mildly worried, though, when my bags went through the scanner twice and one of the security staff brought them over to a shiny, steel table.

"Are these yours?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind if we swab them?"

"Sure go ahead."

About 20 seconds later, the little swab testing machine started to beep and what looked to be a receipt printed out.

"Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure, why? What's up with my bag?"

"We've found traces of explosive on it."

EXPLOSIVE! On my hand bag! I started replaying the past month in my head like a VHS tape on rewind. How could there have been explosive on my bag? Unless I accidentally dropped it in some fertilizer at Electric Picnic, but that seems highly unlikely. I suddenly found myself being snapped out of my mental replay by more questions.

"Where do you reside?...." "Where were you staying in the UK?..." "How often do you visit the UK?..." "What do you do for a living?"

"I own an online sex shop."

"Right..."

Another gentleman came over to search my bags while I was being questioned. While I was confident there were no explosives in either bag, I did manage to forget to take out one rather incriminating item: a name badge that I wear to events that reads "Ask me about BUTT-PLUGS!"

"Can I ask you about this?" said the second gentleman as he held it up so literally everyone in the security area could see it. My face, I'm sure, turned a shade of red not dissimilar to that of a strawberry. Normally this wouldn't embarrass me; I talk about sex pretty much all day, everyday...sometimes to random strangers. It's kind of my thing, but because it's airport security. On 9/11. And they found traces of freakin' EXPLOSIVE on my bag, I was a bit on edge.

"I run an online sex shop."

"I know, I found one of your business cards," he said with a smile and a wink as he pulled a Sex Siopa business card from one of the side pockets. I could feel the mood instantly lighten.

"I deliver to the UK, so you can keep that."

"I'm not going to find a big dildo in this other bag am I?"

"No sir, not today I'm afraid."

And with that I was handed my bags and told to have a pleasant flight. I wandered around Gatwick for ages thinking "Did that actually just happen to me?" So remember, don't be embarrassed if you find yourself flying with a sex toy in your bag. Generally airport security are pretty discreet about it. It could be worse. You could be a sex shop owner getting the piss taken out of you, because you've got traces of explosive on the outside of your bag, and a name badge that says "Ask me about Butt-Plugs" on the inside.





Shawna Scott
Shawna Scott

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