After getting ripped apart once more as I made my way through airport security recently after committing the crime of forgetting to place my mini-Nivea deodorant in a plastic see through bag, I couldn’t help but think how this was now the norm, not the exception.

Physical security, there under the guise of being ‘to protect us all’, has taken on a trajectory, similar to that of the ‘because of Covid’ excuse, as those in uniforms, with no more legal powers than you or me, act over officiously for seemingly the most minor infraction of the rules.

Despite there being no recent terrorist attacks, it seems that officials are wanton to deem something ‘terror related’ at present to save criticism of their actions. We still sit officially as a country at a ‘Substantial’ threat level (meaning an attack is likely). The scale which runs through low to moderate, substantial to severe and critical would sound a lot less dramatic as ‘medium’ as that is what it is, but that of course would damage the egos of the humourless hi-vizzed security teams whose job it is to confiscate some serrated children’s Barbie scissors or any liquids over 100ml, before selling you the same liquids 20 yards further on, once airside…

Wet End theatres are just as culpable: Recently I was refused entry, some 30 minutes before an instantly forgettable show, as I had a Pret-a-manger crayfish sandwich in my Karrimor rucksack. It is not a ‘permitted’ item apparently, despite my asking to see the list of such items, as I was curious as to whether it was due to it being a foodstuff, or if the crayfish was to blame. After wolfing down the sandwich (expensive, but highly recommended), I made my way inside before being asked ‘why I was visiting the theatre today?’

As much as physical security can be overzealous, over officious and ultimately antagonistic in their approach, generally, the complete opposite is the case with online security.

I have often been tempted, when logging onto the BBC iPlayer, to click the ‘I do not have a TV licence’ box to see what happens. I haven’t been brave enough as yet, and am fearful my entire televisual system would die a death before the TV licensing goons come a knocking.

Passing the prescription security check in pharmacies is also a breeze with the go to ‘what’s your name and first line of address’ unlikely to have yielded more than one miscreant in all the years in has been in national operation. The same can be said for Amazon who, when delivering an age restricted item, such as a small jump of metal, a coil, for my vape, hold the item as they ask a semi centurion for my year of birth. It’s a tricky one, but…

Ticking ‘I am not a robot’ does not mean I am not a robot as, if I were a good robot, then I would program said robot to lie and tick they weren’t. That system is only slightly less galling than the ‘tick all the traffic lights’, or crosswalks, or bicycles pictorial test that seem to be prevalent at present.

These often catch me out as I am genuinely unsure as to tick the squares containing a small part of said item. When it says tick the bikes, does it mean the quarter of the back tyre that falls into another box, or not? Or maybe I’m just a complete idiot…

My favourite however is the ‘are you over 18’ box, which I often encounter when I buy nicotine products and which, I hear, is also a question asked on adult sites.

Now if you were underage, and the parents were out, and you’d managed to bypass the family filter, would anyone, at that stage, as they search out some racy content tick ‘no’ and be sent packing? Its security designed by simpletons which must tick some government prescribed safety regulation box or other, I guess.

Now much as I criticise ‘security’ if that it was it is, I think back to my one evening as a security guard, at a rave in the 1990s in Brighton. I knew the organiser and having a spare evening and wanting to earn a few quid, along with being morbidly obese at the time, he thought I would look ‘hard’ in a bomber jacket. A few hours later as I guarded a door, a gang of n’er do wells arrived. Outnumbered ten to one, and on my own, they demanded entry. I refused due to their manner, before I was told ‘Let us in now or we’ll open you up’, before I did the brave thing and stepped aside as they made their way in for a pleasant night of Acid house.

Still, I got a bomber jacket and a few quid out of the situation, so all’s well: but I was never asked back, which I am somewhat gutted about as being bad at security is what being a security guard is all about, isn’t it...?

  • Brett Ellis is a teacher