What 9.11 brought to American people was more psychological terror than the bomb itself. I have always been feeling sympathetic with American people, since I thought no one has the right to bring any other people such kind of disastrous damage. However, I didn’t expect that American people were revenging with same kind of psychological attack, giving more trauma to all the other races.

Whenever traveling by air, the first torture was the endless waiting at the line of airport for the security inspections, but we seldom complained since we ourselves were also unwilling to step onto a plane with any potential danger. Therefore, we dislike it, but still follow it with fair understanding.

On June 13, 2008, I was going through the same procedure at Las Vegas Airport. Unexpectedly, I, along with my companion, another Chinese girl, was led to a special lane, Lane #9. Our carry-on bags and our sneakers were put under the computer inspector, and we went through another body detector. Until then, we didn’t have any different thoughts. Putting on our shoes, we went up to take our handbags. We were stopped and asked to take our bags to inspecting agents. Other passengers passed us and went to their gate.

I, and my friend, were stood in front of a long table, and two security guards told us to witness their searching. Each of us had a backpack and a small string bag. The man searching me took out all the stuff from my backpack. First, my novel, he flapped through the whole book. I was wondering what he was looking for. Then my camcorder, he used a white paper (maybe magnetic) to wipe through all the surface and then slot it into computer, which responded “nothing detected”. Then my camera, and other stuffs and every corner of the inside of the bag. Next my handbag, wallet, notebook, keys, cosmetics, and the insides of the bag again.

Staring at his every action, I felt blood was pumped into my brain gradually. I could feel my face turning color. The man looked up at me shortly and then turned away his eyes. He carefully put everything back into the bag, and said “it’s done. Thanks.” I didn’t know what was done. The only feeling was I was torn away all my clothes and stood there naked.

Taking my bags, I saw my friend was even tougher, because she had some peculiar stuff which aroused the inspector’s suspect. I knew that was her plastic massage ring, but the inspector looked puzzled, thinking it was a brace ring, in a wrong size. She reported her supervisor for further instruction.

Finally, both of us were “done”. When we left, we saw another Asian-like woman was stopped there after us.

I could never understand what their procedure or standard was to pick out people going through Lane 9, the special lane for special people. I could not know what the magnetic paper and the computer were detecting. What I knew was I was special.