By Diana Novack, Los Angeles, CA
While attending a wedding in
Annapolis, Maryland, I ran into an old friend of mine who
worked at the White House. He suggested my sister and I
stop by on the way home for a tour. We agreed. While
walking into the White House security area, I realized that
I left my Batter Up, one-hitter in my purse. Panic
stricken, I put the pipe in a back pocket of my purse and
prayed for the best. My sister placed her purse on the
conveyor belt and it went through the metal detector first.
Her jacket set the machine off and she was taken to the side
for them to use the hand held device. I placed my purse on
the belt with the pocket with the pipe facing down. The
security guard stood it up in a very military like fashion.
It’s like he knew something. I felt like, Billy Hayes, in
the movie Midnight Express. My pulse quickened, I could
feel a tiny sweat bead forming above my lip, secret service
all around, security cameras in every corner, I was trapped
like the pot smoker I am. I thought of faking an illness,
but that seemed too obvious. What else could I do I asked
myself? If there were any options I couldn’t think of them,
well one, going to jail and having my friend get fired and
drag my sister into a federal crime. I guess I thought of
I walked through the detector and
waited for both purses to come through. Although not stoned
at the time, true paranoia had set in and everything seemed
to be moving in slow motion. There was a security guy
looking at the screen when he pointed at my purse and said,
“THAT PURSE”, in a voice you would expect from Darth Vader.
Sometimes you feel paranoid for a good reason, like the
moment before you get caught committing a federal crime and
foresee the rest of your life being ruined because you like
to smoke a little weed. Luckily, the purse had a fancy
clasp and the security guard could not figure out how to
open it; which gave me a millisecond to come up with
SOMETHING!! I said, “Excuse me, ummm I have some very
personal pictures in that bag, if you would be so kind as to
give me the bag so that I can remove the pictures, I would
be more than happy to give the bag back to you.” I am
good. I could be a CIA. He hands me my purse and I remove
the pictures and the pipe, hand back the purse and enjoyed a
lovely tour of the White House with my sister and friend.
Although, I don’t recommend it, I got away with bringing
drugs into the White House.
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