Insects and Bureaucrats

In celebration of our son’s 4th birthday, my wife and I brought him on a long-promised trip to the New Orleans Insectarium. It’s the least we could do for our lad, given his penchant for insects and arachnids (he recently taught me the word: “cephalothorax”).

But of course, if it were that simple, it wouldn’t be a story worth telling. And like any story, there are villains and heroes.

We purchased our tickets online, and even though we are members of the Audubon Zoo, a trip to the Insectarium is still not cheap. For two adults and a child, even with the member discount, the cost is $25.

We drove the two miles from our home in Old Gretna to park on the street at Algiers Point, walked a few blocks to the ferry on the west bank of the Mississippi River, and boarded just in time. After crossing to the east bank, at the intersection of the French Quarter and the Central Business District, we strolled up stately Canal Street the few blocks to the Insectarium – which is housed in the antebellum Federal Customs House – which is still a Federal building.

We had forgotten about that last fact, which means, although this is strictly a museum, and although any other part of the building is not accessible from the museum, there is a government-style intrusive search that is required for admission. Such items that are banned in Federal buildings in order to keep us safe from terrorism include things like my wife’s 2-inch long yellow Swiss Army knife with tweezers and a toothpick, not to mention my own version of the pocket-sized Helvetian cache of weaponry that includes the ubiquitous corkscrew and a magnifying glass that comes in handy for looking up words in the Oxford English Dictionary.

So, as we approached the uniformed lady guard manning the metal detector, I asked if we could store our two knives somewhere and get them back after our tour. Her reply was that we had to take them back to our “vehicle.”

Now, I’m a former law-enforcement guy myself, but I can’t help but find such pained circumlocutions amusing: “The suspect was seen fleeing the vehicle on foot approaching the aforementioned establishment with an accomplice…” – which is for some reason as amusing to me as when the weatherman, instead of just saying “rain” or “tornado” feels compelled to tell us of a “precipitation event” or “tornadic activity.”)

But unfortunately, I was not in a position to be amused by bureaucratic lingo, for we had a problem. Our “vehicle” was on the other side of the Mississippi River, a walk and a ferry ride away. It was already too late to make the round trip to bring our pocket knives to our car, and come back. We had a four-year old whose heart was set on seeing the Insectarium, as well as $25 worth of tickets that we may well not have been able to use later. Meanwhile, the Lady Keeping Us Safe From Terror had scampered away with an “it sucks to be you” look on her face and attitude.

Our wee arachnologist was crushed and on the verge of a tantrum. We had to leave.

But not to worry, dear reader, America is safe. No Al Qaida operative would overthrow the mighty United States, not that day. For no nail file, corkscrew, wire stripper or other implement of mass destruction would enter the Insectarium in New Orleans. No sir. There was to be no pocket knife rebellion for future historians to write their dissertations about. The President would make no somber speeches to the American people regarding the lapse of American intelligence that allowed subversive tweezer-bearing dictionary-reading Lew Rockwell types to enter the inner sanctum of one of the oldest Temples of Democracy. No indeed! Terror had been foiled. The forces of evil had been rebuffed and rebuked. Democracy triumphed. The American Way of Life had won the day. Mission accomplished.

But before heading back home in failure (though comforted by being kept safe from the Axis of Evil and their pocket scissors, of course), I wanted to see if we could come up with another solution. The cost of throwing away our tickets was roughly the same as my knife. Maybe we could hide our knives somewhere in New Orleans and retrieve them later. There is just something bizarre about having to actually dream up such a plot. Maybe one of the downtown hotels would let us store our weaponry. It was worth a shot. We strolled up to one of the upscale hotels on Canal Street (I’ll not mention the name just in case someone broke a company rule and could get in trouble).

I explained our plight to the patient lady desk clerk. Unlike the government employee, she seemed to actually care what I had to say. I asked her if we could use, or even rent, one of the hotel’s safe deposit boxes just for a couple hours while we went to the museum – even though we weren’t guests at the hotel. She said yes! It was that simple. In a matter of minutes, we were taken care of, and charged nothing (though I did leave a tip). We were able to store our implements of mass destruction – including my wife’s nail file (which she certainly could have used to overthrow the government), and back to the museum we went.

Once we dumped all of our stuff into the little plastic baskets and went through the metal detectors, we had a nice time. The Insectarium is really wonderful, as are the people who work inside the museum.

One of the guards did have a sense of humor, as I told him upon entering, that sadly, I would not be able to open a bottle of wine should the occasion present itself, now that I had to ditch my corkscrew. He laughed. But at least we could all rest assured that no rogue Swiss Army officers would be using their toothpicks to skewer imported cheese cubes on American Federal soil.

It is interesting that during the War for Southern Independence, the evil Benjamin “Beast” Butler, arguably the patron demon of all bureaucrats and petty tyrants, actually had an office in the very building now used to house dung beetles, scurrying cockroaches, and exhibits on how maggots become flies.

I am utterly convinced that irony is God’s sense of humor.

But it is good to know that however silly and inflexible government rules and regulations can be, there are still folks in the private sector who are both willing, and free, to help out their fellow citizens.

Maybe we should privatize the Customs House and let the lady at the hotel desk use her powers of common sense and take charge of security at the Insectarium. At this point, I wonder if she’d do a better job in fighting the real war on terror.

Now that would be using the old cephalothorax!

January 21, 2009