Airport security, we love you

Having recently been thoroughly inconvenienced by the jobsworths who staff the “security” (ha!) gates at airports, I wonder how Father Christmas fares when he flies into Gatwick on the UK leg of his delivery.

Security monkey: Take off the belt, shoes and coat sir.
Santa: My trousers will fall down.
Security monkey: Are you refusing to comply with the rules?
Santa: Not at all.
Security monkey: Now put your keys, coins, wallet, phone, laptop and iPod in this box.
Santa: I’ve got to take them out of my bag?
Security monkey: Yes. Also throw away anything in a container over 100ml.
Santa: Why? I’ve an unopeneed can of coke here.
Security monkey: It could be a bomb.
Santa: Whatever.
Security monkey: Take out all toiletries, including containers under 100ml, and place them in a clear, resealable plastic bag of exactly one litre capacity so they can go through the scanner.
Santa: Errr, do x-rays not penetrate canvas any more?
Security monkey: Just do it or we’ll assume you’re a terrorist.
Santa: OK. I don’t have a bag of those exact dimensions.
Security monkey: You can buy one for a pound.
Santa: Figures. Can I buy a drink once I get through this farce?
Security monkey: Certainly. We enforce commerce and trust all our minimum wage staff inside this perimeter implicitly.
Santa: That’s sensible.
Security monkey: Has anyone given you anything to carry today?
Santa: My elves.
Security monkey: You taking the piss?
Santa: No. My elves packed the sleigh this morning. I have to deliver this stuff to children the world over.
Security monkey: So you’re a paedophile?
Santa: I’m Father Christmas. Have you not heard of me?
Security monkey: It doesn’t matter who you are. You must comply with the rules we have been told to enforce.
Santa: I feel safer already.
Security monkey: What’s in the sack?
Santa: I don’t know.
Security monkey: Step against the wall, sir. We have a pair of rubber gloves with your name on them.