I Had the Dreaded ‘SSSS’ On My Boarding Pass — Here’s What Happened Next

What it means and how to deal.

Despite being a frequent traveler, I had never heard of SSSS. But on a recent trip, I learned what it meant. Turns out, it’s an acronym for “Secondary Security Screening Selection,” a process that started after 9/11. Normally, I love a good alliteration—but not this one. Unfortunately, it does not involve being selected for an upgrade or free airline ticket. Here’s what happened to me.

The night before my flight from Grenada back to the U.S., I attempted to check in online, only to receive an error message stating that I was unable to do so. I thought it was odd but assumed it was just a computer glitch. Well, you know what they say about making assumptions.

The next day at the airport, I encountered another strange situation, but again, I brushed it off as just a quirk that happens at this airport. When I checked in two bags, the airline agent asked which one belonged to me and which was my husband’s. Since both were identical and mostly filled with dirty laundry, I had no interest in digging through them to figure it out so I replied, “They’re both ours.” She then placed tags on each bag.

“That was weird. Why does it matter which bag is yours or mine?” I asked my husband.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

That settled that. We made our way through security to the gate, where the airport’s dining and shopping options were underwhelming. With nothing better to do, I settled in with my book. Just as the plot was getting interesting, my husband interrupted.

“They just called your name over the loudspeaker. You need to go to the gate.”

“I’ve never been called before. Why are they calling me?” I muttered, feeling like a kid being summoned to the principal’s office. Had I done something wrong? Were they about to scold me for overstuffing my luggage with dirty laundry? Nervously, I approached the airline agent.

She took one look at my boarding pass and said, “You’ve been selected for Secondary Security Screening Selection. Make sure you stay close by.” Then, as if revealing some grand mystery, she pointed to the lower right-hand corner of my boarding pass, where “SSSS” was printed. Before I could ask any questions, she instructed me to sit down and wait.

And that’s when I knew—this was not going to be a normal travel day.

I returned to my seat, and my husband looked at me expectantly. “What did they want?”

“I don’t know. Something about ‘SSSS.’”

Curious (and slightly panicked), I pulled out my phone and did what any rational person would do—I Googled it. Turns out, I had been flagged by the TSA before I even got to the airport. The first sign? Not being able to check in online. The second? That mysterious SSSS on my boarding pass, which I had blissfully ignored.

According to my thorough research (frantically skimming every article I could find in five minutes), there were a few possible reasons for this special treatment. Maybe I was on some sort of watchlist. Maybe I had suspicious travel patterns. Or maybe (and most likely since as far as I know I’m not on a “no-fly” list) it was just a random selection. Lucky me.

I started to panic a little bit. Was I going to make my flight? Would I be stuck in this country forever? Would I ever see my kids again? Okay, maybe I was spiraling a lot and clearly had watched too many documentaries about Amanda Knox.

Before I could explode into a full-blown Category 5 hurricane of stress, they called my name on the loudspeaker again. I was ushered into a makeshift waiting area with four other women who looked about the same age as me. The woman sitting next to me opened her mouth, and I half expected her to say, “So… what are you in for?” Clearly, I watch way too much true crime TV. Instead, she asked, “Do you know what this is? Why are we here?”

I proudly told her about my extensive internet research—spanning a whole five minutes and an impressive total of three articles. I was practically an expert at this point—at least compared to them.

Her husband, standing just outside the makeshift area but obviously eavesdropping, chimed in: “We couldn’t check in either. And I was wondering what that ‘SSSS’ meant.”

A quick consensus emerged: We were all just people who wanted to lie on a Caribbean beach for a few days. No criminal backgrounds that we knew of, no shady pasts (except one woman who overindulged in the open bar at the resort, but that hardly counted). It had to have been random, right?

My name was then called for the third time that day. I glanced back at my new inmates—I mean, friends—who gave me reassuring smiles and nods, as if to say, “You’ll be fine!” But let’s be real, they knew just as much as I did. Which, wasn’t much. They hadn’t even Googled “SSSS” like I had.

The tiny, partitioned area had all the charm of a budget courtroom: a table, my two checked suitcases, and a TSA officer in gloves. Oh good, gloves.

“Is this your luggage?” she asked. Now, this is the part in all those crime shows where the accused looks dramatically at the camera and demands a lawyer. And if they don’t, the other characters later ask, “Why didn’t you request a lawyer?!” I resisted the urge to dramatically shout, “I want my lawyer!” and simply said, “Yes, those are my suitcases,” while hoping my husband didn’t pack anything questionable.

The officer opened both bags and began sorting through the dirty underwear, bathing suits, and sunscreen. My anxiety melted away, replaced by genuine curiosity: Is she getting hazard pay for this? I mean, gloves didn’t seem like enough protection. I also thought, Maybe I should’ve cleaned my clothes or at least my underwear—gross! The whole process felt like it lasted hours, but in reality, it was probably only about ten minutes.

After finding nothing suspicious, she patted me down—kind of like when the metal detector goes off and you’re just trying to get through with minimal humiliation. It wasn’t that bad, honestly.

I rejoined my new friends, who looked relieved to see me return unscathed—and, more importantly, without handcuffs. Apparently, I wasn’t allowed to leave the area, so when it was time to board, I had to go straight from there.

As I walked across the tarmac, I bid farewell to my fellow detainees. In that moment, I couldn’t help but think: we would’ve made an incredible reality show—The Real Housewives of “SSSS”: Dirty Laundry and Extra Pat-Downs.