Please remove your shoes," the security agent requested as I approached the X-ray machine at the Manchester, N.H., airport. I pulled my right shoe off and immediately felt the wet floor soak into my sock. I hesitated removing the other shoe.

"Both shoes, Sir," the officer firmly commanded. Water accumulates on the floor from travelers' shoes carrying melting snow and ice from the outside. Like many travelers through inclement climates, I now prepare for this occurrence by carrying an extra pair of socks in my briefcase. I respect Homeland Security's mission, but question the procedures that leave me and countless other travelers with soggy socks. There has to be a better way.

"Both shoes, Sir," the officer firmly commanded. Water accumulates on the floor from travelers' shoes carrying melting snow and ice from the outside. Like many travelers through inclement climates, I now prepare for this occurrence by carrying an extra pair of socks in my briefcase. I respect Homeland Security's mission, but question the procedures that leave me and countless other travelers with soggy socks. There has to be a better way.

Once I cleared the X-ray, I sat in the first chair I could find to put my shoes back on just past the scanner. "You can't sit there, Sir," the agent barked at me. "Those chairs are reserved for security." So I grabbed my shoes and hobbled wet-socked down to some vacant seats further down the terminal. Younger travelers have no problem balancing on one foot while slipping their shoes back on, but older travelers need to sit. Sit there in cold, wet socks.

I have a brilliant idea for airline revenue enhancement. Just before your flight takes off, the attendants announce, "Thank you for traveling with us today. We have a limited number of warm, dry 100-percent wool socks for sale this morning. Travelers wishing to purchase a pair of one-size-fits-all for $15, please press your call button now." Airlines flying out of Manchester would sell out.

Later that evening, I reached my hotel, now freshly covered with snow and ice under a gloomy dark sky. I spotted several bellmen keeping warm inside, not bothering to come out.I could freeze to death waiting for help, so I dragged my own bags up the slippery entrance stairs. Sure enough, I slipped on the ice and fell on the steps; the final indignity of the day.

Several bellmen finally rushed to my aid, carried me inside and propped me up at the reception desk—cold, wet and now hurting. The front-desk associate took one look at my scowl and knew better than to ask how my trip went. Absentmindedly, I placed my wet socks on the counter, which had the immediate effect of causing the front desk associate to leap back in horror as if he were suddenly the injured party. Well, perhaps he's right on that count.

By common law, a hotel must exercise "reasonable care" for the safety of its guests. That standard doesn't change during a snowstorm, but the hotel's necessary actions to meet the standard of reasonable care most certainly do. The legal test is, "Did the hotel exercise 'reasonable care' considering it was stormy outside?" If there is no fault upon the part of the hotel that caused the accident, then there is no liability.

A storm's coming. What happens next at your hotel? Who does what and when? All of these facts will come out during a trial. If, with a preponderance of the evidence, the injured party can prove negligence, the hotel will be found negligent and thus liable, and the plaintiff will be awarded compensatory damages. That's the way the system works; that's why hotels carry liability insurance.

"Ice and snow are acts of God," I hear. "Why should a hotel be liable for your slip and fall?" But I am a guest (an invitee) on the hotel premises, and, according to the common law, am entitled to "reasonable care" for my safety, regardless of the weather.