People who know me understand that I'm by nature a pleasant and positive personality. Generally easy-going and tending toward laissez faire as I do, I try very hard to live and let live...and I generally manage to do a reasonably good job....until you get me into an airport...or, more specifically, to an airport security checkpoint. It's right about then that my legendary intolerance for mindless bulls--t gets me into trouble. Free country? Yeah, right; have you tried getting on an airplane lately??
Look, I understand the need for "Homeland Security"...whatever that means. No one wants to get onto a gasoline bomb designed to split the heavens at speeds upwards of a gazillion miles per hour without a reasonable assurance they'll be able to safely disembark at their destination. I get that. What I cannot understand is how treating the flying public like sheep, criminals looking for a place to happen, and deep-cover terrorists until proven otherwise accomplishes this end.
The mere act of boarding an airplane these days is an exercise in something far beyond mere frustration, degradation, and the invasion of personal privacy. These days, I fly because I have to. This time at least, business needs dictate I somehow get my sorry ass from Portland to Cleveland...and I sure as Hell wasn't about to drive. Am I a lucky boy, or what??
What follows is a somewhat fictionalized and overly melodramatic interpretation of my Monday morning sword dance with a TSA drone, but it's not altogether inaccurate, either. It's mostly therapeutic, because I have to find a way to convince myself that it's all going to be OK when I get to do it all again tomorrow for my return trip to Portland.
(Act I, Scene I: The security checkpoint at PDX...or, as I like to call it, "The Belly of the Beast")
Setting the scene, I thought I'd make things easy on myself. It's a three-day business trip, and I don't really need much. Hey, why not carry everything on? The lesson I would soon learn is one should NEVER pack your bag at 4am and expect to make it through security intact.
It's not enough that I practically have to undress (how long before we have to drop trou and grab our ankles?) in order to be granted the supreme privilege of accessing the C Concourse at PDX. No, I get personalized attention from Nurse Ratched, who apparently is recognizing that her cavity search certification is about to expire...and I'm looking like a prime candidate for her practicum.
Unfortunately for me, I travel with a CPAP machine. (I have sleep apnea, therefore I spend my nights with my nostrils attached to a leaf blower). Little did I know that CPAPs apparently look like hand-held thermonuclear devices when they go through an X-ray machine. Let the fun begin....
Sir, is this your CPAP machine?
Uh, yes....
Would you mind stepping over here, please?
Oh, Jesus Christ....here we go again....
Sir, please don't take the Lord's name in vain. That offends me.
Uh, what?? I'm about to be treated like a criminal...and YOU'RE worried about ME offending your tender G-----n sensibiliities? Can I get a WTF?? from the congregation??
(Act I, Scene II: Now Nurse Ratched has decided that she doesn't like my attitude, so she calls in reinforcements in the form of her supervisor, who looks as if he's be victimized by a few too many buffet lines.)
Is there a problem, sir??
Uh, no. No, there isn't isn't. I'm just trying to get on an airplane without having to grab my ankles and endure a cavity search.
Well, sir...you understand, of course, that we're doing this for your protection...?
From what, Liberal American-hating Democrats like moi??
(Hey, I've been up since 345am; I'm surly, I'm sleep-deprived, and I'm in no mood to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.)
Before the next indignity unfolds, I look over to see Nurse Ratched rifling through my suitcase, which I had very carefully packed not so very long before. I kinda like arriving a my destination without my work clothes wadded up and wrinkled beyond salvation.
Where else but America is the business traveller forced to stand mutely by as a frustrated, vindictive agent of state power paws through your toiletry bag?? Man, if I'd known that was going to happen I would have packed some dirty laundry in my carry-on case.
Eventually, Nurse Ratched looks up, her face radiant with the glow of victory, for she has discovered...AN AEROSOL SPRAY CAN. Gasp!! Suddenly, visions of an all-expenses-paid to Club Gitmo are dancing through my still-numb noggin. Damn, man; I didn't even want to go on this trip, and I'm still having to deal with the indiginities I normally only have to endure during the privacy of a complete physical exam in the privacy of my doctor's office.
How was I supposed to know that a (&^%$#@ aerosol spray can could be enough to label me as a threat to the security of the Fatherland Homeland?? Hey, I packed that bag at 430 in the morning. I wasn't even sure I even had toothpaste or a (&^%$#@ change of underwear in there.
As I close my eyes, I can almost here the snap of a latex glove over Nurse Ratched's hammy hands. Cavity search coming in 4...3...2....
Thankfully, she came to her senses, and I finally stopped being a DUMB@$$. Clearly, this was not a battle I was destined to win, regardless of the supreme and unquestioned righteousness of my cause.
(Fade to black...and CUT....)
I checked my carry-on, went through security yeat again and lived to fight another day. Apparently, aerosol can in carry-on bag BAD...but same aerosol can in checked bag GOOD- which pretty much sums up the absurdity of airport security for me. Either way, it's on the airplane, right??
If someone tried to get onto a plane wearing underwear wired with C4 and a wireless detonator, would travelers be forced to leave their panties at security? The mind just boggles at the possibilities, doesn't it?? Fruit of the Loom's stock would go through the roof....
As I told the TSA supervisor in one of my more lucid moments, the indignities that travelers are subjected to have about as much to do with preventing terrorism as my morning coffee. Still, I understand that it's really only all about the APPEARANCE of safety and security. We've been brainwashed into believing that by giving up our dignity and personal space/freedom, our government will ipso facto make flying safer for the American sheeple. Only when the American flying public mutely does what it's told will the American flying public truly be safe from terrorist threats.
I know that there is nothing I can do to change this ridiculous farce, and yet no matter what I do, I just can't seem to take it lying down. A couple of years ago, I came close to getting arrested when I went off on a TSA creep who was rifling through my wallet in the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport. Good Lord; does the mere act of wanting to get on an airplane mean that we must forfeit any and all civil rights? Not to mention the presumption of innocence and freedom from unreasonable searches?
Just a word of warning if you ever travel with me: I'm fine once I get to the airport and even after I make it through security. I can be (and I freely admit to this personal shortcoming) a real asshole when going through security. No matter how much I tell myself that this will be the trip that I make it through without incident...it never quite seems to turn out that way. I resent being treated like a criminal, and I resent being treated as if I have no right to privacy or to expect that I'll treated with dignity and respect. So, if you can learn to live with me during those 5-10 minutes when I'm being an asshole (or something close to it) at the security checkpoint, chances are we'll get along just fine.
The fun part is that I have about hours to enjoy Cleveland...and then I get to do it all over again. There's only one possible explanation for this: clearly, the gods are punishing me.
