Of TSA, Idiots and One and the Same...

I was traveling recently. And I almost got arrested while doing so. Air travel has become increasingly ridiculous to me since the advent of the terrorist and his evil schemes. There seems to be an urgency to make sure that something devastating doesn’t happen again, and while maybe in the higher echelons of the committees designed to ‘keep us safe’ there are people who demonstrate intelligence and a sense of intuition that would render my concerns about the supposed security measures void, there certainly is not displayed such ‘character’ on the ground or in the fingers of the poorly paid and tired hands that rifled through my bag at the Chicago airport.

I was sore already from having to have left a lady who has grown very dear to me, and was not in a disposition to look on idiocy with the grace and perseverance that I normally exude. The gloved hands snatched my bag from the scanner belt and a worried expression on her face revealed that she thought she just might be in possession of something supremely dangerous. There was also probably a glimmer of glee hidden in there, born from the desire for something, anything, to break the monotony of dealing with the public all day long in a very personal way. After all, I think that one of the most detrimental aspects of the job as a TSA agent would be to discover time and time again what brand of deodorant each passenger prefers, or what toothpaste they employ. Some things deserve to left private.

But that glimmer of glee shone through, ever so slightly, and the announcement went out that, yes, there are liquids in this bag and we will now perform a full search. My poor backpack. It has been around the world with me, from the shores of Galilee, the winding streets of Old Jerusalem, to the sandstorm afflicted wastes of Darfur, to the grinding miles of my trek around my country on my motorcycle. It has been the faithful bearer of my belongings since I was fifteen years old, and now this TSA cretin was desecrating its holiness by prodding and probing like it was just some ordinary ‘carryon item’.

Vindicated and proud of herself, the TSA cretin pulled with a triumphant flair a small bottle that contained Olive Leaf Extract, a natural antibiotic and a member of a large array of alternative health products that our country is fast falling in love with. “Sir, you cannot have liquid on the airplane from outside of the sterile area. If you want you may put this in a Ziploc bag and then you will be allowed to take it with you.” I did not have one and inquired if I could get one from her. No. Oh.

So what this boils down to, in my mind, is that Ziploc has gone in with the government and has somehow convinced a committee somewhere that the safety and security of all US passengers rests solely on their product. The evils of liquids on an airplane are alleviated and rendered harmless when they are clad in plastic with a nifty closing mechanism.

Oh the look on her face. A bullet! “Sir, you cannot have a replica, or any part of a bullet or a firearm in your carry on bag. It is against federal regulations.” What she had found was a keychain made from a spent pistol shell. It is not a bullet, or part of a bullet, as a bullet is the object that is projected down the barrel of a gun. The casing is harmless by itself, especially when there is a hole drilled in one end and a key ring is stuck through it. Oh, but you cannot have this.

I was getting irritated. Finally I was allowed to have the ‘bullet’, but I started grousing. Then I was threatened with a call to the police to arrest me. Can you stand it? The sheer idiocy! What I had in my possession possessed all the harm-causing agents found in an empty tube of lipstick. Walking away without speaking my mind entirely was so hard. It was so tempting to let go of a five minute rant about the inadequacy and tepidity of the TSA that I would have probably ended while being cuffed and dragged away by dutiful men in blue uniforms. It would have been worth it.