I love the TSA

I remember the days when you could stroll through a metal detector at your leisure, smile politely at the screener who seemed to miss every 3rd or 4th bag as it rolled through the x-ray machine, and mosey on down to the gate, even if the only thing you wanted to catch was an overpriced BK Bigfish. So today, in our "post 9/11 world", getting on an airline flight is much different. You must practically undress, endure untold amounts of complaining from the screeners themselves (yeah, they seem to have a problem doing their job, at least in Atlanta), and then there's the occasional run-in with a security agent wearing rubber gloves. And everyone's got their own anecdotal stories. My nephew was patted down on his last trip through an airport with his mother. He's 3. But what if you purchase an airline ticket, one way, on the day you're departing? Well then, it's basically assumed that you're a terrorist. Maybe not a terrorist mastermind but definitely a terrorist. I'm not sure what qualifications your average terorist needs to become an actual mastermind but I'll bet it's a lot. Anyway, so here I am, walking up to the security checkpoint and after a thorough, stern-faced looking-over by the TSA screener, I am escorted to a sectioned off area where I'm told to stand on the rubber mat and surrender my belongings. My bag is taken from me and I am then led to a small room in the center of the screening area. The problem is, this small room has walls made of glass and I feel like a fish in an aquarium and people are looking at me. Some even start to tap on the glass but are shooed away by the over-protective aquarium guides. I stand there for a few minutes, looking out of this glass cell, like TSA's prize trophy when finally, another man enters my cell. CAUTION: If you started reading this post from the last sentence, it's not going where you think it's going. I am then patted down thoroughly and led through the metal detector. My bag is subjected to a once-over with a padded, scrub like instrument and then sampled for explosives residue. I am then escorted to another metal-detector looking device that shoots puffs of air all around me, sampling my clothing for explosives residue. By now, I'm convinced that maybe I am some sort of mastermind until the TSA tells me I can collect my belongings and have a good flight. Are you kidding me? I've had pilot flight physicals that are less invasive. So I know you're looking for a moral to this saga and here it is: When reading blog posts, make sure to start from the beginning.