Fun with the TSA
Abdul threw me a curve this morning by not letting me pay for my cab ride. He said to me with hands on either side of my face “Dear, you are in my heart” only with his accent it sounds more like “Here, make me fart”.
It took me 8 hours to get from where I live to Chicago, a trip that typically takes only two hours. The irony is that even though I was delayed and I connected through Pittsburgh, I still got here quicker than my boss who flew direct on United.
Since this was my umteenth flight, I thought it might be fun to see what I could get through security today. Tuesdays are a great day to fly. The airports are empty which might make you thnk that the TSA would pay a bit more attention to what they’re screening for since they have the extra time. But you would be wrong.
I successfully smuggled the following items: Bottle of wine, travel bottle of vodka (and if you’re sensing a theme remember that these business trips are book-ended with trips to see my family. I have my eye on some tiny bottles of Tanagary from the hotel mini-bar.), knitting needles as long as my arm, a plastic grocerty bag filled with a tangle of cords for my phone, camera, iPod, Sirius Stiletto, 2 laptops, a lipstick, a chapstick and some perfume. I’m not sorry about my TSA Tango of contraband. I would be happily compliant if I thought any of these measures really made us safer in the air. But they don’t. Tragically, random shootings in shopping malls, in seemingly “safe” neighborhoods and most sadly in places of worship have conviced me that acts of terror, domestic or otherwise can happen anywhere- including at the oh-so-safe airport. TSA Screeners (non mangement) make anywhere from $11- $17 per hour or a top annual salery of $35,000 for these mind numbing positions that may or may not make us safer in the air. Check out today’s Aroma quiz for more on the topic.
Yet there is a magic to air travel that still, even with all the complications associated with flying in the post 911 world, catches my breath. High above the clouds this afternoon with the sun setting in blazing orange, I still find amazement in the impossibility of clouds. They look like you should be able to touch them, to sleep in them, to wrap them about your arms and legs like fresh linen.
So in spite of my passive aggressive tendencies with the TSA (Gee, Sir, I didn’t know you couldn’t brink a 2 Litre bottle of Diet Coke), I do find that our parents were right: getting there is half the fun.
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