Security, My Ass...

So... I�m on the plane...

And I�m over it.

I�m so friggin� tired and I�m so cranky... and can I just tell you... I�m totally over children...

...which is bad.

Especially since my job over the next few days is to play with endless amounts of children.

But... if that little girl kicks the back of my seat...

One...

More...

Time...

Grrrrrrrrr...

So... this is the first time that I�ve flown since the whole September 11th Ordeal...

And... I was kinda... well... annoyed, more than anything with the new security measures.

So... I had to go through airport security in the exciting Ithaca Airport.

Exciting... as in... I think they have two gates which are in use.

So... I didn�t really forsee a big ordeal with going through security... especially since there are only a maximum of 45 people who would ever have to pass through security for any flight.

Boy... was I wrong.

So... I had to put all my crap through the x-ray machine. This wasn�t out of the ordinary.

What did perturb me, however, was when they questioned the fact that I had food in a shopping bag.

Right.

Just before I had gone to the airport, I stopped at Wegman�s (for those of you non-north-easterners... it�s a *fabulous* supermarket... I mean... people get more excited about Wegman�s than they do for Super Walmart in Florida... or the new Dominik�s Stores in Chicagoland...)

Anywho, I purchased some wonderful potato bread rolls, some sushi, some fresh fruit and a bag of honey nut chex mix.

So... after my bags went through... did they question my laptop computer...? No.

Did they question my orange purse, with all sorts of tin foil and a palm pilot and a camera?

No.

They did, however, make me open the bag of Chex Mix.

That�s right, kids... I physically had to open the still factory sealed bag of Hunny Nut Chex Mix so that the man could stick his latex gloved hand into it to see if I was concealing anything.

Ok. So... I was perturbed... and mildly amused...

Until they made me open my fruit salad.

JESUS CHRIST ON A CROSS!

IT�S A FUCKING FRUIT SALAD, PEOPLE!!!

I mean... for the love of god... the container is CLEAR! You can see THROUGH the container...

But... no. that wasn�t good enough.

I mean... maybe if I were really bizarre, I could have spiked my cantaloupe with something and then force feed all of the authority figures on the plane in order to hijack it...

Yeah... not so much, kiddies...

So... he takes his pinky, in the nasty latex glove, and swishes the fruit around...

Sorry... the fruit salad.

Not me.

Well... not that I�m not edible... and tasty... but...

HA

Get it?

Yeah... me neither...

Ok... moving on...

Anyhow... I was only mildly disgusted at this point...

But then... after sticking his fucking fingers in my food... he has the nerve to ask me to eat a piece of fruit!

WHAT IN THE FUCKING GAY HELL ARE THEY TEACHING THESE OLD SENILE SECURITY SCREENERS?!?!

So... I took a piece of pineapple.

He was finally appeased at my efforts...

So... I gather my shit together... and then... I feel a tap on my shoulder...

"Sir... when you�re set with your bags, I�m going to have to ask you to set them over on the chair and then stand on the tape with your arms spread out."

The man looks like he�s old enough to be Dick Clark�s grandfather.

Ok... so... I oblige...

I stand there... as the forty-some-odd people waiting to board the flight are staring at me.

The man only finds a little blip on the buckles of my sandals.

Nowhere else does it even make a minor noise.

"Sir... I�m going to have to ask you to take a seat on the chair over there and remove your sandals."

Um... ok... because I�m really doing something sketchy with my Sketcher sandals...

So... I take them off and he snatches them away from me...

Right... so... the part that I really found as odd was when he asked me to extend my legs and keep my feet up in the air...

Had I known that I was going to get a workout going through security, I would have worn something more appropriate...

Just as I�m wondering why he�s about to ask me to do leg exercises... he takes the little metal detector wand... and he actually scans my feet.

No no no...

And just doing the tops of the feet... �cause that�s not good enough...

Noooooo...

He has to scan the *bottoms* of my feet, too.

I mean... come on...

I AM IN BARE FUCKING FEET!!!

I don�t know what you might expect to find, sewn into my feet... but... whatever it is... I promise that it�s not going to cause any harm, except for some minor odor every now and then...

So... then... he takes and scans my shoes... and then... puts them through the x-ray machine.

Oy.

Now... I think the final straw was when the man just had me sitting there... and he was standing less than an arm�s length from where the x-ray had discarded my sandals after deeming them safe...

And he looks at me... half way across the hall... in bare fucking feet... with nasty crap ground into the carpet... not to mention random shattered pieces of shit on the ground...

Does he get my shoes...?

No.

Grandpa Clark says... "You can come and get your shoes and leave, now."

FUCK YOU.

Right... so... as I�m getting my shit and leaving... I walk past another table where they are opening bags to search all of the contents.

The old woman at the table says... "Excuse me, sir..."

I stopped.

I turned.

I spoke.

"If you even ask me to come over there to empty out my bags... I�m going to very... very... unhappy."

I give a smile.

Not a happy one, mind you... we�re talking one of those gritted teeth, "I�m capable of beating the crap out of you... so don�t fuck with me... or I�ll fuck you ten times harder" smile...

She cringes.

"Have a nice day, sir."

That�s right, bitch... step off...

Who da pimp, now, bitch?

later, kids...

~robert