All This Is That Social Mores Editor
I've flown about 170 times in the last four years, and every single time (except two--both at John Wayne Airport in Orange County), I've set off the metal alarm in the scanners because of the stainless steel femur that was installed in my leg 15 years ago. [Note: this doesn't apply to my travel in Europe and Asia, where I have never been singled out]. Setting off that metal-detection alarm means you are subjected to a close personal inspection. I've been patted down a couple hundred times times now. First, they would go over your whole body with a wand. And then they would give you a close pat-down, focusing on theareas that set off the alarm on the wand (like your hip, and the zipper on your jeans).
No one really thought a lot about it when it was just those of us with joint replacements getting pulled out of the security line and frisked. But now...the uproar has begun because it's everyone. You either need to pass through the machine that sends an image of your naked body to a friendly TSA guy or gal, or if you would prefer not to be seen naked you get to have a close personal pat-down.
I just had the opportunity to undergo the "new New NEW pat-down" the day after the revised and aggressive security regulations took effect. Look, it's not not actually invasive, but it is extremely close, and they've have very definitely Cranked Up Their Act. They've seriously ratcheted up the pat-down we've had to endure these last ten years. On the other hand, they now forgo the wanding...which always seemed a particularly inept follow up measure. And as a side-note, they've also become extremely friendly and apologetic about the procedure. To be fair, I've always just grinned it and beared (Bore?) it, and avoided getting visibly cranky about it. The TSA guys didn't make the rules, and in all my dealings with them, they've been pretty OK. Normally I smile and say no problem and try to get through it as quickly as possible, since I almost never arrive at the airport more than 45-60 minutes before my plane leaves!
With all of the time I've spent with TSA folk (including two times when I got the total invasion, about which, see below), I have been able to ask questions...and I usually try to get them talking about dry runs or how they profile people, which is of course about the last thing they will talk about. I've always had the best luck with them asking for their cranky customer stories. And they all have millions. I've seen dozens of tantrums and shocking disrespect towards the TSA guys--and you know, in my experience, there is roughly a 90-10 ratio of good guys to assholes in the TSA--which may well surpass the ratio among the citizenry at large.
The total invasion consists of a mortifyingly close evaluation of all your gear (and your whole act..the people I've talked to those two times definitely seemed like profilers), which happens all at random according to the TSA stooges. I had three books. They thumbed through each and every page, and shined a flashlight down the spine of the hardcover. They took out my iPad and brought it back to a special area, along with my BlackBerry, a Nintendo DS, and two USB flash drives. They turned every piece of clothing inside out, squirted fluids from liquids I had (contact lens solutions, witch hazel, SFP 15 sun blocker, India Ink --for drawing) for what? testing? They invite you to repack, once they've inspected every item, inside and out.
This article has links to about a dozen earlier stories of life and times with the TSA.
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In 2003 the Mrs and I were returning to Seattle from Vegas and I had worn my workmans' Utilikilt, mostly because it was clean. It was a quiet morning and no one was waiting to pass through security. As I approached the gate both the male and female TSA agent got wide eyed and raised their hands to stop me before I made it to the metal detector. See, the 10 steel buttons, two steel clips and 3" belt buckle that was holding up my unbifuracted male garment gave them pause.
ReplyDelete"No problem," says I, as I put my backpack on the conveyor belt.
Before the lady agent could turn her back, or the guy could cover his eyes, I had the kilt stripped off and on the belt.
Good thing for them it was a chilly morning, and I wore my boxers. They didn't feel the need at that point to employ any advanced search techniques on the shoeless man in his underwear and t-shirt- though the lady agent kept blushing and couldn't look me in the eye.
An awesome story, Kris. And I can totally see you doing that--as well as owning a Utilikilt. I told some people this weekend that I'll do whatever they want, as long as they get me to the 'plane. If they "need" to shine a flashlight up my rear, well, just do it and get me on the big bird!
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