The Bombardier 200, the 36 passenger turbo-prop used
on the runs between Seattle and Eugene and Portland, OR
I'm back from two nights, three days, four flights, and five cities (SF, Emeryville, Oakland, Eugene, Portland) on the road. Since I get frisked on every flight, I received the goosing four times this trip. And in San Francisco, I was once again blown by the TSA. They put you in a booth and jets of wind swirl around you for five seconds and stop. Then a red light comes on as the machine analyzes your scent for explosives, and allegedly, drugs, and maybe even the anarchist scent. I particularly resent being blown by the TSA, because it's clearly done by profiling. Being frisked, I am more sanguine about. Yeah, I have a large stainless steel femur and it sets off alarms. Fine. But when they put me in the blowjob booth, it's not because of my prosthetic hip but because I am not apparently a businessman.
I am a Vice President of something or other, but they have no way of knowing that. It doesn't cut any ice if you don't fit the traditional mold. Since I dress in Salvation army couture (aka northwest grunge/boho), have shaggy hair and a beard, and carry a pack instead of one of those tacky rolling suitcases, I get singled out. I resent the blowbooth and everything it stands for. The TSA would tell you they're doing a great job of profiling people, because nary a plane has been hijacked since September 2001. Au Contraire. They've been lucky. At least once I've accidentally carried a very sharp Gerber mini-magnum onto a plane undetected...even though I was singled out at the metal detector and frisked. But leave your computer or a bottle of water in your luggage, and the entire TSA cadre harangues you and points you out as an example to the other hapless security line goobs.
There were about seven or eight girls ahead of me in line, traveling together. I don't think most of them had ever flown before. The TSA was merciless because they hadn't taken their belts off, removed their shoes, placed their gels, liquids in a plastic bag in which none of the liquieds ir gels could exceed 3.4 ounces, removed their laptops and placed them in a bin separate from the bin for their shoes, belt, and liquids. Naturally, they also fluffed the "remove your coat, warm up jacket, sports coat, jacket and any other outer garments" and didn't finesse whether hooded sweatshirts were kosher or trefe. They seemed like sweet kids and it was a comedy of errors that became amusing to watch. They all kept apologizing. I helped the last two sort their gear in accordance with the latest protocols and we finally go through "security."
The flight from Eugene to Portland, although it is only about 30 minutes, was harrowing this time. We encountered King Hell turbulence ten minutes into the trip, just about as we hit 10,000 feet. The plane, probably ten times, dropped 100 feet or so, and at one point both dropped 100 feet and tilted almost sideways. Naturally, they cancelled the Horizon free wine and beer cart immediately--just when you needed it most!
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