From top left, that's a screwdriver, a half-caf "espresso", and my spork from home in oatmeal with raisins in a compostable, 100% recycled cup. No indication that composting is available in the sky club, nor the amount of post-consumer content in the 100% recycled cup.But I digress. As the title indicates, I mostly want to rant a little about how incompetent TSA is. Now, my rather dim opinion of TSA is known to readers of this blog. But they really outdid themselves at ATL this morning.
First off, the guy at the xray monitor: totally amateur hour. At least the slow, incompetent guy at Las Vegas the other day was clearly a trainee. This guy was, apparently from his uniform, an actual TSA "agent." I literally stood to wait to push my bags through the belt while he examined the monitor for several full minutes. To the point where I was laughing. To the point where the TSA agent at the metal detector was looking around uncomfortably, knowing this dumbass was holding up the line. To the point where they decided (not uncoincidentally, I think) to shut down the p*nis machine, aka millimeter wave scanner, because they had to dedicate all available agents on that lane to doing secondary screenings the dude on the monitor asked for.
Okay, so I finally get to get through, and stand there and watch while he looks all curious like at the monitor with my one carryon. He tries repeatedly to draw outline boxes with his mouse around the two danger areas: my sunglasses (which I've taken through, ummm, lemme see, EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN FLIGHT I'VE BEEN ON SINCE AT LEAST 2004) and my breakfast wrap. Yep: my tortilla with tempeh, caramelized onions, green beans, garlic, and vegan cheese. This very suspicious looking thing:
Okay, it's wrapped up in tin foil. One sheet. Like, ummm, I dunno, about FIFTY similar wraps I've taken through TSA in the last several years.Okay, so he pulls the bag over to the secondary screening conveyor. Conveyors do not convey. I stand there for literally about 60 seconds looking at my bag, and finally ask if I can get it screened. The two nasty TSA agents in the next station literally yell at me: ONE AT A TIME! Oh, oops: there is a backup of THREE people needing secondary screening and explosives testing at my lane.
Okay, so I wait another several minutes. My line has... stopped. Nobody is going anywhere.
Finally it's my turn to get screened, and the guy goes through my bag. Asks about the sunglasses. Opens up the case, but not the bag they are in. Okay, fine. Asks about the wrap. "A breakfast wrap", I tell him. Okay, I just need to screen this for explosives. Ummm, sure. He screens it for explosives. AND IT TURNS UP WITH A POSITIVE RESULT.
So now this is getting fun. I actually am about to get the dreaded invasive patdown. They have to go through every single thing in my (rather innocuous, except for a shitload of vegan snacks, and an allegedly explosive breakfast wrap) carryon bag. Which is, incidentally, a Mountainsmith Day Pack which most of you who know me have seen before. No suitcase (I checked it), my liquids all properly compliant with that sillyass 3-1 rule, my laptop out, my shoes off. Oh, but they have to run my shoes again. 'Cause the first time wasn't enough, 'cause my breakfast wrap came up positive for explosives.
So the poor TSA agent at secondary, who I'm actually beginning to feel somewhat bad for, has to launch in a long, detailed explanation of all the places he's going to put his hands on my body. I actually needed a clarification when he got to the point of where his hands will be in my crotch: he mumbled, and I was genuinely interested. (No, he wasn't that cute, I just wanted to know what kind of fun time I was about to have.) He mumbled it again, but now I was pretty sure he'd referred to the top of my crotch as my "isthmus."
An isthmus, for those of you who are wondering, is "a narrow strip of land connecting two larger land areas usually with waterforms on either side." Thanks, wikipedia. Confidential to TSA: you should let your agents read wikipedia at work.
As he was explaining what he was about to do, and I'm openly laughing at the notion that my breakfast wrap tested positive for explosives, he's trying to show me through his body language and tone that he agrees it's kind of silly. He said something to the effect of "just so you know, this isn't my favorite part of the job." Yeah, pal: me, neither.
He has to call a supervisor over, who re-asks me all the same stupid questions he has already asked. Yes, it's a FUCKING BREAKFAST BURRITO. I told them they were welcome to open it up, or I'd be happy to open it up for them. I explained each of the ingredients in it, and started to go into detail about the cooking methods. The supervisor got a little nasty with me, so I asked her if she was hungry, and told her I'd share.
Anyway, the patdown was relatively uneventful. He tickled my armpits a little, and did, indeed, get marginally up into my "isthmus" but didn't actually grope me. And was very consciously and carefully (para)-professional about it. And slooooooooow. The whole fandango took about 15 minutes. Literally.
Yes, friends, that is, along with a pre-flight screwdriver in the Sky Club, why I try to get to the airport at least two hours early. So I have plenty of time to be fondled by TSA, whose stupidass machine says my breakfast wrap has explosive residue on it.
The TSA masseuse actually told me, sincerely, to have a safe flight when he was done. I thanked him. It's sort of not his fault that he works for a BUNCH OF FUCKING IDIOTS.
Fucking idiots. Fucking shitass equipment. Fucking ridiculous security theatre nonsense foolishness.
On now to Philadelphia, for which my flight is delayed due to ground holds. Gonna be a rainy couple of days.
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