The TSA Agent(s)

For all you airport lovers, here’s another doozy for you.

Everyone hates going through security at the airport so I know this, in itself, isn’t a category I’m breaking new ground on. However, I was lucky enough to get selected for a “random screening.”

Being a white male it’s kind of obnoxious that I would put “random screening” in quotes – and do it again – but fuck you this is my blog and I feel I was selected because of my red hair and maybe my nice ass. It’s nice to think the TSA agent wanted to grab my ass.

I’m flattered! GRAB AWAY!

As I walked through the metal detector I was waved over into a “special screening area” that was really just kind of a small walkway that had glass walls so people could gawk at you while you were being fondled. I started taking off my shirt and was immediately told it wasn’t that kind of search…DAMN!

Recently I have become more accustomed to being called out during the screening process and that’s because I have an insulin pump. If you’re not familiar an insulin pump is a device about the size of a beeper that causes people to laugh at you because they think you have a beeper. One of my favorite past times is making people feel like shit after I tell them I have diabetes and this device is what is keeping me alive – I’m a drama-qu…king and I LOVE making people feel awkward.

In my most recent trip I arrived at those new full body scanners. You know, the ones where all the agents laugh at you for having a small penis or large boobs or both if you’re me. These machines are great because they make people feel uncomfortable due to all the getting made fun of they aren’t around for and have no name attached to and no facial recognition software so they can identify you.

WHAT ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT!?!?!

That got away from me a little bit…

As I went to enter the scanner I held up my insulin pump and said I recently read that I shouldn’t walk through the scanner with this on because of the magnets it uses to scan your body. And the agents reaction was “what is that? I’m sure it’s fine.”

I’m sure it’s fine.

“Other people walk through with them all the time,” he said after that.

Thanks for putting my mind at ease because this isn’t the most important piece of electronic equipment in my life or anything. This isn’t a $300 fucking iPod that you found on the street and ignored all the signs around your neighborhood asking for it back, this is real life. So unless any of the prior diabetics contacted YOU directly to let you know their pump has malfunctioned I’m not going to take your shitty word for it. The device doesn’t go off like a bomb when you walk through the machine.

In my defense I didn’t know he could hear the bomb part…

Just kidding, I wish I had the balls to do that.

I’m in the screening area where I feel like a caged animal with everything about me being put on display and I have this middle-aged “undercover?” – I really don’t even know how to explain him because he was wearing a Raiders jersey but had a badge around his neck that said F.B.I., but it could’ve been one of those Female.Body.Inspector. badges that douchebags wear on the Jersey Shore and high five each other because originality is overrated – agent standing in front of me yelling at me to calm down.

My definition of calm is standing in place and not doing or saying anything and since that’s EXACTLY what I was doing I couldn’t understand how else I could calm down so I held my breath, he didn’t appreciate that.

A few moments went by and he started asking me questions.

“where are you flying?”

Florida.

“what’s the nature of your trip?”

Vacation.

“where are you staying?”

Dis –

“SIR. CALMMMMMMMMMM DOWN!”

Still just standing there.

At this point I felt that he was just trying to show off for the other agents and I was the perfect target because he had an issue with redheads after watching Problem Child or Child’s Play, both accurate pictures of what I looked like as a child.

The screening was finally over after 3 or 4 awkward minutes and I was able to go on my way. I checked my pockets later that night and found a phone number with a note, “have fun at Disney.”

Creepy.

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