Flew to Ohio. Flew
back from Ohio. Got strip searched in Ohio.
Okay, maybe not all
the way naked, but it was close.
It was a lovely
little family trip to experience a baby’s blessing and naming ceremony. You
know, one of those delightful days that make all the other days—worth it.
This delightful day
happened in Ohio. We don’t live in Ohio. We have to fly to Ohio from Florida to
experience this delightfulness. We could drive, but we’d rather ride Florida
alligators in public without pants.
On the way back from
Ohio, in the Dayton airport, we were shuffled into the regular person line by
TSA. Usually, we get to go through the pre-check line because our Poppy is a
travel diva who doesn’t have to be a “regular” person due to excessive perks.
What I learned being
a regular person:
The fancy, expensive,
taxpayer funded scanner machine is easy to confuse. I confused it with plastic
sparkles on my sweater, which it detected as plane exploding metal. The next
thing I know a TSA-stranger-lady is asking me if I would like to go in a
private place to have my breasts touched.
Tempting! But no. I turned
my head and said, “Get it over with.” TSA-stranger-lady patted down my
confusing plastic sparkles and then moved on to my chubby thighs. I said, “Hey,
there aren’t any sparkles down there.”
It’s possible TSA-stranger-lady
did not care.
She waved me through
after checking my hands for powdered sugar. (That was a near thing. I had some
dreamy chocolate covered strawberries at my daughter-in-law’s house.)
Shaken, I straightened
my sparkles, looked over my shoulder, and saw my seven-month pregnant daughter
having her crotchal area checked for metallic objects. TSA-stranger-lady had my
daughter’s shirt pulled up to Heather’s nipple region and was running her hands
over my sixteenth grandchild. Heather started to cry.
That’s when I yelled,
“Cry, Baby! Cry! You cry right now!”
Stripped of her
dignity and Ugg boots (made in Australia and purchased by the above-mentioned
travel diva) Heather tried to put her footwear back on after the
TSA-stranger-lady got through with her and went to smoke a cigarette, but the
pregnant chick couldn’t bend that far, so Conner, her twelve-year old, steered
her to a plastic airport chair and put the boots back on his mother’s feet.
“Mom,” she sniffled, “the
machine thought I had metal in my crotch.”
“It’s broken. Let’s
go home.”
So, at this fine
season of peace on earth, good will to us, please be advised your government is
working hard to keep you safe from my plastic chest sparkles and the pregnant
chick’s crotch metal.
Merry Christmas,
Linda (You Missed a Spot)
Zern
