TSA: Thousands Standing Around

May 24th, 2018. I had to fly out to Chattanooga to see about some business. I arrived at the airport six hours early, which I understood was cutting it close but Kids' WB was showing a Sylvester & Tweety Mysteries marathon that morning and I didn’t want to miss the conclusion of “The Golden Bird of Shangri-Claw.” 

I poked my way through the throng of obese, zombified creatures surrounding the ticket counter, where the service agent regarded me like I had just crawled out of the primordial ooze and was waggling my vestigial appendages in her face. She asked me a series of questions as rudely as only decades of experience can make possible, which I didn’t pay attention to because who the hell cares. 

I then lined up to go through the TSA’s security checkpoint. At first, everything went according to usual. I removed my shoes so my socks could absorb fungal spores that scientists have not yet imagined, let alone named. I put the contents of my pockets into a little plastic bowl, turned on my laptop computer so the TSA agents could rate my Steam library, and then raised my arms in preparation for a generous bombardment from the cancerfication machine. 

That’s when red lights started going off. Several TSA agents ran over to the baggage scanner to study its video screen; several others picked me up by the scruff of my neck and carried me to a small, windowless room which smelled like fear and pennies. 

The TSA ringleader came in shortly thereafter to beat me with a phone book. “Why (whump) did you think (whump) it was okay (whump) to bring an M240 machine gun (whump) in your carry on luggage?” he yelled at me (tyrannically). “Uhhh...because this is America, dude, and I have this little thing called freedom?” I said back to him, dizzily, because my area has a lot of locally listed small businesses. But that answer wasn’t good enough. 

I’m still in this small, windowless room (which fortunately has WiFi), and will remain here forever.