So, I’m here at the airport to catch a flight down to Seattle and I see these people standing in line to take off their shoes and empty their pockets and present their documents to these blue shirted, blue gloved monkeys. Like cattle. Like sheep. Shuffle along, deposit your belongings in the grey plastic tubs. What a farce. No matter who my traveling companion is, I always manage an audible whisper, “I REMEMBER WHEN WE DIDN’T HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL OF THIS SECURITY CRAP.”  I’m with my daughter Veronica, who is very interested in not attracting attention to herself at any time and any cost.

Today I got felt up by some poor underpaid woman after going through the security checkpoint imager. They insisted that I must have something hidden in my crotch for some reason. Probably because I made certain to proudly point my stubby middle fingers up in the I just don’t care! Except I do, I truly do. And it makes me furious.

Anyways, there was lots of hot girl on girl action at the security checkpoint today, starring yours truly. I was asked if I would like a private room for them to poke around my nethers but I politely declined. Or maybe I said something akin to “Can you just get on with it?”.  I’m not going to hide away when the public can get an eyeful of my midriff while I stand in an obliging spread eagle. Fuck them. I roll my eyes at onlookers while my daughter collects our things from the conveyor as her mother provides the spectacle. Fuck them. Blue gloved hands up and down my legs, turn around, up and down and I say, “This is because I flipped off your machine, isn’t it.” Not a question. Put on boots and belt and we’re on our way.  I make certain my stubby middle finger is erect as we make our way towards the gates. Not overtly.  Just enough for me to feel subversively gleeful as I stalk off with my mortified daughter.

Someone needs to set a good example., and it may as well be me.

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