Imagine
The recent spate of press about civil disobedience has got me thinking.
These past few weeks, as you may have read, I have spent quite a bit of time in transit, and therefore by default in many airports. When I left for Pittsburgh last month, I managed to catch my flight without much ado. For the first time in, perhaps, forever, I did not wear my brace. I took off my shoes like the rest of the civilians, and went through security like everyone else, albeit while running the very real risk of sliding across the floor due to a lack of traction. Coming back, though, was another story. I arrived at the nearly empty former hub on a late Sunday afternoon, and had absolutely no difficulty getting to my gate. The TSA agent who checked my ID was an amiable sort; I was hopeful that things would be smooth.
Boy, was I in for a rude awakening. No sooner did I pass the initial checkpoint than did I encounter a body scanner, for the very first time. I told the screener, a woman* who, indeed was very nice, that I had had a stroke, and that my mobility was limited. She asked me if I could raise my left arm; I tried. She then told me that the images derived from the x-ray machine would be processed off site. Dang it, she was so nice and professional about it, and I was so anxious to get home, that I put myself in a sort of trance when she ran the machine, not unlike how I think of England when I have my annual pap smear. Later, I reused that coping technique when earlier this month, I, again went through security and was the recipient of a pat down by a rather embarrassed and apologetic female TSA worker. Think of England, home of Xavier's fore-mothers.
I fantasize about starting a movement whereby all the airports in this country are picketed by ordinary folk like me, carrying signs stating "Ban the Sexual Exploitation of Children by the TSA". Others, though, may have beat me to it.
Yes, Virginia, there are movements afoot in aviation circles ; the pilots, almost universally ballsy and proud people, are starting to mobilize, from what I have read. Guess who is spearheading this campaign? The US Airline Pilots Association (USAPA). You read that correctly: a union is challenging this juggernaut of corporate fascism.
Sadly, I am too chicken sh** to complete this questionnaire. I fear being placed on the no fly list.
* I wonder if social class came into play with her interactions with me. I was acutely aware that she was either older than me, or had had a hard life. Some of her teeth were missing, and others were either crooked or dead. She smiled apparently without a self-conscious manner; I inferred (correctly or otherwise) that she was possibly intellectually limited.
These past few weeks, as you may have read, I have spent quite a bit of time in transit, and therefore by default in many airports. When I left for Pittsburgh last month, I managed to catch my flight without much ado. For the first time in, perhaps, forever, I did not wear my brace. I took off my shoes like the rest of the civilians, and went through security like everyone else, albeit while running the very real risk of sliding across the floor due to a lack of traction. Coming back, though, was another story. I arrived at the nearly empty former hub on a late Sunday afternoon, and had absolutely no difficulty getting to my gate. The TSA agent who checked my ID was an amiable sort; I was hopeful that things would be smooth.
Boy, was I in for a rude awakening. No sooner did I pass the initial checkpoint than did I encounter a body scanner, for the very first time. I told the screener, a woman* who, indeed was very nice, that I had had a stroke, and that my mobility was limited. She asked me if I could raise my left arm; I tried. She then told me that the images derived from the x-ray machine would be processed off site. Dang it, she was so nice and professional about it, and I was so anxious to get home, that I put myself in a sort of trance when she ran the machine, not unlike how I think of England when I have my annual pap smear. Later, I reused that coping technique when earlier this month, I, again went through security and was the recipient of a pat down by a rather embarrassed and apologetic female TSA worker. Think of England, home of Xavier's fore-mothers.
I fantasize about starting a movement whereby all the airports in this country are picketed by ordinary folk like me, carrying signs stating "Ban the Sexual Exploitation of Children by the TSA". Others, though, may have beat me to it.
Yes, Virginia, there are movements afoot in aviation circles ; the pilots, almost universally ballsy and proud people, are starting to mobilize, from what I have read. Guess who is spearheading this campaign? The US Airline Pilots Association (USAPA). You read that correctly: a union is challenging this juggernaut of corporate fascism.
Sadly, I am too chicken sh** to complete this questionnaire. I fear being placed on the no fly list.
* I wonder if social class came into play with her interactions with me. I was acutely aware that she was either older than me, or had had a hard life. Some of her teeth were missing, and others were either crooked or dead. She smiled apparently without a self-conscious manner; I inferred (correctly or otherwise) that she was possibly intellectually limited.