TSA—SEARCH ME, SCAN ME, WAND ME, X-RAY ME, I DON’T CARE

The Shad is heading to Florida for a nice Thanksgiving with my parents so I assume I’ll be subjected to the scanning, searching or whatever it is they do at the airport that everyone is whining about.

Videos have recently surfaced showing various people being subjected to government intrusion at airports—a child screaming because she had to give up her teddy bear for a few moments; a guy threatening a lawsuit if the official doing the pat-down “touches his junk.” Beside the fact we should all think about why these people had their video cell phones running in the first place (15 minutes of fame?), the thought here is that I don’t really care what they do if there is the least little chance that it might stop trouble.

The argument of those complaining about the intrusion is that the measures won’t detect a very cleverly hidden bomb. That might be true. But, if they might detect a less-cleverly hidden device of attack, then I don’t care about the intrusion. If I go through some body-scan device, I doubt there is some TSA agent getting a kick out of the image. And if an official needs to nearly cop a feel, I’d rather have that than end up air debris or worse, being a survivor at the top of some desolate mountain looking around to see who I might have to eat to stay alive until the search party arrives.

Stop crying and get on the plane. Besides, going through airport security is less painful than sitting next to a chatty, fellow passenger who feels the need to tell me all about each relative they’ll be visiting and how great Cousin Jeffrey is doing at the city parks department.