I must be missing something. For the past two weeks, all I’ve been hearing about is the intrusive, privacy-invading, obscene-image-producing, radiation-spewing, new Transportation Security Administration (TSA)’s security measures; or absent that, a hot-oil, massaging, pat-down. I got Neither. And I am very disappointed about it.
National and even local talk radio and the FOX News Channel (Which I watch frequently, sometimes for the comedic levity) had me all prepared for the worst experience of my life. A government conspiracy to look at my “junk,” screeched WTIC-AM’s popular Jim Vicevich. (I haven’t been into the “Sound-off Chat Room” while listening to his show but something tells me that room might look like the bar scene from the original “Star Wars.”)
I drove to one of the valet parking services near the incredibly convenient Bradley Airport. I left my Jeep there while the very nice people drove me to the Southwest gate where some other very nice people helped me to the boarding area (I’m still moving a bit slowly post-surgery). I did–horror of horrors–have to remove my shoes and my hockey jacket before walking through a screening machine that was less burdensome that the local library. I waited for the boarding time, got on board and flew south. It was so easy, I feel guilty. What is this world coming to when you can’t believe what you hear on the radio and see on TV? They could have given me something–a nasty glare, a lengthy search of my golf shirts and shorts, a long line to walk through the metal detector–something to make me feel better about the travel problems that have supposedly wreaked havoc on holiday air traffic.
Alas, it was not to be. I just have to enjoy time with my family without being scarred by airport security. Oh, and you bad people out there? Don’t even think about it. My complex is filled with wonderful, interested retirees. Among their favorite activities is watching my front door while waiting for the mail. My favorite neighbors (the type of people I wish I was more like) are watching the feline king of the house, Zamboni.
Now, I’ve got to listen to Vicevich online so I can learn about the next non-existent, government intrusion.