So I’m flying home from DC and dutifully get in like at the TSA screening point. No, no one placed a wand in an inappropriate place or groped me or made me drink my own bodily fluids. No, I was struck by the TSA staff, which consisted of one . . . what is the classification given to people whose mass has gone beyond “morbidly obese” . . . one really large man who was in danger of stroking out and four young men who were indistinguishable from the young men who served me my fast-food breakfast sandwich earlier in the day. I give credit to the lad who questioned the reading on the x-ray scanner and asked the big man to do a bag check; I give a demerit to the big man for complaining about having to do the job because he was due to go on break.
The screening point was short one young man and one middle-aged supervisor because the latter was giving the former one of the most gentle on-the-spot counseling sessions I’ve ever (over) heard (as I was putting my shoes back on). I’ll give the kid credit; he had a bottomless bag of excuses as to why he didn’t do whatever task he failed to do. Back in the day and in a different outfit a wall-to-wall counseling session would have solved this issue, but alas the line grew longer as the BS pile grew larger.
On a slightly more positive note, it appears that Air Marshals are indeed allowed to get more relaxed in their dress. The bad news is that they’re still forced to board in full view of all the other passengers.
This is the best TSA / FAMS can do?
