A recent trip

As soon as I picked up my bag from the baggage carousel, I knew something was fishy. One of the outside pouches was half unzipped. I always zip everything tight. Had somebody tried to steal something? I never put anything genuinely valuable in my checked luggage. My valuables travel with me on the plane; I keep a close eye on them. So what was up? I found out at my hotel. In my bag I discovered this note:


Dear Schmuck,

I have run my fingers over all your private possessions, and I have enjoyed doing so. Just wanted you to know. Have a nice day!

Love and hugs,
Heinrich Himmler


OK, I exaggerate--a bit. In truth, I found an anonymous note from the TSA (printed in both English and Spanish) informing me that TSA agents had run their fingers over all my private possessions and that the TSA wanted me to know. But no love and hugs from that bunch.

What were they looking for? Perhaps for the same forbidden contraband for which that poor elderly lady who was in front of me in the security line was searched. She set off the metal detector. Maybe it was all that gaudy gold jewelry she wore. Maybe she had an AK-47 tucked in her pants. In any event, after several failed retries, she was led to an open area and body searched--in full view of everyone in the airport. The TSA officer, guarding his nation from evil, slowly moved a metal-detecting wand over her body--her breasts, her crotch, her buttocks, her legs--as she stood motionless with arms outstretched. No one said a word or lifted a finger to save her from this humiliation, least of all me. We passengers had places to go, planes to catch; none of us wanted to risk being disappeared into some interrogation room or arrested. Instead, we free citizens of a free republic let pass this vile act of tyranny, averted our eyes from the spectacle, and went on our way.

Or perhaps they were looking for what in a previous trip a chubby TSA agent had tried to find in my carry-on bag. This young woman (who should have been wearing a paper hat and asking me if I wanted fries with my cheeseburger) decided that pawing the personal contents of my bag was not enough. No, a chemical swab was in order for I must be transporting something sinister. So I had to stand, mute and powerless, watching her fat fingers run cotton swabs here, there, and everywhere in my bag. Then I had to stand, silent and unmoving, while she placed these swabs in a machine for analysis. Did this twit have a clue what she was doing? What did this machine do? Was it even functioning correctly? If it beeped, what then? Handcuffs? Why was my life in the plump hands of an airhead? And then…nothing. No problems; all was right. You may go on your way, sir. If looks could kill, I would have dropped her on the spot.

So after a too-brief time with friends, I was homeward bound. The plane, only half-filled, required engine maintenance at a stopover. We had to change planes and arrived home about fifty minutes late. Hardly even an inconvenience. On my way to the baggage area I walked past the TSA station where agents were running their fingers over unhappy travelers who had tripped the metal detectors. What a rush to work on the frontier of national defense! I was eager to get home and take a nap. But as soon as I picked up my bag from the baggage carousel, I knew something was fishy. One of the outside pouches was half unzipped. Déjà vu all over again? Sure enough, at home I found another “Dear Schmuck” note from the TSA: “We are watching you. Never forget, not even for a moment. We are always watching you. And have a nice day!”