A few days before New Years, I flew out of Los Angeles International Airport to Seattle. WA. I quickly and easily passed through the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) screening without question, incident, or any form of extra scrutiny. This week when I had my return flight to Southern California, it was a different story.
During my eight days in the state of Washington, I touched nothing more dangerous than the fur of a dog and my daughter’s homemade pizza (Delicious vegan pizza!). But, when I began the screening process at SEA-TAC to return home this past Wednesday evening, I was provided the treatment a three-strike felon would expect if he wanted to enter Fort Knox. The beginning of the process was more thorough to begin with, but everyone
passing through that facility was being subjected to that level of scrutiny. But then it happened: One of the security personnel, why I have no idea, tested my hands with a swab, and an alarm sounded. Their super-sensitive, high-tech equipment, likely manufactured by Mattel when their Barbie Doll quota has been met, told the geniuses in charge that some deadly foreign substance was present on my hands (was it dog fur or pizza sauce?) and then the fun began. I was then ushered into a small makeshift “private” room when virtually every inch of my body was frisked, from head to toe – literally, at one point I was told to sit while they examined the bottoms of my feet. My belongings similarly went through a total examination, but I doubt my laptop, library book or eyeglass case felt the same level of outrage and embarrassment.
I’ve been frisked before going through TSA security, usually after I had forgotten I had a piece or paper or a Kleenex in a pocket and awakened some other more benign alarm, but never anything like this. It was a good thing I was really early for my flight, as the whole process, including time spent waiting while other machines, likely from Playskool and operated by the functioning illiterate, processed other swabs from clothing, my laptop, and of course from my socks.
Eventually, my incarceration was concluded and I was sent on my merry way, off to my gate to sit and contemplate what had just occurred until the time to board would arrive.
Now keep in mind that all this occurred last Wednesday, about 36 hours before US-born citizen Esteban Santiago shot up the baggage claim area of Fort Lauderdale airport, killing five and wounding many others, with a handgun and ammunition that he legally transported on a Delta Airlines flight from Minneapolis to Florida.
Something is really wrong here.
I’ve never been arrested in my life, have never been subjected to a psychological evaluation, or walked into a FBI office, telling authorities how the CIA was out to get me. And I’ve never owned a firearm, unlike Santiago, who at the time he told Alaska FBI agents he was hearing government voices, had a hand gun in his car, a handgun that was confiscated and then returned to him, following a brief psychiatric hospitalization and his subsequent release into society, gun and all, with a clean bill of mental heath. Yes, authorities have now determined that it was the same gun Santiago used to shoot up the Fort Lauderdale airport, terrorizing perhaps thousands, while killing five.
Some piece-of-shit machine says I’ve got some dog spit on my hand and I’m scrutinized for half an hour, but lo-and-behold, outrageous federal laws allow some mentally ill outlaw to
fly halfway across the country with a hand gun and ammunition within his grasp at his airport destination?
Laws permitting this type of transporting of firearms and ammunition HAVE to be repealed, but what are the chances of that ever happening, especially with the lying, con man, gun-loving mentally ill criminal-in-chief pussy-groper about to take office?
Sad, Cruel and Deadly – that is all I can say.