Perry, seasoned traveler
“What do you get when you cross a homeless man and a proctologist?” I joked in my head as the TSA guy summoned me through the metal detector with his blue latexed index finger. I am convinced that the goal of the September 11th attacks was not to kill Americans, but instead to have each of us spend an entire year of our life span waiting in airport security lines, praying to God that the metal detector doesn’t go off so we won’t have to play ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ in an airport supply closet. It went off once when I was traveling to Amsterdam with a friend, and I’ve never been the same since.
Since I don’t think he spoke English, the TSA guy directed me to the side and then made a motion to extend my arms out. I’ve heard that Italians make the best lovers, and in that case, they make the best security screeners as well. He smiled as he began to sexually assault me, rubbing my arms and torso like he was waxing a Ferrari. He grabbed my belt, gave it a firm tug, and then slid a finger behind it and went around my waistline. It tickled a bit, so I smiled and winked at my friend who was enjoying the show. Next came the slight foreplay of a little pat on the butt. Then, holding me in place by the belt with one hand, he stuck the other down my pants and shook hands with my penis.
Squirming with wild-eyes and mouth agape, I looked over at my friend and said with intermittent yelps, “HhhhOOOlllYYY SsshhhIIIItttT.” I didn’t know whether to turn and cough or put my hands on his head and seductively push him to his knees. As my friend laughed, the screener walked his fingers past my balls, paused to check me for drugs and three types of cancer, and then broke towards third. By this point I was on my tiptoes and making uncomfortable noises through my clenched teeth. He stopped, thank God, at my final frontier, where neither girl nor doctor has ever ventured. Thanks TSA, for protecting us from terrorists by looking for explosives hidden behind my balls. But for future reference, if you want to make it look more like a screening and less like a prison shower, search my shoes too.
Last week on the way back from a trip out West one of them actually unscrewed the shampoo in my luggage to make sure it wasn’t liquid explosives or whatever. By the time I got it, it looked like someone had jerked off a horse in my suitcase. I walk into the gym in my running shoes, which had been in the suitcase, and people look around wondering why it suddenly smells like candy. Next time I travel I’m bringing an unnecessary suitcase packed with rags and a shampoo bottle of my urine, and a note that says, “I bet you can’t smell the difference between shampoo and liquid explosives.”
Can someone explain why we even pay people to dig through other people’s bags? I’ve never found a more fitting job description for the homeless; that’s like, all they do. We could just pull up under the overpass in a van, grab a few, and tell them, “There’s half a chicken sandwich in one of these bags” and set them loose to treasure hunt through the luggage. You will never find a cheaper and more thorough workforce. And I guarantee you’re not going to catch them unscrewing any bottles of shampoo.
Holy crap I almost passed out laughing so hard at this post. Sorry to laugh at your discomfort, but I have been there as well.
Funny funny writing. That was a awesome post.
I haven’t had the pleasure of traveling with horse semen in my luggage. But, I have had the pleasure of traveling with urine.
Let me give you some tips.
When you are traveling with 48 hours worth of urine once a month, make sure that you have a return flight on the same day you leave. That always piques TSA’s interest. When you check in, be sure to put the large clear plastic jug (not a shampoo bottle) on the counter where the agent will have to look directly into it. When you are asked what it is, always make sure to say that it is 48 hours worth of urine. The standard measurement for urine is in hours not gallons or liters.
Then, when you are asked to put it on the belt so that it can be x-rayed make a big deal out of how it had better not tip over because the lid doesn’t really fit that well. When they tell you that by no means can you travel with a jug of urine, inform them that you have a note from your doctor. Hand the jug to the TSA person closest to you while you rifle through your carry on to find it. It is important to take your time here.
When you finally produce the correct documentation, hand it to another TSA groper. Turn your attention away from the person holding your urine. Ignore him when he clears his throat.
When the head TSA guy comes over and demands that you open the jug, warn everyone that 48 hours of urine with highly concentrated quantities of an experimental medication does not smell pleasant. Open the jug and back away. Watch people’s eyes water. Tell them about the nature of the clinical trial that you are participating in while you absentmindedly wave the lid to the still open jug around. Observe as they follow your every movement.
When asked, replace the lid and ask someone for help carrying your stuff to the gate as, after all that, you are running late.
Seriously, this never gets old.