My drunken, rage-induced battle cry while passing through security on my was to Las Vegas. Or as I like to call it, the Motherland. These morally bankrupt ladies and gents are my people, and I’ve only ever come back to visit once since I was snatched soon after birth.
But I’d like to talk about a much more corrupt breed of human. I’m talking, of course, about TSA.
Pushy, pedophile, bored, below the poverty-line, sassypants, power-tripping humans. And I use the term “human” loosely, because I’m not entirely convinced that in order to be a TSA agent, that you don’t first have to sell at least 3/4 of your soul and sacrifice three puppies to Satan.
Or maybe it’s one of those secret societies within a society, because I’ve run into some very helpful employees at the airport. Rare, but not impossible. It’s either that, or a select few are required to learn the stringent practice of caging their inner evil while assisting the humans pass through bomb checkpoints. I have to believe this is a discipline calling for only the most skilled masters at hiding their fragmented, empty souls. These are usually the old geezers, because obviously the young guns haven’t experienced enough holiday weekends.
Either way, I didn’t encounter any old, experienced agents on Monday.
Given, I’m drunk at this point. And it is awesome. But unapparent intoxication (or maybe it was apparent…who cares?) is no excuse to be rude to an innocent, not to mention pretty, young girl. Especially if she is a Republican.
Sure it’s a little foggy, the whole going through security thing. But I KNOW I didn’t start it. It went a little something like this (give or take a few swear words and nasty looks):
*Metal detector sounds*
TSA: MA’AM ARE YOU WEARING A BELT?! (think angry and entitled due to place below the poverty line)
ME: *points to belt* (I’m too pretty to speak. Or too drunk. Either way I’m not speaking to you)
TSA: I CAN’T SEE YOU MA’AM!!!!!!! (Replace those ugly bifocals, then)
ME: Is there a reason you’re yelling at me?
TSA: *gives me a look that says “I’M TSA.”*
ME: *gives her a look that says “I pay your bills”*
TSA: WE CAN ARRANGE A FULL BODY SEARCH IF YOU’D LIKE!!!!!!
ME: I can arrange a court date for your sexual harassment trial if you’d like.
TSA: *clearly defeated* Step on the painted feet, hands above your head.
Travel Companions: They can put you in jail, you know.
ME (to travel companions): I’M A REPUBLICAN, THEY CAN’T THROW ME IN JAIL!
Yeah, once I somehow, through my hazy drunken stupor, came to realize how they were treating me, I made damn sure to be the kidney stone that TSA was doomed to pass. Agonizing, tiny, and will probably be back.
Take that, TSA. Take that, and store it in your anal cavity, so that next time you go through security, they can dig around and it find it all over again.