things
A few details from my travels which I have either blocked or just...did not want to deal with explaining. My flight down was HORRIBLE, the aisle in front of me, beside me, and behind me was populated by a group of men traveling together, mostly in their twenties but a couple were older.
From practically the time they boarded to the time we got off in Tampa, everything out of these guys' mouths was either sexist, homophobic, generally rude, and peppered with the kind of language you just DO NOT USE outside of your social circle. (It was even more fun once they were served alcohol - note that this was a 9am, two and a half hour flight, and one of these guys ended up with three of those little bottles of Jim Beam.) And not one person said a damn word to them.
Much to my shame, this included me, but I was too paralyzed by fury and disgust to do anything more than glare, and even THAT was difficult because I did not want to look at them. Never in my life have I been so happy to get off an airplane.
Then on the way home I was treated to the TSA's fun new "pat-down" NOTE: link contains description of humiliating nearly-public groinal investigation, so click at your own risk. Same goes for the following, where I go into detail about my experience which also involves a boob check. Also tl;dr.
I go through security at Tampa with the ritual removal of shoes, jackets, laptop from backpack, all of that, get my trays in order (laptop in one, shoes and purse in another with jackets on top, backpack last and trayless) and send them through the scanner. Then, I am presented with the AIT: that virtual strip-search x-ray thing. I'm wondering why it's HERE and there wasn't one in, you know, Newark. EDIT: see comments for a discussion on this point.
Now I am not that shy, if someone wants to hang on to an image of my lumpy ass then sure, enjoy that. I enter, put my hands over my head, the thing zips around and I step out...only to be told to wait and face the conveyor where my belongings are. Okay, I think, apparently the cargo bomb thing has freaked us out even more, awesome. The guy in front of me gathers his things and leaves, then I move to collect my belongings but am told by the TSA guy to wait. "You've got a resolute hold." (I never figure out what the hell that means, but in hindsight I think they meant "resolution", as in my naked picture was wonky.)
I wait, facing the security area with my belongings in their carefully-arranged trays at my feet, watching people go through the scanner, take their stuff, and leave while I wait for...oh, they need a female agent, Apparently I need a pat-down and some metal detector waving and maybe a bag search, fine. Been through all of that before.
Eventually there are two female agents, neither of whom look very comfortable as they approach, gather my belongings, and explain that there is a new pat-down proceedure and that I needed to go with them. Deciding that causing any sort of fuss in this kind of situation is going to be a Bad Idea, I comply and am escorted to the little security office.
Note: I am a tall lady of avergae build, and on this day I was wearing skinny jeans and a fitted t-shirt. The TSA ladies explain the nastier bits of what is about to happen (only one lady does the touching, the other is there as a witness to make sure nothing hinky happens...or for backup in case it does):
- for my chest the inspector would place her hand edge-on between my breasts and sweep the back of her hand beneath one, then repeat the gesture with the other, then also with the back of the hand sweep over the top of each breast
- for the "hips", one hand would be placed on my hip, the other between my thighs and slid upward until it reached resistance (ie my crotch), then both hands would sweep down to my ankle. The process would be repeated with the other leg, and THEN they'd turn me around and do the same thing from the front
- there would also be a back of the hand pat-down of my groin, which consisted of a series of lateral pats starting at my waist and stopping just above the fine china
All of this did indeed happen PRECISELY as they explained, with an added bonus of a request to lift my shirt so they could inspect the waistband of my (again, skinny) jeans which involved pinching the material - inside and out, back and front. There was also a more traditional - but very thorough - pat-down of my back.
Afterwards, the two ladies looked at each other in bafflement and wondered what they'd seen on the virtual strip search scan to PROMPT ME TO BE SELECTED FOR THIS. Apparently there had been something weird around my groin, which I ventured (and they concured) was probably the lining of the pockets of my (AGAIN, SKINNY) jeans.
I stood in the office and packed up my belongings, at the time just confused by this turn of events. Now I'm a bit furious: this proceedure was enacted as a response to a lady in Yemen sending bombs through UPS (or whatever it was), and somehow it results in my hoohah getting felt up in a cramped office at Tampa International Airport. NOTE: if hypothetical terrorist!me had hidden anything INSIDE her hoohah she would have gone through all of this and still accomplished her goal of destruction.
America, my bosom and hoohah sacrificed much for your protection. And it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference. You're welcome. Now I'm going to be filling out that nice survey the ACLU posted on their website to voice my outrage.
FINAL NOTE: according to the ACLU they've made this process so horrible because it's the only alternative to the scanner thing. So your choices are either shut up and have your naked picture taken or prepare to be groped. I was lucky enough to experience both. AMERICA, FUCK YEAH.
And I'm leaving this public in case you want to pass it around.
(My flight home was much nicer, there was Direct TV so I finally got to see The Pandorica Opens and an empty seat between me and the guy on the aisle. I got him to give me a fist-bump to celebrate our good fortune.)
From practically the time they boarded to the time we got off in Tampa, everything out of these guys' mouths was either sexist, homophobic, generally rude, and peppered with the kind of language you just DO NOT USE outside of your social circle. (It was even more fun once they were served alcohol - note that this was a 9am, two and a half hour flight, and one of these guys ended up with three of those little bottles of Jim Beam.) And not one person said a damn word to them.
Much to my shame, this included me, but I was too paralyzed by fury and disgust to do anything more than glare, and even THAT was difficult because I did not want to look at them. Never in my life have I been so happy to get off an airplane.
Then on the way home I was treated to the TSA's fun new "pat-down" NOTE: link contains description of humiliating nearly-public groinal investigation, so click at your own risk. Same goes for the following, where I go into detail about my experience which also involves a boob check. Also tl;dr.
I go through security at Tampa with the ritual removal of shoes, jackets, laptop from backpack, all of that, get my trays in order (laptop in one, shoes and purse in another with jackets on top, backpack last and trayless) and send them through the scanner. Then, I am presented with the AIT: that virtual strip-search x-ray thing. I'm wondering why it's HERE and there wasn't one in, you know, Newark. EDIT: see comments for a discussion on this point.
Now I am not that shy, if someone wants to hang on to an image of my lumpy ass then sure, enjoy that. I enter, put my hands over my head, the thing zips around and I step out...only to be told to wait and face the conveyor where my belongings are. Okay, I think, apparently the cargo bomb thing has freaked us out even more, awesome. The guy in front of me gathers his things and leaves, then I move to collect my belongings but am told by the TSA guy to wait. "You've got a resolute hold." (I never figure out what the hell that means, but in hindsight I think they meant "resolution", as in my naked picture was wonky.)
I wait, facing the security area with my belongings in their carefully-arranged trays at my feet, watching people go through the scanner, take their stuff, and leave while I wait for...oh, they need a female agent, Apparently I need a pat-down and some metal detector waving and maybe a bag search, fine. Been through all of that before.
Eventually there are two female agents, neither of whom look very comfortable as they approach, gather my belongings, and explain that there is a new pat-down proceedure and that I needed to go with them. Deciding that causing any sort of fuss in this kind of situation is going to be a Bad Idea, I comply and am escorted to the little security office.
Note: I am a tall lady of avergae build, and on this day I was wearing skinny jeans and a fitted t-shirt. The TSA ladies explain the nastier bits of what is about to happen (only one lady does the touching, the other is there as a witness to make sure nothing hinky happens...or for backup in case it does):
- for my chest the inspector would place her hand edge-on between my breasts and sweep the back of her hand beneath one, then repeat the gesture with the other, then also with the back of the hand sweep over the top of each breast
- for the "hips", one hand would be placed on my hip, the other between my thighs and slid upward until it reached resistance (ie my crotch), then both hands would sweep down to my ankle. The process would be repeated with the other leg, and THEN they'd turn me around and do the same thing from the front
- there would also be a back of the hand pat-down of my groin, which consisted of a series of lateral pats starting at my waist and stopping just above the fine china
All of this did indeed happen PRECISELY as they explained, with an added bonus of a request to lift my shirt so they could inspect the waistband of my (again, skinny) jeans which involved pinching the material - inside and out, back and front. There was also a more traditional - but very thorough - pat-down of my back.
Afterwards, the two ladies looked at each other in bafflement and wondered what they'd seen on the virtual strip search scan to PROMPT ME TO BE SELECTED FOR THIS. Apparently there had been something weird around my groin, which I ventured (and they concured) was probably the lining of the pockets of my (AGAIN, SKINNY) jeans.
I stood in the office and packed up my belongings, at the time just confused by this turn of events. Now I'm a bit furious: this proceedure was enacted as a response to a lady in Yemen sending bombs through UPS (or whatever it was), and somehow it results in my hoohah getting felt up in a cramped office at Tampa International Airport. NOTE: if hypothetical terrorist!me had hidden anything INSIDE her hoohah she would have gone through all of this and still accomplished her goal of destruction.
America, my bosom and hoohah sacrificed much for your protection. And it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference. You're welcome. Now I'm going to be filling out that nice survey the ACLU posted on their website to voice my outrage.
FINAL NOTE: according to the ACLU they've made this process so horrible because it's the only alternative to the scanner thing. So your choices are either shut up and have your naked picture taken or prepare to be groped. I was lucky enough to experience both. AMERICA, FUCK YEAH.
And I'm leaving this public in case you want to pass it around.
(My flight home was much nicer, there was Direct TV so I finally got to see The Pandorica Opens and an empty seat between me and the guy on the aisle. I got him to give me a fist-bump to celebrate our good fortune.)