One last good Vermont story
Warning: Lots of F-bombs and a kinda-sorta NSFW pic behind the cut
So. Me and the boy left Burlington on Sunday night, and didn't allow a whole lot of time to get through security. Burlington is a small airport, we just had carry-ons, and the whole thing just wasn't going to take very long, right? I mean, c'mon, I do this all the time.
I should have known our luck was about to change when I met the TSA agent checking ID's. She had the most perfect fucking mullet I've seen since 1991.
Burlington has a teeny-tiny airport. I mean, c'mon, there are rocking chairs.
They must be the standard-issue "airport chairs" because i've seen the same ones in the airport in Columbia, South Carolina. Anyway, there are like 2, maybe 3 gates active in the whole airport at any one time. Nonetheless, there are a fucking-bajillion TSA agents crawling around the one security checkpoint. The economy must be crashing up there because it looked like half of Burlinton had on the little TSA uniform.
We get to mullet-girl and she takes her sweet time checking, double-checking, conferring with the (i'm not kidding) second TSA agent that's standing behind her. The boy and i pass that test (i always use my passport, they don't give any flak for that), and wander up to the x-ray machine. Or, in Burlington, the place where time begins to stand still.
My boy and I are quite fond of our respective junk (we are, with each other, two gay men trapped in dyke bodies), and i've never had a problem getting said junk through security before. we're not talking toys or floggers or chains or rope or even a fucking vibrator. each of us had our trusty vixskin and harness of preference, and away we went.
The TSA agents were scrambling around like little mice in a maze. Lots of activity and motion, very little getting accomplished. Then, the fun started.
I put my bag on the belt, go through the little detector, and wait at the other end. What we didn't realize before, and were about to become very aware of, was that these were the people looking at the scanner for the belt:
I shit you not, Larry, Darryl, and his other fucking brother Darryl were running the machine. Darryl looks at my suitcase go through. He points at something, and calls someone over. They confer. I'm thinking "fucking great. this will be fun". They come to some meeting of the minds, though, and i'm allowed to retrieve my little bag.
My boy, though, was not so lucky. Darryl looks at his bag as it goes through. The belt stops. He calls for backup. My boy sees him whisper to the backup TSA mouse: "that looks like a penis".
Why yes, yes it does. That's the point. Nevertheless, the bag is pulled. Here we go.
Now, my boy has a wicked sense of humor, and by this point i'm starting to crack up. So is he. Darryl's other brother Darryl (okay, they were all women by now, but work with me here) says "would you like some privacy?" and my boy says "why, yes, i would love some privacy". He goes over with TSA agent #1, #2, and are soon joined by #3 and #4, then by supervisor TSA agent #5. My boy's junk shut down the whole damn security operation.
In the end, my boy calmly asked one of the 5 TSA agents huddled around him and his bag behind the little curtain: "um, why did i get pulled?"
"Well, it was because you didn't pull the bag of liquids out of your suitcase (neither did i, and neither did anyone else there...)...and, because of your [hushed tone] personal item"
By this point, i'm dying with the giggles, and so is my boy. It was awesome.
Of course, every terrorist on the planet could probably get through security up there as long as they didn't have a fucking penis in their bag. Because, you know, that is the biggest threat to national security these days.
So. Me and the boy left Burlington on Sunday night, and didn't allow a whole lot of time to get through security. Burlington is a small airport, we just had carry-ons, and the whole thing just wasn't going to take very long, right? I mean, c'mon, I do this all the time.
I should have known our luck was about to change when I met the TSA agent checking ID's. She had the most perfect fucking mullet I've seen since 1991.
Burlington has a teeny-tiny airport. I mean, c'mon, there are rocking chairs.
They must be the standard-issue "airport chairs" because i've seen the same ones in the airport in Columbia, South Carolina. Anyway, there are like 2, maybe 3 gates active in the whole airport at any one time. Nonetheless, there are a fucking-bajillion TSA agents crawling around the one security checkpoint. The economy must be crashing up there because it looked like half of Burlinton had on the little TSA uniform.
We get to mullet-girl and she takes her sweet time checking, double-checking, conferring with the (i'm not kidding) second TSA agent that's standing behind her. The boy and i pass that test (i always use my passport, they don't give any flak for that), and wander up to the x-ray machine. Or, in Burlington, the place where time begins to stand still.
My boy and I are quite fond of our respective junk (we are, with each other, two gay men trapped in dyke bodies), and i've never had a problem getting said junk through security before. we're not talking toys or floggers or chains or rope or even a fucking vibrator. each of us had our trusty vixskin and harness of preference, and away we went.
The TSA agents were scrambling around like little mice in a maze. Lots of activity and motion, very little getting accomplished. Then, the fun started.
I put my bag on the belt, go through the little detector, and wait at the other end. What we didn't realize before, and were about to become very aware of, was that these were the people looking at the scanner for the belt:
I shit you not, Larry, Darryl, and his other fucking brother Darryl were running the machine. Darryl looks at my suitcase go through. He points at something, and calls someone over. They confer. I'm thinking "fucking great. this will be fun". They come to some meeting of the minds, though, and i'm allowed to retrieve my little bag.
My boy, though, was not so lucky. Darryl looks at his bag as it goes through. The belt stops. He calls for backup. My boy sees him whisper to the backup TSA mouse: "that looks like a penis".
Why yes, yes it does. That's the point. Nevertheless, the bag is pulled. Here we go.
Now, my boy has a wicked sense of humor, and by this point i'm starting to crack up. So is he. Darryl's other brother Darryl (okay, they were all women by now, but work with me here) says "would you like some privacy?" and my boy says "why, yes, i would love some privacy". He goes over with TSA agent #1, #2, and are soon joined by #3 and #4, then by supervisor TSA agent #5. My boy's junk shut down the whole damn security operation.
In the end, my boy calmly asked one of the 5 TSA agents huddled around him and his bag behind the little curtain: "um, why did i get pulled?"
"Well, it was because you didn't pull the bag of liquids out of your suitcase (neither did i, and neither did anyone else there...)...and, because of your [hushed tone] personal item"
By this point, i'm dying with the giggles, and so is my boy. It was awesome.
Of course, every terrorist on the planet could probably get through security up there as long as they didn't have a fucking penis in their bag. Because, you know, that is the biggest threat to national security these days.