I'm currently flying across the country (actually, laid over in Charlotte) having just slogged through LAX security this morning. As always, I had to remove my shoes, take out my laptop and throw away what remained of my coffee. I had to throw away my coffee not because the amount of liquid exceeded the arbitrary 3 oz. limit, but because the original cup once contained, or could potentially contain more than 3 oz. Into the box full of shampoos, deodorant and bottled water it went. I'm sure everyone felt a lot safer as a result.
It was similar to the time I had my beautifully gift-wrapped bottle of authentic Chinese Maotai ripped apart and taken from me by the Newark TSA staff because...well, because...I don't even know anymore. It doesn't matter that I could have gotten that liquor through the checkpoint if were frozen and packed into a box. Or poured into a dozen individual 3 oz bottles. It doesn't matter if those dozen 3 oz bottles contained napalm instead of liquor. I was forced to be a bit player in our ongoing airport security theater act. The underpaid TSA staff member did their dance, I stood there in my socks and watched, and after it was done I was able to board my flight.
So it was pretty good timing when I stumbled upon Patrick Smith's latest article on Salon, because it was that much less that I have to write and vent at the moment. In the article, Smith recounts having his safety scissors confiscated, and once again pleads with his audience to understand a simple fact
The rules aren't likely to change because we won't demand it, and we won't demand it because we've been conditioned not to care anymore.
Dang, I didn't mean to end on such a downer. I fully intended to end with a joke about deplaning (when do we ever plane a plane?). But writing has made everything a bit clearer, if nothing else. I'm gonna go get a Jamba Juice.
It was similar to the time I had my beautifully gift-wrapped bottle of authentic Chinese Maotai ripped apart and taken from me by the Newark TSA staff because...well, because...I don't even know anymore. It doesn't matter that I could have gotten that liquor through the checkpoint if were frozen and packed into a box. Or poured into a dozen individual 3 oz bottles. It doesn't matter if those dozen 3 oz bottles contained napalm instead of liquor. I was forced to be a bit player in our ongoing airport security theater act. The underpaid TSA staff member did their dance, I stood there in my socks and watched, and after it was done I was able to board my flight.
So it was pretty good timing when I stumbled upon Patrick Smith's latest article on Salon, because it was that much less that I have to write and vent at the moment. In the article, Smith recounts having his safety scissors confiscated, and once again pleads with his audience to understand a simple fact
When it came right down to it, the success of the Sept. 11 attacks had nothing -- nothing -- to do with box cutters. The hijackers could have used anything. They were not exploiting a weakness in luggage screening, but rather a weakness in our mind-set -- our understanding and expectations of what a hijacking was and how it would unfold. The hijackers weren't relying on weapons, they were relying on the element of surprise.Sadly, I think he's right when he concludes
There in [the airport] it hit me, in a moment of gloomy clarity: These rules are never going to change, are they?Nope, they're not likely to change because when it comes down to it, these rules are what we want. When I say "we" I mean the American populous, myself included. We've evolved from individualists to a scared collective mess. We're more concerned with the winner of American Idol than we are about the basic rights daily stripped from us in the name of security. We'll suffer a little humiliation at a check point in order to feel better, which is something we desperately need after the perpetually-on CNN-tuned TV monitor in the waiting area yells at us about the latest stroller recall or the latest cancer study. Oh, and you need to buy acne medicine and better clothes. This just in!
The rules aren't likely to change because we won't demand it, and we won't demand it because we've been conditioned not to care anymore.
Dang, I didn't mean to end on such a downer. I fully intended to end with a joke about deplaning (when do we ever plane a plane?). But writing has made everything a bit clearer, if nothing else. I'm gonna go get a Jamba Juice.
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