The more I hear about the TSA porno scanners and their crotch-grabbing “enhanced pat downs,” the more nervous I am about flying out to England in December. Because you know what? I am not okay with a wage slave in a booth looking at a ghostly image of me in my altogether. I am not willing to just trust them when they say that all the images are immediately deleted. I am also not okay with a TSA agent touching my breasts or my lady bits. No one but me, my husband, or my doctor gets access to those. And for the record, I am likewise not okay with a TSA agent touching my husband’s junk. Period.
I got patted down once in Heathrow airport. It didn’t bother me. The security agent also assiduously avoided my naughty bits. And contrary to popular belief, I did not in fact blow up our flight home that year. Imagine that.
Making us take off our shoes and throw away our water bottles was already pointless security theater, trying to thwart specific attacks that had already been thwarted. This is a step beyond security theater. For most of us, this is an exceptionally creepy, upsetting invasion of privacy. For those who are survivors of sexual assault, it’s nothing short of inhumane.
I agree with Janiece. This is the point where we all tug our shirts straight and get some Captain in us. And by that, as she said, I mean Captain Picard:
We’ve made too many compromises already, too many retreats. They invade our space, and we fall back…Not again. The line must be drawn here! This far and no further!
I don’t know what the environment of the DIA security checkpoint is going to be like in December. I don’t know if they have the naked picture show installed there, or if they’ll be insisting on the grope fest if you look at them funny. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the giant, loud protest over this government-sanctioned assault will just get bigger and louder and it’ll all be fixed by the time I’m flying. But I’m not counting on it. I’m already planning to be at the airport several hours earlier than normal, in case I feel it necessary to make a scene. So if I’m absent for Pat’s amazing teeny sausages wrapped in bacon at Christmas this year, this little corner of the internet will know why.
I love Mike’s family, and I love our friends in Brighton, and I want to see them. But the price for that should not be letting a stranger stick their hand in my crotch.
If you need a little levity to get around all the sexual assault, here’s Next Animation’s take on the issue. I don’t recommend watching it while drinking anything.