True Story©... Love in the TSA

True Story©…

                Fact: EVERY dude will find himself in a bit of a drought sometime or another in his life.  Some take to extreme measures to get themselves out of their funk.  These measures include paying for it, thirsting at every juncture, begging for it, tricking off on a couple of bills or expensive meals or (perhaps most reasonably) investing in some internets porn and resolving the issue in-house.
Anyway, a few years ago, I was in a bit of a slump and considering I don’t thirst, beg or pay and pr0ns was getting boring to me, I had to come up with something.

                It so happened that this was RIGHT around the time that the thwarted shoe and underwear bombers situations took place, so increased TSA scrutiny in airports began.  Soon after that, complaints of people being felt up by creepy TSA agents started rolling in.
…  and I had an idea.
I would book a quick cheap flight to somewhere close, like maybe Charlotte or DC or something like that so as to get a few moments with a (hopefully) creepy female TSA agent on my way through the checkpoint.  Once she begins feeling me up for security purposes, surely she would note my excitement and I would score a handy out of it at the least, right?

                Armed with a plan and a boarding pass to go and spend ONE day in DC – so as to take in the National Mall and the Capital, plus whatever else I could happen upon while I was there – I arrived to the airport 80 minutes before my flight.  I do a passive walk-by to assess the agent situation, so I could make sure my plan will be able to go as I envisioned it in my head.  “Cool, we got three male agents and two female agents,” which means I would need to watch a few moments longer to see how the lines moved and get myself in front of one of the ladies.  I had come to prefer the one on my left/their right.  Cool, I will just bare to the right when I get in line, and assuredly I could wind up in her line and break my rough streak under the guise of a TSA security checkpoint.  It would be the spankjob I could write into Penthouse Forum about.
(wait, is Penthouse Forum still a thing?)
I go through the Tensa Barriers and I am now faced with my WORST fear.  Not only can I not chose whose line I am in, they are doing a “general admission” kind of thing where the next available agent takes the next available traveler.  FUCK!  They’re about to totally screw up my program.  I try to stall, letting people pass me.  Acting like I’ve received an important phone call but the woman I want to inspect my equipment NEVER seems to line up just as I need it.

                Then it happened…
“Excuse me, sir,” came from one of the male agents.  “Sir, we need you to help us to keep the line moving.  You will have plenty of time to complete your phone call before your plane takes off.”
Dammit, I am being forced from what I had decided was my right and destiny.
And it was humiliating.
Once my Nikes were off, he looked in them, put his hand in them, lifted the insoles and smelled them too.  It wasn’t just any smell either, it was one of those euphoric-looking inhales, like he was in a Glade or Airwick commercial.  Except he didn’t close his eyes when he did it, he looked RIGHT into my eyes at the same time.  I felt cheap.  Next, he puts on the coroner gloves and goes through my one backpack (I was only staying the night), holding my two pairs of briefs in the air for everyone in eyesight to see.  If I wasn’t clouded by the frustration of not getting the agent I wanted, I would be more clear on whether or not this motherfucker waived them in the air to have another smell like he had just done with my shoes.  I go through the x-ray next and nothing beeps or is particularly alarming, so no pat-down was necessary, thank God.  But I SWEAR I heard him snap that glove at me like a proctologist as he was taking them off after giving me my bag back.

                Needless to say, my slump would continue for a few more weeks and I cried and drank whiskey the entire flight.
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