TSA

I just discovered that one of my friends is a reader of this blog, which puts a whole new spin on what I write. I’m not sure what that spin will be, how much to reveal, how much to hide, what is real, what is neo-real, what is utter fabrication, what is fantasy. Things like that. I should probably take the idea I always have of an imaginary (anonymous) audience of 1 or maybe 1-1/2.

So strange returning to Boston from Chicago again. The Universe is just not co-operating. It’s obvious I should never should have left home (no matter how stagnant things were), or at least not moved to a city as cold and small and unfriendly as Boston. I know I should make more of an effort to be accepting of my circumstances and try to make the best of things. But it would be so much easier to count this as a loss of time and money and heart and life… and just move on. Is there something more I can do to convince the Universe? Oh Universe, can you hear me? I’m ready to go.

My experience with TSA at the airport for my trip back to Boston should have been enough of a sign. After getting scanned or whatever it is they do in that booth where you have to step onto the yellow footprints and raise your arms over and behind your head, the TSA agent motioned me to wait. Then he told me he would need to do some sort of full-body inspection, which involved frequent crotch grabbing. He even showed me a drawing of the outline of a body with the crotch area highlighted by a square. He asked if I might like to be inspected in a private area (of the airport). that was the moment I probably should have turned around and left the airport and taken the bus or the train because it just didn’t seem like it was worth it. I am not sure why I did not. I had already felt humiliated enough when they scanned my body. His crotch grabbing could not make things much worse.,

And then he touched my arm with some sort of wet wipe, which he then inserted into this device that looked like a microscope, but probably was some sort of DNA analyzer of some sort. I had never seen anything like it before. I will have to research this.

I asked the TSA agent if there was something I had done wrong, or something I was doing wrong. He said it might have something to do with my pants (Levi’s jeans). Which of course made no sense. The only thing metal about my jeans was the zipper. But I noticed there were countless other people wearing pants with zippers strolling through TSA without any complications.

This keeps happening. Like almost every time. It reminded me of the airport in Rochester Minnesota. I had a procedure there which I would rather not describe here, but I left the hospital with a large bandage over some stitches in my neck. The TSA agent asked me to remove the bandage, and I probably said, “You’ve got to be kidding” and explaining that my doctor had given me explicit instructions to not remove the bandage. This got me nowhere. He removed the bandage and found that I was not hiding an explosive device implanted in my neck.

I have to figure this out why this keeps happening. What is the big mystery that triggers these searches? Do I really look like some sort of miscreant? Perhaps it has something to do with how nervous I am when confronted with The Law. And the nervousness arouses suspicion. Many years ago, I had applied for a job as a stock boy at a liquor store and one of the requirements in their hiring process was a a lie detector test. Which I failed dramatically. Perhaps it was due to nervousness, but each time this very gruff detective-type asked me a question about some transgression or another (Have you stolen anything at work? Do you get high at work? Have you ever falsified a timesheet? Have you been subject to any disciplinary action?) … with each question, I imagined what it would be like to be in those situations. And if you imagine on a lie detector test, it’s pretty certain you will fail.

And then I get nervous around cops, especially when they pull me over. Nervousness beyond proportion for those types of situations. And customs agents, even when driving into Canada.

I would like to think that CBD might curtail my A.A.D. (Authority Anxiety Disorder). But that might only complicate things because it’s not legal in every state and I would be even more on edge worrying that I might be caught with it somewhere I should never be.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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