TSA… It’s Not You. It’s Me.

Why I’m Leaving You TSA

My Dearest TSA,

I tried to make this work. Nobody can say that I didn’t try to make this work.

I grew up watching Top Gun on a loop until I could memorize every line. When I graduated high school and the Navy told me I was too short, fat, and blind to be a fighter pilot (which was ironic since I got that way from watching Top Gun every day) I figured the next best thing would be a job that required nonstop travel.

And that’s how we first met, there in that dingy airline terminal. You know the one — with the flickering florescent light. Gosh, we were both so young. Do you even remember what you were wearing? It was that horrible white and gray uniform that made it look like you were a department store security guard. I remember those early days so clearly. You seemed so exotic. You were our knight in shining armor protecting us from the freedom hating filth trying to destroy our way of life.

I think I knew even then that it was a lie. When I think back all the signs were there all along. The way you would swagger in between the x-ray machines oblivious to the exhaustion and resignation of the travelers in line. The way you would all stand around and watch attractive flyers get patted down. Things got a little better when you moved to the blue uniforms. Those beautiful shirts spoke of ocean depths, of tranquility, of the open sky. Now I see that color and I want to cry. Because you ruined it. You didn’t just ruin commercial aviation, you ruined the entire experience of flight. Do you know how hard that is to do?

Think about it for a minute — for millennia humanity dreamed of flying among the clouds. Then some brilliant and brave engineers made that dream a reality. They were followed by some equally brilliant businessmen that found a way to make tickets cheap enough for just about everyone to be able to fly. Then you ruined it all. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I remember when it all started to unravel. It was when you blew a smoking hole in your budget on those porn scanners. You remember the ones, don’t you? Don’t you remember how we argued all night? You kept telling me that they were the best thing on the market, and I was crying because the former Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security’s lobbying group was peddling them. You finally swayed me, and I submitted like I always do. I couldn’t help it, I needed to fly.

And then I saw the pictures of the scanner outputs. You know the ones. Hell, it was like watching “Game of Thrones”. Genitals just hanging out in full display for the world to view. You assured me that the naughty bits would be digitally blurred, and that there would be no way to capture images. And I believed you — because nobody could ever just take a pic of the screen with their phone. That would be ridiculous.

For a while I was nervous and opted for the pat down. I still remember you rolling your eyes when I opted out, you patted me down like a criminal. I felt a sick combination of revulsion and shame as you patted me down, and after that I chose the naked scanners. By then the displays had been updated — no naked pics on the readout. Now it just provided a guide to what part of my anatomy you should grab.

Things got better for awhile when you set up the TSA-Pre system. It was almost like things were new again. I didn’t mind that I was paying you extra money so that you could more efficiently do the job I was already paying you to do with my taxes. All that mattered to me was that I didn’t have to take off my shoes. Or lay out my laptops like I was at a yardsale. I almost felt like things had turned the corner and we would be good again.

But then you just dropped the ball and stopped hiring. Seriously — who lets their workforce wither away by the double digits? I spent an hour in line just to see you the last time I flew. I sat in line the whole time, and the only thing that gave me any solace was seeing the poor schmucks without TSA-Pre in their eternal line.

So that’s it. I’m done. We are done. You are an abusive lover and I don’t know that you have ever done a damn thing to make me any more secure. I am going to get a Prius and hit the open road. Or maybe I will move to one of those cities where they didn’t agree to use your services. Somehow I would prefer to be molested by the free market then a government bureaucracy (although I hear they do a much better job).

Goodbye TSA. We had a good run. Don’t try calling — I’m heading for the open road.