As you know, not so long ago, A.Pants and I had a bit of a California Adventure. We frolicked, with friends, in the mountains of around Big Bear Lake. 'Twas, all in all, a fairly fantastic trip.
But on the trip out to California — specifically, while we were sitting down to a (frankly) less than stellar meal at a not-to-be named restaurant at JFK airport — I was mildly taken aback by the flaming idiocy that's perpetrated in the name of making us think we're safe while flying.
The TSA spends hundreds of millions of dollars on low-rent rent-a-cops to scan your baggage and wand your ass for smuggled knives and Uzis and unapproved mustard in amounts over three ounces. Better yet, they've made airport restaurants stop setting their tables with real cutlery.
Mr. Pants and I had to eat our meals — at a step-above-TGIFridays kinda sit-down restaurant, cloth napkins and all — with plastic knives. Mine was a freaking steak. All this so that no nefarious evildoer might walk off with a steak knife after having already passed through security.
Okay, that's all well and good. But have you ever really noticed how sharp those higher-quality plastic knives are? They're pretty sturdy. Granted, you couldn't plunge one into someone's chest and expect much damage, but you could certainly blind someone with one. And worse, their little serrated edges are more than sharp enough to hold to someone's neck to demand you be given whatever your terroristic little heart desires.
So, thanks, TSA, for making me so much safer. Having surrendered all my personal liberties in the name of your Circus of Boobery makes me feel infinitely better.
But on the trip out to California — specifically, while we were sitting down to a (frankly) less than stellar meal at a not-to-be named restaurant at JFK airport — I was mildly taken aback by the flaming idiocy that's perpetrated in the name of making us think we're safe while flying.
The TSA spends hundreds of millions of dollars on low-rent rent-a-cops to scan your baggage and wand your ass for smuggled knives and Uzis and unapproved mustard in amounts over three ounces. Better yet, they've made airport restaurants stop setting their tables with real cutlery.
Mr. Pants and I had to eat our meals — at a step-above-TGIFridays kinda sit-down restaurant, cloth napkins and all — with plastic knives. Mine was a freaking steak. All this so that no nefarious evildoer might walk off with a steak knife after having already passed through security.
Okay, that's all well and good. But have you ever really noticed how sharp those higher-quality plastic knives are? They're pretty sturdy. Granted, you couldn't plunge one into someone's chest and expect much damage, but you could certainly blind someone with one. And worse, their little serrated edges are more than sharp enough to hold to someone's neck to demand you be given whatever your terroristic little heart desires.
So, thanks, TSA, for making me so much safer. Having surrendered all my personal liberties in the name of your Circus of Boobery makes me feel infinitely better.
No comments:
Post a Comment