THE OCTOGENARIAN TERRORIST

TSA.  Too Stupid Altogether? 

This was the last day of Mom’s trip to LaLa Land.  We had booked her on a SWA flight leaving at 7:50 a.m.  My niece took the same flight back in early January and even though we got her there almost two hours before departure she barely made the flight.  Then, the lines went outside the building and down the sidewalk for over a hundred yards.  A complete zoo.  So, this time we got up at o-dark-thirty and we were off by 5:21.  No traffic, and we got to the airport in twenty-two minutes.  No lines.  Not a soul outside, and virtually no one inside.  Yawn.  Got Mom checked in, got our “escort” passes so we could accompany her to the gate waiting area, and proceeded to that monument to inefficiency and worthlessness, the TSA “security” check.

Usually, this is just an exercise in frustration.  Why don’t they have even a single sign posted telling people what to do, like take your computer out of the case and put it in a separate bin;  take off your shoes and your belt; yes, traveler, take everything out of your pockets and remove your coat/cardigan/sweatshirt.  Simple instructions, right?  But nowhere to be found.  They prefer to have inexperienced travelers fumble, get nervous, and be able to tell them to go back three times to do it right.  I think it’s really just a power trip combined with managerial incompetence.  I have seen some decent signage at other airports, but not LAX.  And I don’t want to get started on the lack of seating to use to put your shoes back on and get dressed again.

But, I digress.  This is about the octogenarian terrorist.

Mom.

Pushing 88.  Getting a bit frail, and doesn’t hear so hot in noisy environments.  And, with that dyed blond hair, just naturally looking suspicious.

She goes through the machine.  And, god only knows why, but they “can’t get a clear image.”  Huh?  She’s standing right there in slacks and a sweatshirt.  I went through with a t-shirt, denim shirt, and a zip-up vest, and no problem.  So, they have to take her all the way around the TSA area to a plexiglas enclosure where they can do a pat-down.  They allowed Loni to go with her, thank goodness, because Mom just couldn’t understand a word they were saying in that noisy place.  To be fair, the search, Loni tells me, was conducted with care and sensitivity.  Hmph.  Shouldn’t have been done at all.

I, meanwhile, was standing outside the cell fumbling to get my iPod camera working.  I missed the escorting in, but wanted to catch her coming out.  As the door opened, I snapped a picture but another TSA snot comes by and says “Hey, you, don’t take pictures of this facility.”  Really.  A plexiglas box?  In the midst of thousands of people.  Really secret stuff.  The real terrorists have turned us into a nascent police state.

Here’s Mom in the cell, with Loni helping, putting herself back together while the TSA agent dutifully fills out the paperwork on another piece of work accomplished.  I feel so much safer.