carbonated joy

For some crazy reason, I never just get through airport security.
I ALWAYS get patted down.
Maybe it’s the weird beard.
Maybe it’s the cargo shorts that give the appearance that I’m smuggling snacks.
Maybe it’s because they AIN’T never seen anyone like me.
Maybe, it’s because I’m just so darn pattable?
It’s a humbling experience…
First there’s the cold, hard humiliation of partially stripping down in front of hundreds of suddenly intimate strangers…take off your shoes, belt, jacket, etc. etc.
I’ve turned it into kind of a burly burlesque dance that no one really seems to appreciate.
Then I get frisked which is awkward on so many levels. For starters I’m pretty ticklish so I can’t help but giggle like a 3 year old.
That might create a little suspicion.
Also, my friskable parts are freakishly low to the ground and it’s always a man who is at least 2 feet taller than me who is patting me down. A few guys have hurt their backs trying to pat me down. I feel guilty about that! I’m willing to stand on top of their table so they can do their job.
Sometimes I get the bonus fun of an angry lady shouting “BAG CHECK!” and some poor soul gets to dig through my fruit of the looms.
This is undoubtably easier when I’m leaving then when I’m coming home.
Finally after what seems like at least an hour I get through. By this time none of the TSA agents will make eye contact with me and I just feel dirty.
As I write this I’m sitting at my gate. I’m thankful to survive security. I can’t help but notice that the ticket agent is giving me odd looks, so I’m trying to look less suspicious, and I’m ready to get my head in the clouds.