I'm formulating an exciting and indepth narrative about sportsmanship that I'm sure you will be excited to read about, but my recent (10 minutes ago) trek through airport security in San Jose has derailed that I'm I'm simply going to bitch about TSA and a creepy little kid.
I left work in the middle of a meeting to catch my flight (return the car and then catch my flight). Dropping off the car was easy, although I had to giggle at the attendant who called me Mrs. Terri vs Mrs. Ladkghrenfressecerfer. Yes, my new last name is a bit daunting for folks the first time around (or 3rd) and for those non native English speakers it could be even more challenging. Mrs. Terri is fine. In fact, I shall make all future house servants call me that. (house servants??? can you say fantasty land?)
The security line was shortish (due mostly to the fact that all the other airlines have moved into the fancy new terminal at this airport, but Alaska is the last to go, so we're stuck here with few services and icky surroundings.
I opted to step in line behind a mom and a 5 year old kid to go through the bag screening because the other line was about 7 people deep. The mom did a pretty good job of getting her stuff organized into the separate bins for screening, while "Justin" was bouncing around being as "helpful" as a 5 year old can be. Which means that about every 15 seconds she was yelling "Justin, stay with me!" I removed my shoes, put my laptop in its own bin, put my purse on the conveyor and then pushed my backpack through behind everything.
I stepped to the special box that I guess scans for explosives and a red light went off and a buzzer sounded. The "helpful" TSA agent asked me to step inside the gate (a Plexiglas cattle shoot thing) and I complied. he mumbled something about a random screening.
I stood there for a bit and then behind me the other end was opened by a stern looking German woman. Maybe East Gernmany? I stepped out thinking I was done and moved towards my pile of stuff now being squished by the stuff from the people behind me in line.
Olga told me to get back on the mat, and that's when I saw that "Justin" had my laptop in his little hands. I pointed and said, "the kid has my stuff!" Olga said, you can get it in a minute, stand over here.
So, while she started to touch me I kept an eye on my things and Olga seemed irritated that i was distracted. "Are you ok? You seem nervous." No lady, that little kid has his hands on my stuff!
After giving me the once over including a nice pat down in the lady region (why I chose to wear a skirt today is beyond me) I was able to gather up my things and get to the gate.
I'm here, finally and Justin and his mom are sitting behind me. I am taking evil pleasure in the fact that Justin has a lisp and while trying to find a seat he yelled out pretty loudly "where do I shit? where do I shit?"
Exactly, Juthtin, where do you shit?
I'll be having a nice flight, I'm sure. See you on the Seattle side.