Aug. 7th, 2007

Wow.

Just . . . wow.

I wish I could fully recreate my experience at Albany airport a few hours ago while going through security. Because, well . . . just wow.

Now, I realize that people in much worse conditions than I'm currently in travel. I realize that I'm still partially mobile and can even hobble a bit without the crutches. However, the complete lack of compassion I received from every TSA agent I encountered was absolutely unbelievable.

My favorite, most memorable moment: I've slid all of my crap through the X-ray machine. I already know I'm going to get wanded and whatever because the boot has metal in it. I'm sans crutches in front of the metal detector. What does the chick on the other side say to me? "M'am, you need to take off your shoe." I look at her . . . "-wha? It's a boot, I can't." "No, no, you need to take off your sandal." Now, please bear in mind, I am without crutches, standing on one leg, in front of the metal detector. The sandal happens to be on the one leg I'm standing on. I had to explain to her - rudely, but I was beyond my patience at that stage - several times that I could NOT take my sandal off because, as she should be able to see with her amazing powers of observation as an ultimate protector of my security in the airport, my fucking other foot is broken. (Okay, I left fucking out.) Once I got to the other side and sat down, waiting for wanding, I pointed out to her that "see, now I can take it off." Unfortunately, she wasn't amused.

Then the women who wanded me . . . christ. She pulled at my hair (metal hairclip), felt up my entire torso (bra clasps), and sternly told me NOT to touch my crutches while she went to make sure I wasn't carrying any strange substances on my hands and the boot. Right, because it's all a costume that I'm happily wearing for some other evil, alternative, purpose.

Um, kay.

I'm fine with the whole no racial profiling thing, but I'd like to know how crutches suddenly made me 5 times more suspicious than I ever used to be.

My mom was so pissed (she always watches until she sees me clear security, then waves goodbye, often tear-filled, before she leaves) she's started crafting a letter to the editor of the NYT.

I'm now stuck in fucking Philadelphia for 2 more hours. I have to pee and I'm hungry. I can go short distances half walking on the boot, but I also have my purse, laptop, and fucking sticks to carry. Not sure how far I'll make it.

That goddamn fall has proven to be immensely inconvenient.

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rhd323

January 2013

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