“Starting tomorrow, we’re going to start searching your crotchal area”
November 1st, 2010Via: The Atlantic:
At BWI, I told the officer who directed me to the back-scatter that I preferred a pat-down. I did this in order to see how effective the manual search would be. When I made this request, a number of TSA officers, to my surprise, began laughing. I asked why. One of them — the one who would eventually conduct my pat-down — said that the rules were changing shortly, and that I would soon understand why the back-scatter was preferable to the manual search. I asked him if the new guidelines included a cavity search. “No way. You think Congress would allow that?”
I answered, “If you’re a terrorist, you’re going to hide your weapons in your anus or your vagina.” He blushed when I said “vagina.”
“Yes, but starting tomorrow, we’re going to start searching your crotchal area” — this is the word he used, “crotchal” — and you’re not going to like it.”
“What am I not going to like?” I asked.
“We have to search up your thighs and between your legs until we meet resistance,” he explained.
“Resistance?” I asked.
“Your testicles,” he explained.
‘That’s funny,” I said, “because ‘The Resistance’ is the actual name I’ve given to my testicles.”
He answered, “Like ‘The Situation,’ that guy from ‘Jersey Shore?'”
Yes, exactly, I said. (I used to call my testicles “The Insurgency,” but those assholes in Iraq ruined the term.)
I pointed out to the security officer that 50 percent of the American population has no balls (90 percent in Washington, D.C., where I live), so what is going to happen when the pat-down officer meets no resistance in the crotchal area of women? “If there’s no resistance, then there’s nothing there.”
“But what about people who hide weapons in their cavities? I asked. I actually said “vagina” again, just to see him blush. “We’re just not going there,” he reiterated.
I asked him if he was looking forward to conducting the full-on pat-downs. “Nobody’s going to do it,” he said, “once they find out that we’re going to do.”
In other words, people, when faced with a choice, will inevitably choose the Dick-Measuring Device over molestation? “That’s what we’re hoping for. We’re trying to get everyone into the machine.” He called over a colleague. “Tell him what you call the back-scatter,” he said. “The Dick-Measuring Device,” I said. “That’s the truth,” the other officer responded.
The pat-down at BWI was fairly vigorous, by the usual tame standards of the TSA, but it was nothing like the one I received the next day at T.F. Green in Providence. Apparently, I was the very first passenger to ask to opt-out of back-scatter imaging. Several TSA officers heard me choose the pat-down, and they reacted in a way meant to make the ordinary passenger feel very badly about his decision. One officer said to a colleague who was obviously going to be assigned to me, “Get new gloves, man, you’re going to need them where you’re going.”
The agent snapped on his blue gloves, and patiently explained exactly where he was going to touch me. I felt like a sophomore at Oberlin.
“I’m going to run my hands up your thighs, and then feel your buttocks, then I’m going to reach under you until I meet –”
“Resistance?” I interrupted.
“Yes, resistance. Do you want to go into a private room?” he asked.
“Are you asking me into a private room?” I said. He looked confused. I said, “No, here is fine.”
…
The obvious goal of the TSA is to make the pat-down embarrassing enough for the average passenger that the vast majority of people will choose high-tech humiliation over the low-tech ball check.
What you do is say “I opt out” with this huge sick lear on your face. As you get led over to the pat down area start breathing heavily, get a bit of drool going and mutter yeah yeah oh yeah under your breath. Bend slightly back and push your groin out just a little bit.
If you could get a good enough mental fantasy going a big hard on pretty much guarantees a cop style weapons frisk and you’re on your way.
You have seriously made TSA guy not like his job very much. Can you imagine if every man in that line opted out and did the Village People thing to the screeners? Don’t fly in a business suit – wear bike racer spandex. Wink at ’em and hand them a “call me” note with a phone number.
If you don’t wanna go the gay route, tell the screener that this is particularly difficult and you’ll try to get through it as best you can – for you suffered horrible sexual abuse from your father for 13 years.
Bottom line – fuck with their heads, since bashing it in isn’t an option.