Getting touched

It's rare here at Cheshire Prospects that we actually get to do some first-hand reporting on something.  But having flown this past week and gotten to actually experience the TSA's new security protocols, I figure my opinion might actually have some sort of weight this time around.  So here's what we got from it:

Philly doesn't have the new scanners yet, so they aren't patting you down.  At least on Wednesday they weren't, which I find kind of surprising since PHL tends to be a pretty high traffic airport as a hub for a whole bunch of airlines.  But oh well.  You missed your shot, Osama.

Providence did have the new x-ray-see-my-naughty-bits scanners.  Now granted, I didn't have much a problem with the new regulations and protocols to begin with, but I still didn't quite know what to expect.  Well here it is - you go in between what looks like two giant curved servers, put your hands over your head, WOM WOM WOM, go stand on this mat on the other side in case they need to pat you down, and then get.  The Man never touched me - in fact I didn't see anyone get stroked.

So sorry all you worriers, none of the TSA got to feel up my sweet love handles, made extra sweet by our five pies, baklava, and cheesecake two days before (side note, I am all for dessert and really am a big fan, but seven desserts for 13 people? Really?).  Now I can only hope my scanner x-ray makes it in to Playgirl: TSA.

I'm sure that some people did get patted down this holiday travelling season, to which I say - suck it up.  You want an invasion of privacy?  Let's go wire-tap some phones or suspend habeus corpus.  I don't like to fear-monger, but when you're trapped in an aluminum tube 10,000 feet up with a couple hundred gallons of jet fuel strapped to you and someone with a couple screws loose and stuffed underwear, you're gonna wish somebody gave everyone on your flight a once-over with their hands coming through security.

You want to be safe (or out of debt, or healthy, ) America?  Start making some sacrifices.  Get comfortable enough with your body to know the balding TSA guy with a wife and kids at home trying to pay the bills doesn't want to have to feel you up either - it's just his job to see if that's a stick of dynamite in your pocket, he doesn't care if you're happy to see him.