Hey! Randy

Archive for December, 2010

Mood Music

Posted by heyrandy on December 22, 2010

I am tired of people criticizing the TSA. These are real people who have the problem of not being able to find a real job anywhere else. They gave up a lot to go to work for the TSA. Most had seniority at the restaurant, but this now all gone. They can’t even go back to the old job: the manager will not rehire them.

Working for the TSA is not easy. First, there is all that standing around. This quickly gets boring. It is difficult to look official when everyone with working eyes can see that you are not doing anything of importance. This leads to lack of respect. This is the reason that the TSA has issued its idlers those shiny badges. Badges are a symbol of authority. Symbols are all the TSA has. Respect? Not in any airport I have been in!

In addition the routine and unending boredom, there is the difficulty of who gets to view the pornography x-ray images. Management has had to be careful and delegate most of the viewing to its subordinates. The managers are compensated for this by being paid more.

The luggage checkers have the additional problem of having to stay awake most of the time while on duty. It is not easy when you sit down all day looking at dangerous things like socks. You never know, some of them might be dirty.

With all these difficulties it is amazing that the TSA catches any terrorists. Actually it has so far caught none, but the TSA has not been deterred by its uselessness. It soldiers on. There are pay checks to cash.

I think that the brave, valiant, loyal, faithful and blue clad men and women would appreciate some support from the public instead of the relentless, well justified criticism from those who actually understand airline security. To that end I propose that the TSA adopt a theme song. This would be the agency’s anthem, sung in public before every shift and when ever the dangerous job of protecting the flying public from carrying too large a container of body lotion gets too stressful.

There are many Americans who can write music. You country need you to create an appropriate song for the much justly maligned TSA. The song should touch the core of the TSA’s mission. The song should reflect the pride the TSA staff feel when you feel them. So get busy writing. The gloved brigade needs your help.

Since I am unable to write music, I must confine my contribution to a suggestion. I nominate that the TSA adopt as its official theme song the hit song made famous by Olivia Newton-John: “Let’s Get Physical.” I know of no music extant that more closely reflects the true nature of the entire TSA experience. Besides, its been a while since Olivia has had a hit; she could use the money from the royalties.

I sure know what I will be singing when I get the touch of the TSA! Hey TSA, let’s get….!

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It Is All in the Name

Posted by heyrandy on December 9, 2010

I am thinking of having my name legally changed. I am not sure what to change it to. All the really good names are taken many times over. We have enough John Smiths, John Does and Cleopatras. I want unusual. It doesn’t have to be unique. Unique names require spelling when ever you give your name.

I am giving serious consideration to using Osama bin Laden. As far as I know there is only one man named this. I do not know how many women are named this, but that is a chance I must take.

You may be wondering why I want to be called Osama bin Laden. It is simple. If this were my name, I would be on the NO FLY LIST. Being on the NO FLY LIST means that you never have to go through airport security. I just went through airport security, twice. It was no joke, but it was a farce.

My wife and I arrived at the local airport to begin our journey. We were there plenty early because we know that you must be early to allow enough time to clear the rigorous security that the government has in place to protect us from people who live 10,000 miles away.

We duly put our belongings and shoes into the plastic bins and sent them through the tunnel of examination. My wife passed through the metal detector and on to collect her property. I was motioned to go though the X-ray machine. I was not going to do that. I consider my private parts private. There is also the question of how much radiation you are getting. The government says it is safe. The government also said that the machines could not show detail. The machines can show extremely fine details. Details like how long is your middle finger and how big are you eyeballs. The government also said that the machines could not store or transmit images. Someone then leaked the government purchasing specification that specifically stated that the machines must be able to store and transmit pictures. The federal Marshals were caught storing 30.000+ images in a machine they were operating in Orlando, Florida. And people trust the government on the safety question?  I told the being in gloves that I would not being going though the machine. I was to be groped. The groping might be rebarbative, but the X-rays could be carcinogenic

The groper arrived and proceeded to ask me if I had “any sensitive areas”. I said that my whole body was a sensitive area. The supervisor was summoned. She and I had the sensitive area conversation. The supervisor then said that I could have a private room in which to be groped. I guess you don’t have sensitive areas in the private room. I declined the private room. I may be a jerk with a sensitive body, but I am not a stupid jerk with a sensitive body. I wanted everyone to see what our government does to those whom it protects from people living in caves 10,000 miles away. Once in the private room the gropers could say that I committed a crime such as conspiracy.

The groper said that when he got to a “sensitive area” (didn’t we just have this conversation. twice?) he would be using the back of his hand. This must somehow make the feel-up not be sexual assault. Parents, make sure you  tell your kids that when a molester touches their privates it is only wrong if he touches you with anything other than the back of his hand. (Don’t let this get around. We don’t want the child molesters and other perverts to know that the TSA is hiring gropers. It might embarrass the TSA. The TSA can’t take any more stress. They are stretched to the limit of their budget paying all its employees to stand around while protecting us from people who live 10.000 away.) When the groper was through, I said, “I feel much safer now!” Indeed I did. I had just been government certified not to be one of those people living 10.000 away. What a relief!

My next adventure for what is called “Airport Security” came on the return trip. This time there were no X-ray machines in use. My wife again passed without problem through the metal detector. I forgot to place my jacket and cell phone in to the plastic bin for the trip through the tunnel of examination, so I had to go back through the metal detector. I put the offending items in the bin and went through the metal detector. As I was retrieving my property, I heard some one say, “Give this guy a full pat down”. I felt a hand on my elbow. I recoiled, pulling my arm free. I objected to being groped. Two of TSA’s idlers said that if I didn’t submit to the pat down I would have to go outside of the security zone and re-enter security. I said, “Let’s go”. They carried my luggage and I followed. It was professional of them to allow me to watch their back. Upon safely delivering the two TSA idlers and my luggage to the non-secure zone, I dismissed them without a word. I was tempted to ask them if their badges were made of real tin, but they needed to return to their posts to ensure I would be properly groped when I returned. Besides, it would be a violation of security to have idlers not in position to protect us from people who live 10,000 mile away.

This time the groper asked if I had any medical equipment or prosthetic devices on my body. “No, could we just get on with this?”

“I have to ask these questions”.

“That right,” I said, “the Book of Rules that Must Be Obeyed“.

He said,”Yes”.

He did not say to which volume he was referring.

He checked my hair. You can’t be too careful. I could have been one of those people who live 10,000 miles away and know how to conceal a machine gun in his hair.

He then did the same thing as the previous groper except that when he went up my left leg he touched “my junk”.  It was not a great thrill. It was not even a cheap one. Afterward I though that if I had said “I am a homosexual. Can I have a woman do the groping?” it might have caused quite a stir. Maybe next time.

When the groper was finished with the touchy-feely part of the farce he then swabbed his gloves “to test for nitrates,” he said. I am glad I had not fertilized the garden that day!

I grabbed my stuff and left. My wife thinks I was singled out because I have a beard. They did not check my beard, even though it is longer than my hair. My beard would have been the ideal place to hide that machine gun. Maybe next time! People living 10,000 miles away, pay attention. This is a major hole is airport security.

I left without comment. The next day I thought that as I left I should have shouted Allah Akbar.  Obama would have.

 

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