Well, my mind is exploding with observations about our recent trip to the West Coast. The first one I will offer is about Airports.
I have said before on this blog that Americans are like stupid dairy cattle being milked by farmer Joe Government. The Federal Reserve is a system designed to milk average Americans of their wealth.
With the advent of TSA procedures in America airports we now even look like cattle waiting to be milked. When I was a boy working on my Grandfather’s dairy farm the dairy cows waited in a pen outside the dairy parlor where they lined up to travel up a slight concrete incline in order to be the next cow to slip through the sliding door that was periodically opened to allow the next cow in to be milked. Once the cow got through the parlor door it dutifully went to the appropriate stall, enticed by some sweet hay, where it would be hooked up to the milking machine so it could drop its creamy load. Upon finishing it would have its teats dipped and its rump thumped so as to move out of the stall so the next cow could take its place.
I recalled all of this while I waited my turn in the TSA queue at the airports so I could take my shoes off and be felt up by people who looked a little to eager to get to the part where they frisked people down. The imagery was so stark that I was waiting for my Grandfathers voice to yell out ‘Cowboy’ to let one of his younger grandchildren know that it was time for them to open the parlor door so the next cow could be milked.
These TSA types (drawn from the cream of American civilization by the way) are nothing if not thorough. First they would look at every license with a black light. I had written a love note on my license that could only be read by a black light but they didn’t say anything. Finally you get to the point where you have the privilege of passing all your carry on luggage through the super duper X-ray machine. If there is a bag in doubt (and it seemed ours were always in doubt) they would pull it, open it and rub its contents like they expected some kind of genie to appear to grant them three wishes, all the while asking gruff questions like; “This belong to you?” “What Is This For?” “Do you really where a size 36?”
Upon arriving at California I learned that my bag was one of those randomly chosen bags that were pawed through by the TSA Stormtroopers. I satisfied myself that they went through my personal belongings with the comfort of knowing that they were decent enough to put a little note in my bag that they had violated my privacy. It’s always nice to have your belongings rifled through by decent chaps. I had unsanctified thoughts that next time I might leave them something to find like a hypodermic needle or an exposed razor.
Another thing I observed as I traveled was the deep reading that Americans do. Magazines such as ‘US,’ ‘People,’ ‘Ladies Home Journal,’ and other tomes must make their profit margin by people deciding to get caught up in their reading while they travel. And what good is reading if you can’t do it with every one of your tattoos and piercings exposed? If you can’t catch somebodies attention by your reading fodder they will certainly be interested in you when they see that stud sticking out of your cheek or the chains connecting your cheek to your earlobe. (It must be a pain to get all that hardware through TSA security.) Let us not even begin to talk about travel attire.
When I wasn’t mooing I found myself humming Larry Norman’s “I’m only visiting this Planet.”
