Summary

A traveler recounts their experience of being selected for additional TSA screening at the airport, causing delays and stress while trying to return home.

Abstract

The narrative describes a family's unexpected encounter with TSA screening after a long journey. Despite initial hopes of a smooth return, one member is singled out for additional security checks. The process involves meticulous inspection of personal items, including electronics, and a series of intrusive questions and procedures. The author conveys a mix of frustration, humor, and resignation as they navigate the impersonal and bureaucratic nature of the security protocol, ultimately reflecting on the shared experiences of travelers who have undergone similar screenings.

Opinions

The author expresses frustration with the repeated calls for passengers to check in at the front desk, suggesting inefficiency or negligence by airport staff.
There is a sense of irony and disbelief when the author's ticket fails to work, leading to the discovery of the need for extra TSA screening.
The family's reaction, particularly the oldest daughter's comment that "TSA hates us," indicates a humorous yet exasperated response to the situation.
The author seems to question the necessity and invasiveness of the TSA procedures, especially when their six-year-old daughter's backpack is scrutinized.
A sense of absurdity is conveyed when the author is asked about needles, powder, and is subjected to swabbing, including their shins, despite wearing crop pants.
The offer to help repack the author's belongings, contingent on filling out additional forms, is seen as an example of the cumbersome nature of bureaucracy within the TSA process.
The author's decision to decline assistance and repack their belongings themselves suggests a preference for self-reliance over further complicating the situation with paperwork.
The final interaction with the TSA agent, where the author is wished a "good day," is met with ironic amusement, acknowledging the inherent stress of such encounters for both passengers and agents.

Congratulations, You’ve Been Selected, I Mean Elected, I Mean Chosen to Receive Extra TSA Screening

These are words no one wants to hear. Ever.

We were blissfully ignorant to be on the last leg of the trip after an 18 hour layover in the airport and a six hour flight prior to that. We were ready to be home.

You’ve been selected for extra TSA screening.

Ever heard those words?

If so, I bet you have a story to tell.

When I heard them my heart sank. All I could think of was getting home. It’s been a wild summer backpacking adventure.

A few things make sense in retrospect.

Our airline had been constantly calling names over the intercom to check in at the front desk on the first floor, immediately. It seemed that someone at the desk hadn’t been doing their job well. It struck us odd that so many people were being called, but we were already through security. So, hopefully this didn’t effect us.

Wrong!

As we presented our tickets to go through the gate for international travel my ticket didn’t work. We’re traveling with our daughters, as a family of four, and one the the adults go through first to collect the kiddos on the other side and keep everyone together.

But, my ticket didn’t work.

So, I went through on the first one that worked, which was one of the girl’s.

Then the girls came through.

And, my husband should have come through next, but he was left holding my ticket, the one that didn’t work.

Red light again.

There was a TSA agent the next gate over and we solicit his help.

Who does this ticket belong to?

I raise me hand and say, “me”.

He wants all of us to follow him to the side where he examines all of our tickets. Then he says those words:

You’ve been selected for extra TSA screening.

Our oldest chuckles and shakes her head.

TSA hates us.

We quietly shush her.

The three of you can go. Looking at me he says,

You need to follow me.

I am holding my youngest daughter’s backpack. It’s more like a purse really. It just has her lovie, a camera, and some other odd things. I said, “Here, Honey, you need to take your bag”.

The agent quickly questions the action, “You need to bring all of your things with you”.

At the exact same time my husband and I say:

“It’s not hers/mine, it’s hers (while pointing to the six-year-old), and she’s clear; right?”

A single nod in the affirmative tells us to make the hand off quickly.

I follow him around the corner and take my place in the line to get to the real line where we wait like cattle for the processing to begin. Interesting how no one makes polite conversation while waiting for TSA screening. Everyone holds their things, looking ahead at the agents waiting to be called.

When I am called and go back to the room, which is much like a medical lab partitioned off into small square-like rooms by white curtains, the agent asks me to place my backpack on the metal table.

I comply.

Any needles or anything that’s going to stick me?

No.

Any powder?

Makeup, I say questioningly.

More than 12 ounces?

Not even close.

He proceeds to remove every item from my backpack. We’ve been backpacking, so every crevice of space is used. My daughters’ and my clothing is all unpacked and unbundled, undies strewn about the table. Some plane snacks and a couple of dark chocolate bars didn’t hold much interest. The electronics are neatly stacked with care.

You need to take the covers off these.

Okay.

It’s not us it’s TSA.

There’s no comfort in those words at all and I think they know this because every action is followed by these words.

When I offer no outward response the words are repeated again. If I could give the “mom look” right now I’d do it.

INSERT: “mom look”, but only in my imagination.

I fumble to get the cover off my computer. They can see that I am making an effort and trying not to be difficult.

“We can help, but there are an additional four forms you need to fill out in case we break something”.

I’d rather break it myself, if that’s okay.

My laptop is swabbed, top and bottom, separately then set aside. My tablet is handed to me next. Same scenario. Completely remove the cover for additional swabbing. Next my other daughter’s device. More swabbing. And, there’s no indication of whether this is going well, or not.

Pull up your pants.

I assume she means by the waist so I pull up my t-shirt and expose my belly button to grab my waist band and pull up my drawers.

No, here.

She reaches down, pulls up my pant legs one-by-one, and swabs my shins.

I look perplexed because I am wearing crop pants and a good three inches of skin is already exposed.

After those swabs are analyzed a matter-of-fact “you’re clear” is issued.

I can put my things back in the bag?

Yep.

I begin to refold my things because there’s no way they are going to fit unless they are condensed in some fashion similar to the way they came out of the bag. I can’t even collect these items and move them out of the way or to the floor. There’s just this table, their equipment, and a door.

We can help, if you’d like.

No thanks.

A couple of moments later…

We can help, if you’d like.

No thanks. It just has to go back in there so it fits.

A couple more moments pass…

We can help, if you’d like.

Thinking: Oh, I get it. You can help shove stuff back in a bag, but there are forms to fill out in quadruple to get your help to remove covers from electronics.

No thanks.

I manage to get things back in the backpack so it closes and zip all the zippers. Standing it up, I pull the flap over the top and buckle it then use the table as a boost to put it on my back.

Thank you.

Have a good day.

The irony of that comment strikes me humorous. This part of your job as a TSA agent likely means that someone is not having a good day.

Have you been screened by TSA? If so, I bet you have a story to tell.

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