FAA'S NAZI EMBECILLES, DWARFS & PROSTITUTES
Anonymous
bag through the X-ray machine, submitting to its scan of my personal
effects despite the fact neither the airline nor the airport administration
held any warrant to search them, nor even offered me any probable cause.
But was that enough? Not last Tuesday. As my bag came down the belt, a
tall, sleepy-eyed young man with a shaved head and an ill-fitting blue
blazer, standing on the other side of the conveyer belt, asked "Sir, do you
mind if I search your bag?"
I replied: "Actually, I do mind. I do not consent to any search of my bag."
The young man acted as though I had not heard his question. "Sir, do you
mind if I search your bag?"
"Yes, I do mind. I do not grant my consent for any search of my bag."
"Sir," he repeated, "do you (start ital)mind(end ital) if I search your
(start ital)bag(end ital)?"
I still don't know how long this would have continued. Sensing that it
was up to me to jog the needle on this trance-like broken record, I next
asked, "Did you see something on the X-ray that looked like a weapon?"
"No sir," he admitted. "It's a random search."
"A random search?"
"A random search."
At this point, a bearded dwarf in a tweed jacket, looking for all the
world like former Clinton cabinet secretary Robert Reich, appeared at my
left shoulder, coming to the aid of my somnolent oppressor. "He can ask you
to search the bag, and if you refuse, he doesn't have to let you continue,"
said this strange apparition, holding his own two suitcases and a plastic
shopping bag.
"How is this any concern of yours?" I asked the dwarf. "Do you work for
the airline?"
"No," he smiled proudly, like an enormously self-contented bridge-player
laying down the last trump card. "I work for the FAA."
"And you're on duty here?"
"No, I'm not. But I know about this," he smiled even more broadly.
"Then you must know the security directive says they should ask to see
our photo ID, but it specifically goes on to say that if we refuse, they
can (start ital)not(end ital) bar us from boarding" I said quite firmly,
drawing the attention of the sleepy-eyed fellow's lady supervisor, who now
waddled over to join us. "So I assume it's the same with these 'random bag
checks.' That's why they ask for our permission, right? If they don't need
our consent, why keep asking for it?"
Astonishingly enough, at this point, the little dwarf's smile collapsed,
and he turned and trundled away like a disturbed woodchuck. Given that he
presumably took an oath before God to protect and defend the U.S.
Constitution, which still contains the Bill of Rights, it's unlikely the
leering little geek's immortal soul will escape as easily.
"(start ital)Sir(end ital)," asked the tall young man, clinging to the
security of his minimal training, and apparently hoping to break the record
set by John Lennon, who once managed to find more than two dozen different
ways to sing the eight words "Why don't we do it in the road?" in the same
recording ... "do you mind if I check your bag?"
"Listen," I said, "I do not grant my consent, and I'm not going to grant
my consent. If you believe you don't (start ital)need(end ital) my consent,
then do what you have to do."
At this point, with his supervisor looking on, the young man went through
the motions of unzipping and re-zipping the two small side compartments on
my bag, barely glancing at, in turn, a clean pair of white socks and a
plastic bottle of Pepto-Bismol. He never undid the straps or unzipped the
main body of the bag, at all. "Thank you," he said.
"I'm not going to thank (start ital)you(end ital)," I replied, "because
we still have a Fourth Amendment in this country, which protects us from
warrantless searches. You do know that, right?"
The bald young man looked right through me, focusing on the far wall, his
heavy-lidded eyes blinking slowly. His companion, a grossly fat black woman
in the ill-fitting rust-red jacket of a "supervisor," who had been puffing
up to say something before the FAA troll butted in, looked disgusted but
averted her eyes, refusing to meet my gaze.
I watched the Bill of Rights dying last week, Vin Suprynowicz, OCT. 3, 1999