I travel a lot, have done so for years. I have witnessed the degeneration of pre 9-1-1 airport malaise to what is now a fair colonoscopy at the security check point. Based entirely upon the observed grumblings of my fellow travelers, I believe I have endured the increased hysteria and scrutiny with a bit more grace than most. I shant credit my inherent patience, as I haven’t any, rather, (A) when I travel it is commonly for pleasure, so I am graced with an inherent, if fleeting, calmness, (B) I understand that no one currently employed at the security gate has any input as to the severity—ridiculousness—of the security restrictions, and (C) dying in a flaming mass of collapsing, airplane-impacted building is far less attractive to me than the temporary delay involved in removing my shoes and waiting as an underappreciated, underpaid, and thus surly intentional stranger with a badge scrutinizes my underwear and sends my deodorant off to be lab tested.
Today, however, I have been pushed beyond my own lofty ceiling of patience and understanding. The latest department-of-home-security-inflicted loss of personal liberty has come in the form of a 3.5-ounce limit on all fluids and toiletries. This is not a tremendously new institution, probably about two years old, and I have flown several times, and lost several bottles of $5 airport Evian since—the fluid restriction is not well posted in the pre-security-gate gift shop, and is, I suspect, an intentional oversight; money grubbing bastards. But this is the first time since that I have flown to Las Vegas. The significance is multifaceted:
Flying to Las Vegas often involves cutting it close.[1] Any additional delay, even in the interest of preserving human life, is hardly attractive to anyone late for a flight, or more importantly, just this side of too late to get a drink before their flight.
Flying to Vegas invariably involves loads of sun and heat and passing out, so everyone in line is packing water and sunscreen and insulin, and 3.5-ounces, as a measure, is hardly intuitive, ensuring a noteworthy bottleneck at the checkpoint as we of the 3.5-ounces of brain endeavor to bootleg a six pack of 12-ounce medication and liter of contraband vodka through the terminal.
Flying to Vegas religiously involves drinking. Any delay whatsoever means less time doing that, human life be damned.
Enter the moral/ethical dilemma – is human life more precious than being not-sober in Las Vegas? Clear thinking humanitarians will tell you there is nothing more precious than human life. A moot point in as much as I can affect it, I don’t spend a great deal of time traveling to Vegas with clear thinking humanitarians. The tunnel visioned traveler, then, will tell you exactly what you can do with humanitarianism, and will happily throw their carry-on, their shoes, their 3.6-ounces of mouthwash and everyone in front of them in line to the wolves if it means one additional super-sized beer/cocktail in the lounge.
Since its inception, the 3.5 fluid-ounce restriction has shocked a great number of people. Neither the threatening postings, nor the disquieting murmur passing through line seem to prepare the indignant traveler for the tremendous injustice of having their aloe-vera confiscated. Perhaps people think the rule is not going to apply to them or their shampoo or toothpaste or 60-ounce water bottle—the common individual has a tremendous sense of denial.
The fabulous irony; your experienced traveler, who is aware of the rules, who has put their lotions and dentifrice into the approved bottles and government-issue sandwich bag, who is far less inclined to whine, and eventually yell at the hapless, though not tremendously understanding or accommodating, TSA-official, this individual is the one who suffers most.
The tragedy; as one of these individuals, I weep as I am within sight of the bar, resolutely bivouacked behind the security checkpoint, close enough to smell the Bloody Mary mix, when my flight is announced.
[1] An interesting phenomenon as no matter how many times you nearly miss a flight to Vegas, you just can’t seem to cure yourself of it, and we can probably blame Southwest Airlines for shaping a subculture of travelers who simply expect to and accept the likelihood of getting a Class-C boarding pass and feel no sense of urgency to either hurry or start getting to the airport in a timely fashion.
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