Posted on 12/20/2010 7:47:08 AM PST by FromLori
I fly fairly frequently for work.
I recently had the pleasure of not being scanned or pulled aside for a friendlier session in two major cities. Others around me were not so lucky. Blonde females between 18 and 22 seemed to be the likely candidates for further scrutiny - and a few elderly, Caucasian grandmothers.
If the US is stilll on the "Arabs/Muslims are TeRrOrIsTs" kick, why are they searching non-arabs/non-Muslims: attractive young female college students, middle age white guys with pot bellies and grannies?
The other thing that bothers me is the broken English of many of the TSA workers. There were a few Arabs working my line and I wondered how long they had had their green card and what exactly their qualifications were for searching me, a US born citizen. Who can feel safer when guys named Mohamed are the ones checking their bags? It's like they hired a bunch of NYC Cabbies to guard us from shampoo explosives.
I made it through, had a surprisingly tasty omelette to order and then saw this: Yes, that's a burka, yes that's a real TSA agent, (I saw her badge when I passed her and made a U-turn to snap a pic)
They're not just stripping us of our freedoms, they're rubbing our noses in it along the way.
That is a moderate, peaceful woman, who just happens to be Islamic; not any kind of radical...she's in public, working, without a male relative along to guard her virtue! /SARC>
Besides, Big Sis vouches for her; you can't get any safer than that! /SARC>
LOVE STORY...SORT OF
He grasped me firmly but gently just above my elbow and guided me into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone.
He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear. “Just relax.”
Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused hands start at my ankles, gently probing, and moving upward along my calves slowly but steadily. My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn’t care. His touch was so experienced, so sure.
When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder, and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm, full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply. Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid them down my tingling spine and into my panties.
Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not used to taking `no’ for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man who would look into my soul and say ...
“Okay, ma’am, all done.”
My eyes snapped open and he was standing in front of me, smiling, holding out my purse.
“You can board your flight now.”
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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