What a world; wake up, America!
Yep, I have seen such craziness myself..aw Jeeeeeeez
Nothing like having the coyotes minding the henhouse.
Is she allowed to “touch junk”?
What airport?
Shortly after 9/11, my mother, 88 years old, and I were about to board our connecting flight at Washington’s Dulles airport. At the gate, she was selected to undergo a further pat down and was forced to remove her shoes so the TSA agent could inspect them. (We never left the “secure” areas from our last flight!)
It was obvious he was from the Middle East. I asked him. In his strong accent, he smiled and said, “I’m from Pakistan.”
Poor mom had a difficult time putting her shoes back on...they were swollen from our previous flight.
Ridiculous rules we have!
If having her there in her burka means they can search Muslim women without getting sued, then I say good!
In fact, I observed that very few Americans seem to work at Dulles at all. They're all either Asian or Arab...at the restaurants, newsstands, shops...you name it.
And politeness certainly does not seem to be a requirement to work at that airport.
After this statement, I could not take anything else the author said even remotely seriously.
Old white ladies being searched for explosives by a terrorist...The asylum is being run by the inmates...
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.”