So, when I fly down to the 'ville to visit my parents, I inevitably end up infuriated at the self-important yet moronic TSA employees. I've chronicled this before.
This time, I arrived at the airport a good half hour before my flight left, and as I was approaching the (only) security checkpoint, they said, "You're going to Chicago? Cuz they're waiting for you."
Okay. So, you just told me the airplane is waiting for me. Will you attempt to get me through security in a timely manner?
Three people checked my ID within earshot/sight of one another. My bags were put through the xray machine twice -- then a severe woman with thinning gray hair took my purse aside and announced, "Ma'am, I'm going to have to take a look through this.
The man at the counter to the single gate behind me was announcing final boarding call. I waved at him and said, "Just a minute!' He waved back amiably as this woman went though all the contents of my wallet.
She searched through until she found a tube of lipgloss. Really delicious lipgloss that I can only get in NYC. That Fauxinca bought for me, special.
She said, "Ma'am, you are not going to be able to take this on the plane."
Me: My lipgloss?
Lady: You can take solid lipstick but not gels.
Me: It's under three ounces.
Lady: It must be in a clear, five inch square ziplock bag in order for you to take it on the plane.
Me: Are you kidding?
Lady: THESE ARE THE RULES!
Me: You're being pedantic.
Lady: . . .
Me: Pedantic. That means overly attached to the letter of the rules without respecting their spirit.
Lady: I have to run your bag through the machine again.
She brings back a cop.
Because my lipstick IS NOT IN A ZIPLOCK.
Lady: Ma'am, as these are not in a ziplock you cannot take them on the plane.
Me: You think I'm going to do harm to my fellow passengers with my lipgloss? The lipgloss that you would let me take IF IT WERE SEALED IN A FLIMSY ZIPLOCK BAG?
Lady: What do you want to do?
Me: I want you to allow me to take my lipgloss.
Cop: (Looks sort of sheepish and ashamed)
Lady: (Looks defiant and possibly considering a citizen's arrest)
We engage in a staredown.
At this point, another security guy pipes in: WE DO NOT HAVE AUTHORITY TO MAKE EXCEPTIONS! THESE ARE THE RULES AS THEY ARE MADE IN WASHINGTON
At this point I shoulder my bag and stomp off indignantly, once again deliriously happy I don't still live in Southern Indiana.
I'm really sorry, Southern Indiana, but, with the exception of Bloomington, I totally hate you.
Now is the time I reflect and learn:
a. TSA is useless and annoying.
b. I know you catch more flies with honey, and I probably could have appealed to this woman's sense of moral superiority and power hungry-ness and flattered her into having mercy on me and giving me my lipgloss. But I really wanted to humiliate her.
I couldn't help myself.
No wonder Southern Indiana hates me back.