Sunday, April 20, 2008


Originally uploaded by Rebecca June
I get so exhausted with hatred at the TSA in Evansville, Indiana. This woman, I've gotten into fracases with in the past. She spent a full 20 minutes rubbing my bag down looking for explosives.

They stopped me again at the gate, at which time I was disarmed a little by the young female agent who inquired breathlessly about what it was like to live in California. "I heard people is different out there," she says. Then she tells me about a friend who moved to Las Vegas, where people don't stop to help you if you're in a car accident.

Why does hating it so intensely make me feel guilty?

No comments: