An Immodest Proposal Recently there have been a lot of articles about airport security?s pat downs of passengers of the female gender. Apparently, in reaction to the plane bombings in Russia, airport security personnel are checking female passengers a little too close for comfort and there have been accusations of groping in the name of safety. If it can happen there, it could happen here. Right? Uhm. . .
The United States is not Russia. At least, that was what I was taught over and over again school during the Reaganeighties. Russia was them, and the US was us. They were they, and we were we. And a lot of nuclear bombs were built.
However, let?s put the whole ?if it could happen in Russia, it could happen here? concept aside. I do feel bad for the airport security workers. I would not want to touch that many people in a day---even if they are nice-smelling wealthy plane-riders. There also must be tremendous stress in the job. After all, they are in an environment where anything less than a 100% success rate is a failure. It?s not like Starbucks where it?s not a national tragedy if I get fat in my nonfat decaf latte. So I say, pay the Security Workers more! And throw in extra vacation days. . .and give them nice uniforms.
In the meantime, how the heck are they gonna search those darn women? Perhaps a curtained off area where ladies could be searched not in the middle of a hallway under some really bad florescent lighting.
As a woman (last time I checked), I say not enough! I want more! I want a spa!
After putting our bags through the x-ray machine, we ladies proceed into the spa where we can leave our carry-ons in lockers (with a nonrefundable key deposit of two quarters---change available).
The spa would be calm and mellow with candles, light wood, muted colors, trickling water fountains, and mood music. In the spa, women can relax in mud baths, whirlpools and saunas. During which time, we bond with our fellow female passengers. Women bond well. Who knows, maybe during all that bonding, someone might let it slip ?Gosh I love you guys, I was going to blow up the plane, but now I?m wont.? Then she would leave her explosive device in one of the pink plastic receptacles located throughout the spa.
Instead of a full body rub down, there would be a full body massage. The female passenger would have her choice of male or female masseuse. My personal choice would be Hans, the Brad Pitt lookalike, who pays extra special attention to my right shoulder. It always gets knotted up by my carry-on bag. I really should get something with wheels.
When Hans finishes, he will say:
'Nope, no WMD here.'
And I will respond with:
'None in Iraq either.'
And we will share a Bush second-term chuckle. I will wink, drop a twenty in his tip jar, collect my bag, and head out into the terminal. I will smile sweetly at my male traveling companion who had to go through old fashion security checks then wait forty minutes for me while going through early stage nicotine withdrawal. Sometimes it?s hard to be a man.