An Ode to the TSA

Friday, May 27, 2011

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

An Ode to the TSA

By J’AMY PACHECO

I’m not exactly what you’d call a frequent flier.

It wasn’t always that way. I traveled a great deal for work during the 1980s, and actually spent a six month period one year commuting between Los Angeles and Boston for my job.

At first, it was exciting, even though work took me to places like Texas and Oklahoma rather than more exotic locales. The commute to New England, however, used up whatever enthusiasm I had for business travel, and I grounded myself when I left that position.

My daughter was 11 before she took her first flight. For her birthday, my husband and I took her to San Francisco. The airline we flew made the experience fun, introducing their first-time flier to the rest of the plane, and cautioning her, over the public address system, to hold on tight at takeoff because the plane would be going “really fast.”

It was a lot of fun. Subsequent trips to Florida and Pennsylvania were equally fun and painless.

Shortly before our trip to New York in December, however, the TSA became an Internet sensation when it introduced security screening devices affectionately referred to by the traveling public as “Nude-o-scopes.” My daughter, then 14, was horrified by the prospect of having strangers essentially see through her clothing or running their hands over her body. Frankly, so was I.

We lucked out, though, and never encountered the controversial machines or pat-downs on that trip. Phew.

Last weekend, however, a group of family and friends flew to Denver for my stepsister’s law school graduation. I had my first real interaction with the TSA, and discovered later, that my father did as well, at a different airport. I was moved by my experience and his story to compose a little song – a nod of sorts to the TSA. And here it is, sung to the tune of Diana Ross’s “Touch Me In the Morning.”

Touch me in the airport,

Never look away

Grope ‘til you meet resistance,

then send me on my way.

Yes, it was me who said that

I don’t want to be seen without clothes.

And yes, it was me who knew

that meant your hands,

though the thought of that blows.

It must have been fun to tell me

That I had no choice but to submit.

I can understand you’re doing your job

But did you have to make me

feel like…er…embarrassed.

Oh TSA, I wish I could understand your way.

Your job exists to keep us safe, so they say.

If I’ve got to be groped

Don’t you know I’ve got to feel like there is some hope.

‘Til you’re done I need to stand here and pray

that this is the last time that you’ll

Detain me in the airport

while someone steals my coat.

I left it in the basket,

Your critics now can gloat.

Wasn’t it yesterday that we could board;

not be pulled from the line

and told, “You, ma’am,” and have our bags

searched for the second time.

Didn’t we used to carry

Tubes of toothpaste and some nice shampoo.

Yeah, I really miss those days when no one

Thought I might be a terrorist, too.

Let my plane take off

With my dignity intact.

We’ve seen how rights can go

Hope we get some of them back.

If I’ve got to be groped,

Don’t you know I need to feel like there is some hope,

‘til you’re done I need to stand here, and

think about the last time that you

groped me in the airport, then sent me on my way…

(repeat and fade)