I am flying soon and am wondering which to do: The daring, racy and novel full body scan (X-rays=hot!) or the tried and true pat down (fun, if done correctly; otherwise, pesky and mild). I may try one flying out and the other on the way back, just to see which I like best since I have yet to experience the anticipated soothing brusqueness of a homegrown TSA frisk.
I had some some pretty nice pat downs this summer in Europe while traveling. I don’t get all fussy over a pat down; they are so not a big deal. I mean, what does it say about us as a nation that we won’t let other Americans get paid to run their hands up and down our thighs? Or perhaps we suspect that there are ulterior motives for security wanting to pat down Grandma and not Aunt Jenny.
I am still trying to figure out the issues behind the full the body scan aside from getting microwaved or macrofried or whatever. Could they see my tattoos? Do I care?
And like seriously, aside from the potential life-threatening, cellular-disrupting, DNA-damaging sizzle of electrico-magnetic Kryptonitic theremin waves–or the concern that there might be some transporter beam glitch and you’d end up hanging with the Sleestaks or centaurs–why are people so upset at having their naked meat suits seen by total strangers? You’d think with reality shows, amateur porn, and people sending each other rather intimate images via text-tickles and twits (and getting medical body scans!), it’d be all like, “So what?”
Fear of the search must come down to Puritanical roots combined with the belief that our fellows will mock our defects. Alongside simmers the perverse hubristic hope that they might also do something sticky with our X-rays.
How can we think so lowly of our fellow Americans?! Surely we all live by the Golden Rule of doing unto others as we would have done to us. And I like Larry Flynt’s addendum:
Only do it first