This is the first person account of a good friend of mine with the new TSA screening procedure.
Before the new procedures were introduced, flying was already as safe as driving.
Last night, traveling home from Columbus to NYC, I was "randomly"
picked to skip the routine metal detector and was directed to a large
scanning machine by a pretty rude TSA officer. I did not step inside,
asking the TSA officer on the other side if this was one of the new
scanners. "What are you talking about? It's been here since June," she
said nastily. "Is this a backscatter scanner?" I asked her. "Yes," she
replied. I said, "I don't want to go in it, and you didn't inform me
what it was or that I could opt out." At this point, the rude officer
who'd pulled me aside jumped in, getting in my face and telling me, "I
don't have to tell you anything." I said, "You have to tell people
that they have the option not to go in this scanner." He insisted that
he didn't have to tell anyone anything.
Finally, another TSA officer told me to go to where my possessions
were at the end of the security line. I was introduced to a female
officer, and was told that she would be patting me down. I said,
"Where's the same-sex officer who is supposed to supervise? You didn't
even mention this, and it's the law that you have an observer." They
said I "didn't give them a chance" to tell me about that...at which
point someone went to fetch another female TSO, who turned out to be
the overall supervisor. I was already in tears when I said to the
officer, "You aren't going to touch my sexual parts. I have a very
traumatic history and this would trigger more trauma. I emailed the
TSA about this last week due to my concerns over this [which I did -
that's another story]." They then took me a private room and told me
that they had to touch me in those places in order to comply with
security measures because "the terrorists are trying to figure out
what we're doing". None of what they said made sense, obviously, and
at this point I was sobbing and not really able to pay close
attention. I had asked repeatedly if we could call my doctor, who is
very familiar with my background, and they blew that suggestion off
because I could just make up a doctor and cook up a story.
I begged them not to touch me, and was informed that either they
touched me or I would have to go through the backscatter for the "full
view". I was shaking at this point, crying and thinking that I
couldn't do either of those things - it's simply too much with a
history like mine. I told them that I couldn't fly if that was the
case. They tried to talk me into the pat-down some more, and I told
them they had no idea what they were doing to me. The supervisor went
to try to get approval to release me from the airport as I stated
again that I didn't want to fly.
While the supervisor was gone, the other officer told me that it would
help me "work through" my trauma if I let them do the pat-down. I
didn't even know what to say - I think she was trying to help, but it
was such a clueless and offensive idea that I just kept sitting there,
crying and shaking. I was freaking out about not being at work this
morning, and the officer told me I could rent a car if I needed to be
somewhere (seriously). I told her that I live in NYC, I don't even
have a driver's license, and I can't lose my job. She said again that
unfortunately the terrorists are trying to figure out what we're doing
and so they had to either pat me down or send me through the
backscatter. I don't know what was worse - that all of this was
happening, or that I was being fed the most ridiculous attempts at
justification that I had ever heard. I told the officer that, to me,
the terrorists have won if this is what it requires to exercise one's
right to move freely.
I kept asking for a tissue, because I was crying so hard and they
wouldn't let me get one out of my purse (or get one for me). The
supervisor came back and told me she was hoping to be able to let me
go soon - at this point, I was feeling very wrongfully imprisoned.
They weren't going to let me fly, but they wouldn't let me go. I was
also conscious of the time, and the fact that I could lose my job if I
didn't show up for work today. I was also scared of what would happen
if I didn't fly - would I go on a TSA list? Would I be unable to
travel for my job (which requires frequent flying to Europe, Africa,
and Asia)? My family lives more than 50 miles from the airport; I had
nobody nearby to help me get home or to deal with this mess, and I was
afraid of dragging my loved ones into such drama.
The supervisor demonstrated for me what the pat-down technique is,
performing it on the other officer. She explained that she'd only use
the back of her hand to touch my labia, breasts, and buttocks, and
that it "wasn't really as much touching as [I seemed] to believe". I
wanted to ask how on earth any of this made sense to her, whether she
believed that traumatizing me was making anyone safer. I finally said
that I felt I had no choice but to allow the pat-down, as I did not
want to lose my job for not showing up for work. At this point, the
supervising officer gave me a paper towel from a drawer after I had
been asking for a tissue for some time. I was crying the entire time,
and while they did the pat-down I felt like I was going to vomit. (I
had the great privilege of choosing which of them would pat me down. I
chose the younger, less experienced officer, hoping she would feel so
disgusted at making her living this way that she might quit. I had no
such hope for the older, more hardened officer.)
What was really creepy was that the officer was saying things like,
"I'm going to move my hands along your pretty neck" and "I'm going to
move your pretty hair" and complimenting me on my sweater as she was
doing all this. I truly believe she thought she was making things
easier for me, but the opposite was true. It was offensive.
Finally, when I was done, they asked me if they could walk me to my
gate. I told them I just wanted to be by myself. They asked me again
after I gathered my things, and I repeated that I wanted to be left
alone. As I exited the private room, another TSA official (female)
congratulated the younger one, saying something to the effect of, "You
got her. You're a patient one!"
I can't even put into words how all of this felt. I went to the gate
and dashed off a couple of emails to my shrink from my iPhone. I
called my father and told him what happened, but he wasn't too
interested (I don't think he can appreciate why this would be
horrifying). My flight was delayed an hour and I was just kind of
numb. I still am, though I'm trying to function as normal.
The hard core proggs will never admit they fucked up.
Posted by: Teecee Lynch | November 26, 2010 at 14:43