Sitting in the diner in Nashville’s airport, my mind is fixed on a few things. First, the task ahead of me: Get out, pay, and get to my gate—on the other side of the airport why did I choose to come here because everything’s kosher and therefore better—before my plane leaves; Second, after hearing something about a storm: Dear God, is the storm going to hit the Midwest why are they showing nothing but ESPN where I’m sitting?; and third: what will happen to my friend who touched my crotch?
See, I just won the TSA backscatter lottery. I’d spent the entire time in the winding security line watching the monsters, thinking about what I’d do if I was pulled aside to be put in one of those things. They’re about nine or ten feet tall with an electronic nest on the top and Plexiglas sides—so you can tell that no one’s being gassed inside, I guess. It’s an addition—not really an alternative—to the metal detectors we’ve been used to our entire lives. An addition that has proven to be very controversial, as you, an Informed Member of American Democracy, probably know.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. All the reading I’d done online was torn between either “This is another example of Hitler government intruding on good American lives and treating citizens like criminals!” or: “I’d rather have that than be blown to smithereens in the air!” As an aside: don’t listen to any debate taking place with exclamation points. And then the TSA agents themselves, oy, they’re talked about as if they were the Gestapo.
I figured out that, at BNA at least, the screening works on a one-at-a-time principle. If there’s someone in the machine while you’re in line, you probably won’t go in. However, if it’s empty, you’re going in the machine. It’s more of an orderly queue than a lottery, but ‘lottery’ has a better sound than ‘queue’ ever will.
Aaron C Simon 