Alaska Trip, Day 1: Washington, DC
The TSA man stands on the other side of the magic portal. I smile, uncertainly, but he glares at me with some unstable concoction of impatience, distaste and contempt, and gestures. I interpret this as a summoning, and step through.
But the magic portal is angry. It emits a series of high-pitched beeps. Beep beep, it says. Beep beep BEEP. God damn it.
The TSA man holds out his hands, and his gaze hardens into that paradoxical mixture of ennui and hatred unique to frustrated bureaucrats whose soul-deadening routines has been disrupted.
Pockets, he says. I thrust my hands into my pockets. They emerge with a phone.
Bag, he says, pointing at a box full of transparent plastic bags. I slip the phone into one of them and drop it on the belt that has already whisked my backpack and shoes away. The TSA drone impales me with his gaze. His gaze says: If you anger the portal again so help me god I will eat your fucking liver.
I step through. I can feel the portal’s distaste sweep over me, but that’s all. I am too pitiable a creature for anger. The TSA man spares me one more look, and then his eyes focus past me, at the next supplicant.
I am forgotten, but not forgiven. I collect my things, put my shoes back on, pry my phone out of the belt rollers, and proceed chastened into the belly of the airport.
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