TSA

 

Tuesday I woke-up up at 3:00 a.m. to make my flight to El Paso. The trip was uneventful as was my interaction with airport security. Like many trips before, my conversation with the TSA consisted mostly of orders to take off jackets and shoes and empty out liquids and laptops. Unlike this trip, however, I have found that sometimes TSA agents have more to say.

 

Sometimes TSA agents are curious.

 

Like the time I wore my Mellow Johnny's shirt:

 

Agent: Where's Mellow Johnny's Bike Shop?

Me:      Austin

Agent: Who's Mellow Johnny? Is he a good guy?

Me:      Well, it's Lance Armstrong's store, so....[Draw your own conclusions.]

Sometimes TSA agents are sweet.

Like the day I had the sniffles and was feeling sub-par at best:

 

Agent: Have you ever had strangers tell you how cute your freckles are?

Me:     No, but thanks.

Agent: You're not one of those girls who wishes they didn't have them are you?

Me:     Some days

Agent: Well, don't. Keep 'em.

 

And sometimes a TSA agent will want your phone number.

Except he can't write it down because he's working. So he'll give you his instead.

 

I was next in line at the security checkpoint in Terminal A when all of a sudden I hear my name being called. I look up alarmed. Why is there a TSA agent calling me...by name? I have not shown anyone my ID yet right?

 

3 security booths down I see Young Agent. Oh hello!

 

During law school I had taken a nonlegal part-time job to get me through my final year. The job helped me financially, but also gave my mind a much needed break. Young Agent and I had worked together.

 

Young Agent seemed excited to see me from his perch 3 lines over but we couldn't really talk as this was airport security and he appeared to be in training.

 

I whiz through ID verification. (The fact that a fellow TSA agent called me by name no doubt boosted my credibility.)

 

I quickly start undressing, whisking out my liquids and loading up my plastic bins. I bend down to take off my shoes. When I raise my head again, there's Young Agent on the other side of the conveyor belt.

 

YA: So how you been? Your hair looks different.

 

By different he probably means dry. We were swim instructors and he rarely saw me properly clothed.

 

We play catch-up for a second when it's clear he wants my number. He remembers that he's in training and can't write it down so he suggests that I get his number and send him a text. To avoid an awkward moment, I grab my phone before it gets sucked into the bag scanner and jot down his digits.

I'm then being propelled towards the body scanner. Old Agent is there to give me my cue.

OA: So you know Young Agent?

Me: Yeah, we used to work together.

OA: That's what he said. [Smiling amusedly.]

 

News travels fast.

 

As I come out the other side of the body scanner and retrieve my things, Young Agent appears again for the third time.

 

He travels fast too.

YA: Don't forget to text me your number!

Me: Sure thing.

I turn the corner, find a bench, and put my shoes back on as I fight the urge to laugh. I've never run into a TSA agent I've known before. And I've never had one ask me for my number. My trip was starting off well.

In the end, I make the cruel decision not to text him. I figure his heart might break when he realizes I'm ten years his senior. I was never very good at texting anyway (just ask Texting Cowboy).

 

But to the single ladies, as you travel home this holiday season, don't rush too fast through those TSA checkpoints. You never know where love could be lurking. And say, while your arms are raised for those 3 seconds in the body scanner, do what I've always been tempted to do - shake your hips and hope for the best.*

 

*Advice given by my little sister - as it applies to life not necessarily body scanners.