I am so glad I found this site!! I’ve lived in East Boston for the majority of my life (33 yrs now) and I gotta say some of these TSA agents really lack common sense, tack professionalism and just manners. Where in the world do they hire these pervs and low life’s from!?! I fly out of Logan at least once a year to visit my brother in Florida and each time some of these TSA agents ask you the most obvious questions, “do you live in East Boston?” Yes sir I do, that’s what my Drivers License says, you know, the one you just saw…I had a female agent about the age of 50 slowly creep up to me while I tackle with the removal of my shoes and jacket to add to the mass of piled bins on their conveyer belt due to the lack of Supervision…she squints her eyes and proceeds to tell me to “pick up my pants!”. Yea granny give me a moment so I can collect myself…I am short and a little hefty, it’s gonna require a little work for us chubby guys.. you un-educated tack-less old shoe!! Massport or whomever please hire folks with at least a GED! Some of these clowns can barely contain their hatred of their position never mind their disdain for the sea of humanity that flow day in day out. Its like we’re cows being packed for the slaughter for their amusement!! Sick!!!
(The problem is global. I will better if I can finally publish this)
I am not going to exaggerate or embellish at all here: truth is stranger than fiction.
Having already passed through the metal detector on my way through the security screen at the airport in Panama city, I watched people, men and women, in line ahead of me opening their pants for a dark haired, nervous gentleman with an excited and happy look on his face. One by one, every man and woman compliantly and readily opened the buckles and grippers at the front of their pants. The security inspector would lean forward slightly, look down the open pantolenes and then send the passenger on to the secure area and gates. How ridiculous, I thought. Is the metal detector ineffective? Then why use it? Does looking down a persons pants front at their underwear constitute a search? If only, I thought, I had Not worn undershorts that day – what a thrill the inspector would be treated to then. Perhaps that is what he was hoping for – a person, like a sockless Einstein, who does not wear underwear.
I understand that logic and common sense have no role in Security theater, but I was too disgusted to remain silent. When I had advanced to about 5th or 6th in line and saw clearly what was happening at the front I began guffawing and objecting loud enough to be heard well. ” Bullshit! Stupidity! Not me, Buster! Sickness and Insanity!” The nerrvous pervert at the front stepped back to me and asked confrontationally, “What’s your problem?” I told him, “Don’t touch me. This is sick!” ” Come with me,” he ordered. I was taken to a small cubicle adjacent to the line and ordered to stand. I told him, “No tocar!” The security inspector knelt down on his knees before me and an armed and uniformed security guard stood behind the inspector, looking over his head watching me. The inspector, on his knees in perfect position for giving a blow job, look up at me unwaveringly in my eyes as he then reached behind me, placed his hands on my buttocks, on hand on each side of my ass, and made gentle, circular motions with his hands, caressing my ass for about 6 or 7 seconds in this manner and looking up into my eyes the whole time. Needless to say I was shocked and disgusted by every aspect of this sick proceeding.
The inspector then rose to his feet and ordered me to drop my pants, which I did. What would you do? I had a flight to catch, a $900 nonrefundable ticket and serious business thousands of miles away. So I dropped my pants. The security inspector AND THE ARMED GUARD BEHIND HIM then stared intently and silently at the manly bulge at the front of my undershorts. Wordlessly, they both stared directly at my bulge steadily for a solid 30 seconds. I was then told that I pulled up my pants and walked out. Outside the cubicle I told the weirdo that he was crazy, and he asked me again, “What’s your problem?” I told him I had no problem, I have an opinion. I looked carefully at his name tag and told him that I wanted his name so I could write about him on the Internet. “I don’t care.” I forget his name, but he is one asshole whose face I will never forget.
I’ve been waiting a few months now to write my story as soon as I saw an appropriate article and had the time. On my return trip, I avoided passing through security in Panama by reserving a seat on a connecting flight instead of spending the night in Panama and continuing the next day. I sat instead in the Panama airport for 2 or 3 hours waiting for the connecting flight and letting the ticket for last leg of my return flight expire unused.
By all rights, in a normal world, I should have demanded that the creep summon his supervisor. I should then have demanded that the supervisor call for a city police officer – policia de Ciudad de Panama – and I should the have made a formal legal charge against both of the two creeps who abused me. Sexual assualt. And then of course I would be forever banned from every airport in theworld and unable to return home.
I told this story to a few people during thecourse of my travels exactly as I have here. Maybe nowthat I have made an Internet record of it I will feel a little better.