TSA Agent: I’m going to need to pat down your backside.
Me: No problem. (What else am I going to say?)
So he did. He patted me down. Mostly on my back.
I wanted to ask him why he patted only my back. What if I had a bomb duct taped to my chest? But he looked serious and I figured he wouldn’t take too well to that question, so I proceeded forward onto my delayed flight home from San Francisco.
That mental interplay reminded me of the time I was witness someone getting yelled at in the airport.
I had just exited the gate area after landing in El Paso. The middle-aged man in front of me was greeted by a younger man, whom I presumed to be his son, and a young lady, perhaps the son’s wife. The young man shook his father’s hand, and the young lady, in an especially projective voice welcomed him home as such…
Loud Lady: Hi Jack!
They don’t like that greeting at the airport.