Sir, Step into the Irradiating Penisizer Please

Today I flew on an airplane. Here is everything I like about flying:

Spoiler

• Getting somewhere faster than driving

Here is everything I hate about flying:

Spoiler

• Going to the airport
• Parking at the airport
• Getting my boarding pass
• Waiting in the security line
• Going through security
• Getting all my shit recombobulated after going through security
• Constantly worrying that I have dropped something important getting through security
• Hauling my shit to the gate
• Waiting at the gate
• Walking halfway across the airport when they change the gate
• Getting on the plane
• Waiting to take off
• The actual process of flying with the dry air and the retarded monkey children that are always seated next to me and everything
• Turbulence
• Waiting to get off the plane
• Getting to my car
• Getting off airport property

But today I had a special experience. The security guy asked me, for the first time, to step into the Irradiating Penisizing Machine to have my penis irradiated. He didn't even give me the option, it was just "Sir, please step over here." I look up, and he's directing me into the Irradiating Penisizing Machine! While I'm usually OK about these things, today I thought "I don't really want my penis irradiated," so I told them I didn't want to do that. The guy looked at me like I just told him that a stray dog was licking his asshole.

"Am I to understand, sir, that you do not want to step into the Irradiating Penisizing Machine?"

"Yes, that's correct." I thought opting out was something people did sometimes, but I guess not.

"Sir, are you saying you would prefer a thorough, full-body pat down procedure?" He's really trying to sell me on penis irradiation by not-so-subtly implying that the alternative is akin to what Robert Stack was trying to do to everyone in Beavis and Butt-Head Do America.

"Yes, sir, that's right."

"Hold on, sir." He then got on the horn and announced that "WE HAVE AN OPT-OUT" like it was a goddamned Code Blue, and two guys had to come over to escort me and my gaggle of luggage off to the side. I am not sure, but I don't believe I was allowed to come into contact with my luggage during the trip.

The screeners were much less jumpy. My first screener explained to me in thorough detail what he was going to do, which I am sure is a requirement, and offered me a private pat-down. I declined. I reassured him that I had no intention of getting riled up by the full-body pat-down procedure.

Honestly, it is even more thorough than I expected. I have had my inseam measured by the Staff Pro guys at many concerts, which is always exhilarating, but they have nothing on the TSA. Every clothed square inch on my body was tactilely inspected. It was the first time that I had to explain to a man that the area right above my penis is ticklish when you try to stick your hand down my pants, which I tried to do as tactfully as one can explain such a thing in a public place.

He then took his nitrile glove, soiled now by my entire personage, and swabbed it to put in one of those chemical detector machines. I rather like those machines, as they look for actual evidence.

It went off.

Seriously? Seriously? "Sometimes the chemicals they put on the road to melt the snow do that." Seriously? I knew I was taking a small risk by opting out of the Irradiating Penisizer Machine, but now I had episodes of Banged Up Abroad running through my head (even though I was not abroad). I briefly considered volunteering to have my penis irradiated just to clear my name, but I thought "no, I have to go through with this."

His supervisor brought me into the private area for another, double-enhanced pat-down, which was indistinguishable to me from the first one, but apparently in the double-enhanced pat down he is allowed to grope the ticklish area above my penis with the front of his hand. He scanned HIS now-soiled nitrile glove and I came up clean and was let go. They gave me a moment to recollect myself in the private room, which mostly meant reassembling my luggage and putting my belt and shoes back on. It's not quite the Red Carpet Club, but it's nicer than waiting at the terminal.

Everyone was professional, which is the best I can say about any complete stranger who tickled the area above my penis. The whole experience was kind of surreal. For everyone saying that this presages some terrible American dystopia, I can't quite see it. It was a lot less like 1984 and a lot more like the bureaucracy of Brazil combined with the impotence of Idiocracy. I am, however, a little suspicious of people who do "security" as their full-time job. I think they run a high risk of losing perspective on the rest of the world.

FOCUS: Discuss your run-ins with "security people," airport or otherwise.
ALT FOCUS: Have you ever been wrongfully accused of something? How? How did it turn out?

 

I have no problem with any kind of travel, provided it is done at a reasonable time of day. My mother, however, loves to travel at the earliest possible time of morning.

The last time we took a family trip out to the midwest, we arrived at the airport sometime around 3:30-4am for a flight that left somewhere close to 5:30am. This is prior to the super-scan machines, so all I was faced with was the standard metal-detector/luggage x-ray ordeal. I can't function that early in the morning, so it took me four tries to sleep walk through security.

Attempt 1: sent back, put backpack into x-ray machine
Attempt 2: sent back, removed shoes and belt
Attempt 3: sent back, remove laptop from bag
Attempt 4: success

Thankfully was aware enough to hand over my real license instead of my fake.

Also, is there some kind of rule that if you are over 6', the person in front of you is obligated to lean their seat back as far as possible? I can't find it written anywhere, but a good deal of people seem to know about it...

 

Alt focus: this will be long. I just took an hour typing this out of rage.

Spoiler

This story includes the following: Me needlessly telling my mom to "fuck off, you dumb cunt." Me getting sent to church camp. Me basically golden showering two dudes. The one girl I thought was sane at said camp thinking that I masturbated 3+ about her.

Excited yet?

The summer after 9th grade started off ideal, and I spent nearly everyday outside practicing basketball with a couple of other guys in the neighborhood. I was 14 and thought I was a badass, staying out often past the 9:00 curfew my parents "inflicted" upon me. I would spend around an average of 2 hours a day at my house, mostly in the morning to eat, lunch, and dinner. I didn't have a cell phone at the time, because I didn't receive one until I was 16, due to my parents always waiting to purchase new technology (this is really a problem. The computer they use at home still regularly is a Dell from 2002, running Windows ME, with 256KB of RAM. I feel bad for my younger sisters. By comparison, they just spent nearly $60,000 renovating their bathroom. But this is completely irrelevant to the story, what's relevant is the lack of cell phone). I remember vividly that I had one of two of what I call my teen "hormonal rages," or basically the two times I really ever spoke my mind to my parents without regard of the consequences.

It was a Sunday morning, and I was getting ready to go play some basketball, and my mom stopped me on the way out of the house telling me to grab a shower because we were going to church. I haven't believed in the existence of a God for at least 5 years at this point, which I had told my parents multiple times, but they insisted I go to church with them because it instilled "good qualities in me." When I was informed that I couldn't conduct my exciting plans for the day (whooo) I snapped. I don't remember exactly what I told her, but it was along the lines of "I'm going to do what I want and you can't stop me," and I headed out the door to go ball. Now, as you could probably guess, she didn't take to kindly to being told off by her own son at 14, so she ran me down and another screaming match at the end of which I uttered some words which I regret to this day, "fuck off, you dumb cunt." She turned calmly after she heard this and headed back inside, not saying another word. I head off, feeling victorious.

That night I came back and had a brochure for a church camp called "Montreat," some Presbyterian church camp up in the North Carolina mountains. I trashed it and didn't give it a second thought.

Two weeks later I was woken up at 5:00 AM by my beaming parents, telling me to get a move on or I will be late for the buses going to camp. This shocked me, but they had my bags packed and I went with them, reeling from the thought that this could actually be happening. I get to the church and I am a sulky little bitch, sniveling at everything. I am convinced that they are doing this as a scare tactic...at least I was convinced until 4 hours later when the buses rolled into the camp, and I see the thousands of other kids there for this camp.

Now, I am a fairly social person, so I tried to get to know the group I was with. There were 6 or so guys, and 4 or 5 girls. I knew two of the guys from a class in school, so I talked with them a bit and explained why I was here. The group that I was with was extremely tight knit though, since they had all been going to Sunday school with each other since they were young. I met the other guys and "Chris" who would become my nemesis for the later part of the week. Then I made my introduction to the ladies, all of which were extremely cute (Church girls are hotter for some reason, I have no idea why.), and fell asleep, ready to just get through the week.

The camp wasn't too bad since I could just binge the amount of Jesus being stuffed into my soul by being an asshole, which surprisingly enough the people there loved. The worst part was having to stand and fake sing during the 3 hour long services we had to sit through each morning. I would doze off during the sermons, but standing and having to look like I was actively participating took at a toll on me. We got a three hour break from 1 to 4 to explore the mountains, and this is wear I managed to piss off Chris.

A group of 6 or so of us, Chris, "Lucy", her twin "Michelle", and "Meeka", and two of my friends went out to the cool little creek they had behind the house we stayed in at the camp. We thought we could go find an area to just hang out, and just explore the creek, maybe attempt to catch the few fish we saw lurking within the reeds. We traversed the creek, hopping from rock to rock, until we found a spot suitable enough for our wishes, and chilled there for an hour of two. We had a frisbee so we played a little catch, until Chris fell while trying to catch the frisbee. There was a little run off from another creek, which created a almost showerlike stream of water, which could be used to rinse the dirt off. I saw he was going to rinse off, and I thought I would prank him (terrible idea, who knew!) by going further up the stream and peeing into the water that he was using to wash off the dirt. Me and one of my friends thought it was hilarious, as did the girls, and as I peed I heard the stifled laughs of everyone watching. I knew I was being a cunt, but who cares? I barely knew the guy and everyone thought I was funny. Chris had no idea, and after we left people made a lot of piss jokes that he didn't get....until later that night when the girls finally told him. He blew up. Started ranting about what an ass I was, and how he was going to get his brother to kick my ass when we got back. I found this hilarious in itself, until I realized his brother was a all-state wrestler, who would in all respect destroy my skinny nerdy ass. I calmed him down, and by the end of the night I thought nothing more of it.

Now, the rooms were separated out into boys and girls room, and by 10 each night you had to be in your room. This meant that the guys would talked a lot of guy talk, kind of like girl talk except more just judging the girls based on attractiveness levels. Now, "Lucy," who I mentioned earlier, was a foxy little redhead, with a blonde twin who was just as attractive. They both had huge boobs for 9th grade, and nice asses to go with em. All the guys thought they were hot as fuck, and they were the typical center of conversation for us. I mentioned how attractive I thought Lucy was, and then went to take a shit.

Now, I don't know about your guys, but when my diet changes completely, I usually get a bit constipated. I took my time in the bathroom, letting nature go its course, taking a shit that probably took me around 20 minutes to complete before I felt like I was finally done. Washing my hands and thinking nothing of how long it took to shit, I head back to the room, ready to go to bed. I got back in room, and the first question I was asked was why it took me so long. Jokingly I said "Oh, I was just masturbating out my sins. Confessional, you know," thinking I was clever. But then that bastard Chris said "No, you were masturbating to Lucy!" To which I responded with what I thought at the time was a completely sarcastic, "Oh yeah, definitely. She is A+ masturbation material," and then the conversation shifted. Thinking no more of this I went to sleep soon after.

The next morning I woke up a little late, and went down to breakfast, grabbed some pop-tarts and sat down with the group. When I sat down, I noticed the girls sitting there were giving me weird stares, and they left pretty quickly, whispering amongst themselves. A bit out of the ordinary, so I asked what was up with. Without looking up, Chris said "I got my revenge you dick. I told all the girls that you masturbated to Lucy last night. They all think you are a pervert now."

This ruined me. Chris had been friends with all the girls since they started coming to Sunday school like 10 years ago...and they trusted him. I did what I could to save face, went and talked to Lucy, who was really weird about the whole conversation, and told me not to talk to her anymore. The rest of the week (two days) the only people who would really speak to me were the two guys I was friends with before this shitty experience. Relegated to obscurity, I just popped in my ipod headphones and got through it. These two days were some of the worst in my life. Sitting through the services, while having no one to talk to after got older than Betty White real fast.

One good thing came out of this experience, I ended up respecting my mom more than ever. I thought about it and she had come up with the perfect punishment, even if completely unintentional...I had had one of the worst experiences of my life and she had been the one to arrange it. She is an unknowing genius. I think I can still count the number of times I have cursed in front of my parents because of this.

I hope this makes sense, I've got to go so I won't edit it. Don't fuck with your parents.

 

90% of the time I fly I'm selected for the "random frisk."

 

Went to Bali early last year with only carry-on luggage, I’m a man, I can do this. Knowing the fluid inspection laws I put all my wet items in a transparent zip lock bag when I was packing to save time, I hate fuckarseing around.

Going through Sydney international I waited in line to have all my person and kit scanned as usual, I opened my carryon bag and removed all the wet stuff and placed it in the tray, Snoozy Security Bitch grabbed the tray and swept it away before I had a chance to load it with belt, phone etc. When I get through the scannerymcthing no fucking bag? I ask SSB where my bag of wet items was, for the first time she broke off the conversation she was having and paid attention to her job. This Was the beginning of a small scene that lasted about 15 minutes while several old people eyed me like I was about to whip out an AK strapped with C4 and a Quoran.

That little bag contained about $200 worth of contact lenses, all the kinds of meds you might need while in a 3rd world country as well as a simple first aid kit, toothpaste, antibiotics etc, all up about $350 worth of shit which took more than a little effort to pull together. So I was pissed off but not enough to lose my shit. I understood the best way to get it back was to be firm but friendly. They just wanted me to fuck off.

Eventually the Senior security guy came over and said something like “Sir are you accusing someone of stealing your bag?” I calmly replied, “Absolutely not, what I am stating is that a bag that was trusted to your staff to watch over for about 15 seconds is now gone, and I want to know what you’re going to do about getting it back?” This seemed to upset and confuse him. About this time I realised this was a lost cause.

In the end the best they could do is review the CCV footage, they called me about 20 minutes later and told me it appeared an old lady grabbed my bag.

I will never put all essential shit in the same bag again.

2 weeks of wearing specs was a prick.

 

So am I.




Though the reasons may differ slightly...

 

Fuck, beaten.

 

Pro-tip: You can't be arrested for simply getting an erection. Speeds up the process.

 

Especially if your dressed as a woman.

 

I get placed in the plastic prison everytime.

They "randomly" choose me because I'm pretty big, don't shave regularly, and tan darkly in the summer.

Fuck your handjobs. If I get an erection and prematurely ejaculate that's not assault?

I'd be happy to overlook this problem if I could request a female because I can't climax when it's a guy.

 

A career in gay porn is calling.

 

I said I CAN'T climax when it's a guy.

There's no money in jizzless gay porn.

 

You would know wouldn't you?

 

It's common knowledge that the money shot is the most prized possesion in porn, gay or straight.

 

In terms of airports, I'm usually straight through and left alone. The only time I've received anything approaching static was when I went to the US for the grand total of three days to attend a wedding after I'd been there several months before. Immigration raised a slight eyebrow at that, but I explained my way through.

Nothing, however, beats the time a group of us flew to Thailand. We landed at Bangkok International Airport fairly late at night. Getting through immigration was standard, and we went off to collect our bags. While we were waiting at the baggage carousel, a little Thai guy walked up to us and asked which one of us was "Mr ____", giving the name of one of our group. After a half second to think why this might be happening, he indicated that he was. The Thai was dressed casually and didn't have the air of undercover anything.

The Thai guy thanked us, checked who was in our group and beckoned us all to follow him. He led us straight through Customs, who didn't challenge us or bat an eyelid, through a door and out onto the street. He then ushered us into a nearby truck. We don't know what the expect.

Turns out the driver of the truck is our friend's brother in law. His father is one of the senior tax litigator's for the government, which means major pull in the city. He'd called ahead and organised for us to get the straight through treatment at the airport. I had more hassle coming back to my own country.


On a completely separate matter, I went to the Big Day Out festival a few weeks back. It's summertime, it's stinking hot and humid, and once you're in the grounds the cost of every beverage is ludicrous. The tickets specifically say you can bring in a bottle of water, provided it has not been opened. We all know there's ways and means of tampering with that, but I honestly took a simple, non-altered bottle of water in a little carry bag.

At the gate we were subject to bag search. As I'm about to open mine, carrying sunscreen, water and a point and shoot camera (anything professional looking is barred), the security guy asks if I have water. I reply yes, and go to pull it out to show him it's unopened. He just says, "toss it" and points to the bin.

"It's unopened."
"Doesn't matter."
"You realise you can't require that, the ticket permits it."
"I don't care."

I realise the guy was just doing his job (I've got a security licence), but it fucking pissed me off when the promoters go out of their way to say something is fine and then revoke it at the gate. Mr Security didn't even have a passing interest at whatever else I may have.

 

I used to have my nipples pierced and embarassed a security guy when I explained what was setting his "little wand off." I offered to show him, as I was running late for my flight, and he waved me on through. This was pre-terror hysteria, though.

 

Couldn't hurt to try. The other guy can always provide the juice. You could tap an unfilled niche with your debut in Retrograde Rawdogging.