The Big Freaking Yellow Box.

Courtesy Cartoon Stock.

I've been traveling a lot with my new job which I really enjoy for the most part. However, there is one aspect that gives me great anxiety. Airport security. Since March my mid-section has consistently illuminated the scanner screen. Granted, I know I need to lose some LBs, but I don't need TSA to tell me. Every time I have to get the pat down. EVERY-freaking-time. I've tried jeans, work pants, yoga pants, and shorts, all, with no luck. BAM. There's a bright yellow box. WTF.

Just last week I had a very disturbing experience at the Atlanta airport that left me scratching my head and questioning whether I cheated on my husband. The not-so-nice TSA worker asked if I wanted the pat down in a private room. Um, no, why would I want to do that? Whatever you plan to do, you can do here. Little did I know, she would get more action than my hubs because of her very THOROUGH search of my lady region. The initial pat down was routine - checking waistband, patting around with the back of her hand then all of sudden it turned Porn 101 in the ATL South Terminal when she practically reached for my tonsils as she patted up each leg. I KID YOU NOT. I flinched the first time thinking maybe she had a seizure causing her hand to smack me in the who-ha. I wanted to give this chick the benefit of the doubt, but nope, whilst patting up my other leg, she gave me my yearly exam yet again. It wasn't a graze, y'all. I didn't even get dinner and drinks!!! It seriously was a scene out of Orange is the New Black.
I have written and complained to TSA, but chances are, they don't give a sh*t. I, do, however give a sh*t. It's molestation.

Today, the RDU airport was very kind. I broke out in a full sweat as a I approached the 360 scanner. I wasn't prepared for the va-jay-jay exploration again, but they gently checked my waistband and sent me on my merry way. Tomorrow may be a different story and you might see me on the Louisville Kentucky news. Stay tuned.

Meanwhile, now I'm concerned I have a tumor because WHY THE HELL DOES IT KEEP ILLUMINATING!!!?? Does the TSA machine know something I don't? Or is the universe just f*#king with me? If so, NOT funny, universe. NOT funny.