Walk Normally

Approaching the ominous security line at the Hartsfield-Jackson airport, I wait patiently for my turn to enter the scanner. For the first time, I realize that I am in the busiest airport in the world, and TSA bellows instructions not only in a mediocre American, but also in no other languages. I find this odd.
Within a very acceptable amount of time, I have my liquids, shoes, belt, and bag on the conveyor belt and ready for the x-ray machine. This is when I lose faith in the system: as I walk through the machine I trip on myself, and therefore, the agent asks me to go through again. Okay, no problem. Then he gives me this meanish look, like I’m screwing with him. “Again,” he says. “Walk normally.” Shocked and confused, I walk through again. “WALK NORMALLY!” I’m horrified, truly and absolutely. I have severe back pain, and injured my hip working a horse the day before. My stride was off, but it always is. I hurt. And the tears start. “Sir, my hips hurt! I don’t think I can.”
Self-esteem building never really became part of my daily regime, but that’s not why I was ready to let loose on the waterworks. All that came to mind was some poor woman who had just given birth, or some man who had his pelvis eaten by cancer. But I heard the TSA agent correctly, and he had told me to walk normally. I have no idea what his idea of normal is, but obviously I am not.
After this careless person comprehended my outburst, he says, “Walk all the way through.” Well, I walk through the x-ray and stand by my luggage, including my purse with loads of personal information, which up until this point he forced me to leave COMPLETELY UNATTENDED IN THE AIRPORT. Forgive me for not having confidence in the agent in charge of that specific vicinity. Eventually I find myself understanding this man’s dialect, and I wait in the clear holding cell to have my fingers swiped by those popsicle-stick looking things. They let me go.
Even though I probably have gotten the name of the thoughtless, careless, intolerant man who had the nerve to tell another human being to “walk normally” and filed a formal complaint, I did not. I decided it would be much more fun to go home and write about it. And let him piss off the wrong person.

On a side note, it horrifies me that someone with such a dangerous job can possess such a low level of efficiency. If I had been someone dangerous, even just being me, I had ample opportunities to wander off and disappear into the crowd. This is where I need others to realize and insist the importance of the fact that inconvenience does not and probably never will equal safety. What makes me feel safe is when people work as a unit; one pair of eyes scan for what the others cannot see. I wish I did know the name of the male flight attendant that worked my flight to Boston. He never missed a beat, instructing passengers-who were packed like sardines-, loading luggage, and never had to force or scrape a single bag into the overhead compartment. He did all this while smiling and maintaining a fantastic attitude. Someone, please, get this man a medal.