I have resigned myself to the fact that I am grounded. By grounded, I mean I will never fly again. And it's all because of that Nigerian dingaling who tried to blow up that airplane over Detriot with explosives in his skivvies! It's not that I'm worried about being on a plane with a suicide bomber--hell, if that's how the good Lord chooses to come and get me, I guess it will happen anyway.
Previously, my reservations regarding air travel were more focused on things like cancelled flights, missed connections due to drunken, sleeping, or video- game- playing pilots, or lost luggage. Now, thanks to Umar Abdulmutallab, the airports are tightening their security. Don't get me wrong; I think that is a good thing.
Security measures need to be taken to be sure travelers are kept safe. With the installation of full body scanners, however, I'm going to drive to my destination for any future trips. Picture it--me, in a full body scanner? Those poor security personnell don't get paid enough to have to see that!
I had no problem with leaving my fingernail clippers and tweezers behind, lest they be used on some overly-cheery flight attendant. I didn't mind relying on the hotel shampoos and conditioners while traveling, when we were told we couldn't bring the economy size bottles I was accustomed to on board; I didn't even complain when I couldn't bring my own bottle of water with me and had to buy one for $4.00 at the Starbucks on the other side of the security gate. Shedding my shoes settled fine with me as well.
I might be okay with a body pat down, if I get to pick the patter. Some good looking dude with fast fingers might be the finest feel of the trip, if you follow me here.
But I draw the line at standing in a total body scanner with the sagging girls and balding hoo-ha staring some poor security guard in the face. I mean, come on--that person is going to have a lunch break eventually. After experiencing Eva in the altogether, he or she may never eat again! And I'm not going to have that death from starvation hanging over my head! No Way! Not to mention a meticulous member of the security team might mistake my paunch for a pouch of plastics explosives; my Poise Pad for a detonator; and my cellulite for--whatever cellulite can be mistaken for! Who needs the humiliation?
Nope, not gonna' happen. It looks as if from here on, I will be taking road trips on four wheels on the highway. Why not? It worked out well last fall, you may recall. Besides, I'm retired now; what's the hurry?