Heh. Iowahawk is freakin’ comedic genius but, unfortunately, the real life situation isn’t all that funny. I wonder why people are complying with this. *sigh* Well, yeah, I do. They’re probably traveling on business and have no choice. Corporations frown on their executives and sales folk stripping nekkid in the airport and mooning governmental representatives. If I had the extra cash, y’all would be seein’ my (and SwampMan’s!) nekkid bod(ies) on the evening news shows, so be very, very thankful that we’re broke.
H/T Robert D at Grouchy Conservative Pundits.
Stewardess with 32 years’ experience and breast cancer forced to remove prosthesis during pat down. Ya know, if I’d have to be groped or irradiated (or both!) before reporting to work every morning, I believe my answer would start with “f” and end with “you”.
I think the airports really be needin’ a flash mob. I can hear it now: “Breaking news: Action news reports that the airport is currently under attack by terrorists in really baggy gold lame pants shouting “you can’t touch this!”
I went to an event where there were a bunch of people from a few different organizations that were mostly unknown to each other. Oh, sure, a few people knew some other people through cross-organizational ties but mostly we were an unknown quantity. We were getting supplies individually and as groups. The supplies were brought out from the warehouse in bulk, then it was everybody for themselves, so to speak, to divide, rebox, and pay. A recipe for chaos? Nope. A recipe for self organization.
People self sorted into groups in which they may or may not have known any of the other members. People separated, grouped, packaged, labeled, and boxed the supplies, discarding the original packaging, and somebody periodically grabbed a broom to keep the floors swept clean of debris so that nobody would slip and fall while they were working. Nobody had any direction, but spontaneously sorted themselves into groups where manual dexterity (usually but not always women) or physical strength (usually but not always men) were required. There were plenty of jobs for everybody. No one group worked on only their own supplies; this was done for everybody. Some of us were there to just pick up a little but many hands make light work! Three hours later, the last of the bulk supplies were sorted and boxed, everybody was able to find their boxes of supplies, pay the cashier, the youngest folk loaded trucks and trunks for everybody, and then walk out.
Call me crazy, but I think the vast majority of people are capable of this.
It has, of course, been busy last week at school with Thanksgiving festivities (you should see my “buckskin” T-shirt all fringed and adorned with seashells and beads, done without too much cussing over pricked fingers, sewed on with 6 lb. test line which I’m sure the Indians would have enthusiastically adapted). A masterpiece. People in the special education programs have a tendency to get really enthusiastic about celebrating holidays.
Hell, we have a rousing cheering section for when somebody peepees in the potty. With rewards. I kind of wonder if I’ll ever be able to return to a regular job where I won’t be standing outside (or inside!) the bathroom stall declaring “I don’t hear any peepee sounds! I better hear peepee sounds before somebody gets Skittles!”
I could see where early in a job change I might get a little confused as to where I’m working. On the other hand, I haven’t noticed that there’s a whole lot of difference in working with special education students and the general public, except that I generally don’t hold a tissue to a member of the general public’s nose and INSIST that they blow or question the cleanliness of their bottoms. Yet. Hunh. Maybe I need to apply to TSA.