Go Pound Sand, TSA

Since going blind, I’ve traveled a lot. Many trips to California. A bunch to NY and Jersey. Texas. Tennessee. Georgia. Detroit. Heck, I even flew to Mexico, solo.

I’ve never had too many problems with TSA, but I know they get their share of grief. IMO? In the past few years, they’ve more than earned it. On the return trip from the #HowEyeSeeIt shoot I did up in New York, I had my first really bad run-in with the TSA Gestapo, including an agent who thought she could run roughshod over us, telling Pam that she couldn’t record or take pictures of security, and that she had to stop. I told her, no, we didn’t, because I know better. If you want to find out just how well the TSA treated this disabled passenger, who had told agents that he needed assistance and was taken to the checkpoint with my wife, who I was almost immediately separated from, before agents allowed my property to be ripped off right beneath their noses? Click the vid.

 

If the TSA wants to bitch about me posting it? Too bad. If they want to come after me for it?  Go pound sand,  you inept, incompetent mouth-breathers. You know where to find me. Actually, you probably don’t, because it was apparent that you’re clueless, at least in Newark. Hint: I’m from SWFL and I’m still in the e-phone book. Your super security skills oughta at least get you close. Just to start you off, that thing you’ll be sitting on in the plane? That’s your ass. That thing that bends in the middle of your arm? That’s your elbow. Now that you can tell one from the other.