There was no day seventeen. There was only me being a huge mess. I hate it when The Kid leaves, and I am not just saying that to make other people think I am a good Dad because I miss my offspring. He is, for the most part, damn fine company and I hate it that he lives 1218.95 miles away and I get a little irrational about how much I let that bother me. So sue me. For the record, some days I am a really good parent and other days, when i get selfish, not so much. Day seventeen was not one of the good parent days.
There was news, however. I had forgotten about waiting area TV monitors. When I looked to see what The Kid was looking at, I saw a news blurb about searchers looking for three missing boys after their father committed suicide. I don't really need an in-depth follow-up to know that this is not going to have a happy ending. I will try to remember about the monitors in the future.
At SeaTac, the nice TSA folks have set up the full body scanners at every other security line. The Kid and I just happened to pick a line that was the traditional metal detector. I had an opportunity to watch the people going through the scanner. Based on my very limited and unscientific observations, I would have to say that the overwhelming emotion exhibited by the people going through was one of bemusement or curiosity. I certainly did not see any sign of protest or indignation nor did I see anyone opting for a "pat-my-junk". Of course the scanners were not operating in every line so this is a pretty meaningless set of impressions. If, however, one was holding their breath for a large scale civic outcry, one would be turning a lovely shade of azure right about now. At least so far.
I stand by my prediction that eventually we will all just be run through the chutes naked while the Haliburton or Diebold barcode is tattoo'ed on our collective asses.
Seriously, safer my aging butt. Until the checked luggage and all the shipped parcels are 100% scanned, this is all just smoke and mirrors.
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