Andrei Freeman (lordandrei) wrote,
Andrei Freeman

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The daily rant: What's in your trunk...

Welcome to the Police State of America:

I've decided (when the mood takes me) to make my statement about issues as I see them. Now, this doesn't necessarily mean that I'm right or have all the facts. In fact, I encourage people to correct me when I get something wrong. I do not encourage people to call me names because they don't like what I have to say.

That now out of the way...

I am happy that my LDR is no longer an LDR but an NDR. Translation: Long Distance Relationship, No Distance Relationship. Now, yes, there are all the happy, skippy reasons of being able to wake up next to the person and not worry when one or the other of us is going to have our vacation come to an end.

But it's part of that ending of the vacation bit that bugs me. On the last time I took my S.O. to the airport for her to fly home I got the absolute subjection of where this country lives now. And in truth, it really pisses me off...

There was a time, oh so long ago... when one could drive to the airport, park, walk thru the metal scanner, and take one's loved one to the gate. Equally, they could go to the gate early and meet them with signs, flowers, or balloons.

Granted, I'm also old enough to remember Vanguard, Eastern, and TWA. (yes two of those went away in the ancient year of 2002.

My last trip to the airport, well...

Heather was flying out of Burbank airport for Seattle. Far closer than the almost hour's travel to LAX which is a horrendous 20 miles away. Burbank is 9 miles and only takes about 20 minutes. Such is L.A. traffic. or more properly... Suck is L.A. traffic.

I arrived at the airport and had to park in the cheap seats. We were at whatever def-con colour is, "We want you to stay paranoid" which meant not only did they get to ransack my belongings, but they got to look in my trunk, too.

I admit it. I live out of my car at times. I am a pack rat who lives in a <1000 sq. ft. apt in L.A. which means my camping equipment lives in my car. Well, they didn't feel like unpacking my trunk and since it was all just too packed in... I wasn't allowed to park in the grown-up lot next to the airport. I had to park in open air parking near the toll booth at the far end of the lot.


Okay, I hear some of you saying... There may have been a bomb in the car. You could have pulled up to the curb and hurt lots of people. Okay... analysis time...

This was en-route to the parking garage. my car couldn't make it to the curb from the check point. Not without barreling through a rather nasty set of cement jersey barriers. But, assuming I could... what about all those innocent lives. I could have killed.. 10s of people. That's right... 10s. Looking at the area that I could have pulled up to and thinking of the average, terrorist bomb pictures that I've seen, I would (from the curb) take out at most 50 people. Now, I'm not saying I want to take out anyone... but in all honesty, if I'm going to go after an airport (which I have no intention as murder is an anathema to me.) 50 members of the human herd outside an airport... just doesn't do it for me.

But let's return not to the idea of preventing a bomb to the asinine belief that Jerry Trunkvoyeur will avert this issue. See, they don't do the trunk check for a car going to the curb. only if it's being parked in the garage. So, I could pull up and do my suicide run... hmmn, maybe they are afraid I'm packing something bigger that needs a timer! Yeah, that must be it. No, that can't be right, because they don't inspect the rather large heap of luggage that's on my back seat.

That's right, Mr and Mrs "It's all for the common defense..." They don't blink at a piece of luggage in the car. Also, they tend to not wander the garage once you are parked.

So let me get this straight. They want to look in your trunk for 'something' and yet, there seems to really be little reason to do so because that which potentially could be there, could be other places in the car that they don't bother to look.

My translation: stay the f*$% out of my trunk.

Solution: Keep an empty trunk with something like a halloween cadaver in it. Maybe some sex toys. Make no comments, but make no apologies or excuses. They have no right to judge. Any comments they make... defimation of character, bring their asses down.

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