When I flew home after the accident I was wearing a ridiculous contraption designed to immobilize the upper and lower arm yet allow elbow movement. It took me 15 minutes to get the fucker on, it was made of metal and the tears of children. This but mine was bigger and had a strap that went under the shoulder and a full wrist immobilization strap that sucked getting into and out of. Knowing the horror stories, I called the airport in advance, got a medical waiver on the early boarding fees, and arrived two hour early. Guy at the ticket counter was awesome, pure professional. Saw me, and said, and I quote "Sorry about what the TSA is gonna do to you here." I show up in the line, and they ask em to take the brace off. I say no. they made me wait 30 minutes before someone came and did a full pat down, explosive residue test, went through my computer bad and wrote down all my prescription meds, then made me wait another 30 minutes before letting me go. At this time I'm a fat fuck of a guy with an 18 pound brace and a shattered wrist. They also treated the two cancer patients with a MD note to NOT go through the body scanners, explaining that these two people had radiation treatment pellets in them and metal stents. Both of these people, traveling together with me to Vegas, were also treated like shit. I seriously debated filing a complaint, but fuck it nobody gives a shit. The TSA is nothing more than theater and now you can pay to get in the fast lane, so the people who fly often are going to be at least a bit immune to the shit show. When you hire people off ads on the backs of pizza boxes...Because fuck the TSA.
How many guns didn't they find? Shot a wedding in Oakland in 2002. Got picked up by people who I didn't know, who didn't know me, who had been told to "look for someone who looks like a photographer." I bought them dinner 'cuz they'd spent an hour walking up to strangers and asking if they were me. We don't know each other but we're sitting around making conversation. About what? About shit that we lost to the TSA. "I lost my knitting needles." "I lost my nail clippers." "I lost the wine I was bringing for this wedding." "Weird; they didn't take my knife," one lady says. I make an observation about how little Victorinox jobbies can likely make it through etc. She stops me and says "No, I work for Buck." That's when she pulls up her pant leg and No, it wasn't "ceramic." Yes, it was that big. Yes, I have other stories. I know a guy who went through two connections with a couple highway flares in his carry-on by mistake.