An Exercise in Avoiding Boredom

After arriving in Vancouver from San Francisco, I found this greeting from the Transport Security Administration (TSA) in my luggage.

The TSA checks your luggage to ensure travel security, it said on the leaflet.

The company employed by the TSA had worked thoroughly, as the formerly nicely wrapped wedding present showed that I’m carrying with me.

Unfortunately, they taped it shut rather than leave it to me to fix it, so the packages got scratched.

The next leg was Vancouver to Nashville. Lo and behold, they picked out my luggage for physical inspection again. This is how it looked like when I opened my suitcase in Nashville.

This time they didn’t bother to tape it back together, they just stuffed the wrapping back into the suitcase.

The first time the TSA agent had left an ID, this time there was nothing to identify who had been rummaging through my stuff.

WTF?!!

If I were so inclined, of course, I could visualize how a sneezing and coughing overworked dimwit investigated my underpants in some neon-lit underground processing facility.

I prefer to imagine it more like some beholden angel breezing through it like a ray of light.

Ah, the Transport Security Administration.

SNAFU.