What Happened to Me at the AIRPORT!

Friends, I want to share a personal story about my recent trip through the airport—and I’ll start by asking you: when was the last time you flew? Have you been to an airport lately, and if so, which one?

This is one video that is probably better viewed than read about, but I was traveling through LAX and I kept a list on my phone of everything I wanted to remember so I could share it with you.

You may remember I’ve done videos about the Real ID before—explaining how it works, why it matters, and how some people have even been able to turn theirs in for a standard driver’s license. Unfortunately, here in Florida, that’s no longer possible.

At the airport I was greeted by the usual “help yourself” self-check options. If you’re new here: welcome. I don’t do self-checkout. Some of you love it—bag your own groceries, skip small talk, zoom out the door. Your choice. My choice is no. If I’m doing an employee’s job, I want an employee discount.

Second, some companies use self-checkout to accuse customers of “stealing,” and those kiosks snap your photo while you’re using them. You may not have known that—now you do. So I don’t use self-checkout at the grocery store or CVS, and I certainly don’t at the airport. I went to a staffed counter instead.

While we’re at it, can we borrow one good idea from abroad? Some airports have a little ramp so you roll the suitcase onto the scale instead of deadlifting 50 pounds onto a conveyor. I remember saying (because I say these things out loud so others hear and get ideas) to the ticketing agent, “Wouldn’t it be clever to have a little ramp so you could roll your suitcase up instead of lifting it?” The agent said, “That’s a really great idea.” That’s how ideas spread and that’s why I make these comments. Why, in a country that prides itself on convenience, are we still lifting luggage onto these contraptions?

Then came the TSA pat-down, groping, and the whole routine. I have TSA PreCheck. I got it because I can keep my shoes on, jacket on, and I will not go through what I call the “cancer screening booth.”

To be clear, it doesn’t screen you for cancer—it radiates your body. You stand with your hands up like a criminal. As a law-abiding person, I will not adopt a “don’t shoot” posture to “prove” innocence. In our system, you don’t prove innocence; they must prove guilt. So I won’t raise my arms for that machine. With PreCheck, you can use the old-fashioned metal detector.

I’ve done deep dives on those scanners before—noting that the metal detectors cost a fraction of one of those scanners. Not every airport in the world uses them, but LAX certainly does. Someone’s pockets are getting lined, and not for better security.

I’ve also commented on the whole ritual of removing shoes and symbolism behind it previously. And in many orchestrated events, shoes show up as a kind of calling card—lost shoes, people barefoot, references to shoes. The symbolism, as others have analyzed, suggests submission. I’ve never liked taking my shoes off anyway—supposedly we’re all hiding explosives there—but in the last 20-plus years they haven’t found any in shoes, and yet the ritual remains because “TSA said so.”

I kept my shoes on and walked through the metal detector and wouldn’t you know it?

It beeped.

They pulled me aside. I asked if I could just try again—maybe earrings, a belt? Nope. I was “randomly selected” for a pat-down. Lucky me.

Here comes the public-humiliation ritual: you stand there while everyone else walks through; you arrived early, but now you’re delayed. People glance at you while you’re stationed near the scanner. I stay pleasant because impatience makes them slower.

As I waited, I noticed they were flagging just about every third person. “This is for your safety—they’ve called me out of line for your safety,” I said to people passing by.

They finally took me through the little gate, then to a female agent. She gave the standard script about what she had to do. She asked if I wanted privacy, but I told her “no, I think everyone should see, for our safety.” In past pat-downs I’ve recited the Lord’s Prayer or sung “God Bless America,” not to be dramatic but to expose the absurdity of the ritual. She did the full pat-down, tested her gloves, and, luckily for both of us, it all came back “fine.”

One more thing: in the PreCheck area there was another empty lane—“CLEAR.” With CLEAR, after PreCheck you stand at a monitor and they scan your retinas. I’m not letting anyone scan my retinas. There was even a guy out there shilling the product—first year free with Hilton Rewards—trying to lure people in. I saw no one in that line, and I was glad.

Anyway, I made my flight. On the connecting flight of the trip, though, my carry-on was pulled for secondary screening. I’d packed a sealed yogurt for breakfast—partly as an experiment because I’d heard TSA wasn’t as strict lately.

Before they got to me, I watched a father with two boys, maybe eight and ten, endure a search of medical supplies right there in public. Privacy didn’t matter. The younger boy looked up at his dad: “What are they doing?” The father tried to reassure him and my heart broke watching the indoctrination of these two young children.

I was so infuriated. It it put all the other pat downs and yogurt and all aside because here's what really troubled me: These young boys, they were watching tyranny and oppression occur in front of their own eyes. They were being indoctrinated into a system whereby just by traveling you are suspected of a crime which is completely against our constitutional rights. There are no reasonable grounds for anyone in that airport to be groped, investigated, and have your stuff gone through at all.

Imagine grocery stores frisking you at the door because you “might” shoplift, or armed guards tailing you in parking lots because you “might” steal a car. That moment soured my flight more than any pat-down could.

Back to the yogurt: the agent scrutinized the label (what is he? some kind of dairy expert?) then handed it to me with, “It’s a little over the limit, but I’ll let you keep it this time.” A woman next to me said she flies out of that airport every Monday and she’s been through with yogurt and has never been stopped. The inconsistency is the point.

At the TSA podium I handed over my Real ID. You’d think that would suffice—after all, Real ID is supposed to “protect identity.” Nope. They wanted me to stand on footprints and face a camera for facial biometrics—measuring eyes, nose, mouth—“to verify” me. I declined. I stepped back, offered my ID, and said, “No thank you.” (They like you to say “I opt out”; I won’t parrot their language.) After the extra squinting—“Is it really her?”—they waved me through.

At my destination I’d arranged a taxi. I don’t do Uber. It was a personal recommendation, set up ahead of time. I walked out, found the car, got in—and realized it was a Tesla. Fine; it was only a few miles. Then I noticed the driver… wasn’t driving. It was in self-driving mode. You can’t make this up. 😂🤦‍♀️

On my return through LAX, I went to buy water and a couple of snacks—and I specifically wanted a large plastic bag because my suitcase was stuffed and I didn’t want to carry my travel pillow loose. This shop, like most there, was all self-checkout. I waited patiently. An employee asked if I was paying with cash or card; I asked why it mattered. “This line is cash only; if you’re paying by card, you have to use self-checkout.” “Good news—I’m paying cash,” I said. They rang me up and handed me the world’s second-tiniest bag—49 cents, because in California nothing is free, least of all bags. And there are no regular plastic grocery bags.

California banned the multi-use grocery bags—the ones I reuse for kitty litter, leftovers, shoes when traveling, everything (and no, I don’t throw them in the ocean). Produce bags are somehow still fine. Anyway, they charged me 49 cents for a tiny bag that couldn’t hold my pillow and barely fit my water and snacks.

So that was my grand adventure: unlawful groping, yogurt inspections, biometric coercion, and being charged for a tiny plastic bag that couldn’t even hold my snacks. All in the name of “safety” and “convenience.”

The truth is, air travel today is all about compliance and inconvenience. Scan here, stand there, recite the script, accept the ritual. And if you don’t? You get the public-humiliation package, free of charge.

Some people look at all this and say, “Forget it—I’ll never fly again.” And that’s their choice. Some people tell me they haven’t flown since 2001 and never will again. That’s your decision. In a way, though, that’s what “they” want: for us not to travel. But I won’t hand them that victory. I’m going to keep flying and speaking out for as long as I can.