"your attention please"

"All passengers with lost luggage please report to the lost and found office located on the lower level. Do not agree to take any baggage into the airport that does not belong to you. Do not allow anyone to place anything into your luggage. All unattended baggage will be subject to inspection and may be damaged or destroyed. Thank you."

I still hear the voice in my sleep. I used to work at the airport pre-9/11 and that recording repeated, calmly, just under every conversation, just over the muzak (tm), just enough to burn itself into my subconscious every five minutes of every day. I rose at 3:30 am to get ready and drive to work, take the shuttle from the employee lot, drop off at the Southwest Airlines (tm) ticket counter, walk under the ramming gate and through the silent walk-thru scanner. I helped open the checkpoint that allowed passengers to board their planes. I dealt with every kind of person you could possibly imagine, and I intend to do it again. Except the pay is now three times what it was in 1998. The people at Burger King (tm) were paid more than the passenger screeners. And people wondered why tragedies happened at airports and on planes.

Money is tight. So I applied for a job with the TSA. Fergus is fortunate enough to hold a position that encourages flex time. Meaning I could work Friday, Saturday and Sunday, and he could work 10-hour shifts four days a week, or simply go in later after the kids go to school and come home later at night. We won't have to worry about daycare now that kiddies are in school full time, and I will still be available during the week to volunteer at the school and work as a substitute too. This just might work.

I am excited at the possibility of getting this position again. I am so nosy. I plan to look at what you have stuffed in that bag. I plan on rummaging through your purse and telling you that the snacks have to go in the trash. I intend to wave a wand over your body and ask you to disrobe behind a screen if I cannot discern what is making that noise. I plan on using a polite but firm voice to make the procedure clear and if you have a problem with what I am asking, I will call the law enforcement and possibly get your ass kicked off your flight.

I am ready for the drug dealers with their drugs ingested and shit out again, wrapped in foil to look like sandwiches in a paper bag. I am ready for the women who refuse to open their purses and call me a racist because something looks suspicious inside. I am prepared for the travelling cowboy with a 14-foot leather whip with a barb on the end refusing to check his weapon at the ticket counter. I can hardly wait for the guy who collects "weird art" consisting of a belt made of live bullets soldered together. (who is insane enough to solder together live bullets anyway???)

Bring it on. Hire me. I am ready for my job again.