With a few open days on the calendar before the upcoming book launch, I took my son up on an offer for a quick trip to Las Vegas.
You can’t beat the people watching in this town. The spectacle begins when you step off the airplane into 115 degree heat. That ant under the magnifying glass temperature forces everything that breathes indoors.
My travel roulette didn’t kick in until the return trip. You know that feeling of success and “winning” you get when you check in on line and your boarding pass has the coveted TSA Precheck stamp on it? That was the only winning on this trip–but that’s another story.
So I get to the airport and my brief feeling of elitism is crushed. The TSA precheck line is closed. That means everyone is funneled into one single line that looks like the factory workers going to the job in Joe Vs the Volcano.
The homeland security dog shoved his snout in my crotch. Hard enough to take my breath away. My annual physical exam didn’t attack my scrotal area with such vigor. What do you say when a trained detection dog mistakes your balls for his favorite chew toy. Don’t make him made for god’s sake. “Good boy!”
An stroll through the metal detector, followed by a body image scan. I’m glad I could give the screener a show. Then to add to the experience I get a pat down. It’s nice to know that my prostate is a normal size.
My carry on bag is taken from the conveyer and wiped for explosive residue, which means digging around in my luggage. I’m glad this isn’t the time my son stowed a large ceramic phallus in my bag for giggles.
So, I’m exhausted and haven’t reached my gate. The good news is I have a whole terminal full of prospective people who will feature (for a short time) in my next murder mystery.