The uselessness of the organization however I can attest to. They regularly ignore errors in my identification, on the boarding passes, etc.
For kicks and curiosity I have been using a boarding pass from last year that says "Dallas to Chicago" on that flight. They have accepted it as good enough to access the secured area for months now even though the actual flight for that pass was back in November. I keep the proper one in my pocket in case and I'll play the "oops my mistake" game, but in well over 30 flights from DFW to ORD this old used boarding pass has gotten me past security.
Until this past week, my experience mirrored yours.
My "best" example of TSA incompetence was in Grand Rapids, MI (GRR). Knowing the drill, I had emptied my pockets, stripped myself of my watch and belt, and removed my Danner Recons (the all-leather version of my Acadias). The lone female TSA screener commented on my having proactively removed my boots: "You must do this a lot."
Yep. I handed my boarding pass to her.
Apparently, she was not accustomed to boots bearing a Quantico shine, for she felt the need to converse in depth about that. Blah, blah, blah. . . In my estimnation it was a very slow night: there would be a only seven passengers on my last-flight-out flight.
She handed my pass back to me, wished me a good trip, and told me I could take my things as soon as they cleared screening.
Meanwhile, another TSA employee X-rayed my carryon--a Camelbak "Motherlode"--in which I had neatly stowed two sets of cammies, 2 complete changes of skivies and socks, shave kit, a novel, a battery operated radio (2 AA cells) with headphones, and a Surefire L1 LED light on a 3' 550 cord lanyard.
The X-Ray tech spotted the radio and light--which I, too, could clearly see on the monitor--and called for the bag to make a second run through the machine--which it did. She then DESCRIBED IN DETAIL what she AGAIN saw and where it was located, and asked for it to be pulled from the bag and hand-checked.
She-who-so-admired-my-boots opened "the pouch," found the novel, and said, "It's a book." X-Ray girl told her to run it through again. shoe girl carried the bag back to her, and X-Ray girl ran it through AGAIN. Yet again, she said, "I see something in "the pouch'." Yet again, boot girl pulls the book from the bag, and emphatically tells her, "It's a book!"
Now, with a line backing up behind me, a supervisor ambles over and gives me the hairy eyeball. He takes a look at the monitor, grabs the bag, again goes to the monitor, and then pulls the book from the pouch--the pouch above/over the pouch containing the radio and light.
He says to X-Ray girl, "Well, I gotta book here, too; that's what I got." He shrugs--very visibly perplexed--and says "beats me." And then walks off. I gather my gear, reassemble, and head to my gate.
They were absolutely cluless as to where the radio and light were. They NEVER asked me what it was or how to get to it, even though I was within inches of the whole mess the whole time.
End of story. Not quite.
Some 20-odd minutes later, we're boarding the plane for RIC. Here comes the Power Rangers [sic]--TSA personnel, Delta Airlines agent, and a pair of Kent County Sheriff's Dept. deputies--literally RUNNING down the concourse and shouting for me to stop.
In all the excitement, no one had checked my ID against my boarding pass.
I was within feet of the jetway when they surrounded me, minutes away from being on the plane, and then aloft. Suffice it to say the other passengers were impressed.
I had been freely roaming the "secure area" of the airport for well over half an hour.
Fortunately, I am NOT a terrorist, I had a radio and NOT a bomb; and I am indeed who I say I am.
There just isn't a word for this. :banghead:
MiG
Though now that I think about it, all my 38 Special brass is loaded to 357 Magnum pressures. Lets see them shoot that in an Aluminum frame revolver.
