by r.s.

So this is my TSA story. Nothing inflammatory: no testicles, no radiation. Just typically incompetent, typically infuriating, and typically pointless.

So returning through the Vegas airport, I get pulled aside and an agent searches my bag. “Ah, here it is. One of those old-fashioned razor blades.”

“Um, I checked the TSA website and it said I could bring one razor blade if it was inside the razor.”

“Oh, that’s just for safety razors.”

“Actually, this is a safety razor.” Conveniently, the razor’s case reads, “SAFETY RAZOR.”

“Do you want to talk to a supervisor?”

No, no supervisor, and no razor blade for me. Incompetent because the Indy scanners on the way out didn’t find anything. Infuriating because I checked the policy before traveling and it didn’t matter. Pointless because it’s one g-d f’n razor blade.