My wife and I work extremely hard, easily clocking 80-plus hours a week — no idyllic American 40-hour work week for us. We don't ignore each other or our two-year-old daughter, rather we sacrifice typical pleasantries and pastimes — like happy hours and sleep — in our efforts to earn at the level of salaries gifted to white people who have the luxury of only working one job. So when we click our workaholic heads together and say we are going to take a vacation — an international trip, where we eat and drink and sleep in multiple cities — to give ourselves a piece of that American dream of relaxation in exchange for the thousands of hours of labor we deposit a year, the last thing I want to have to worry about is airport security. But here we are.
The Transportation Security Administration's history and mission, "Protect the nation's transportation systems to ensure freedom of movement for people and commerce" sounds, in theory, solid. Travelers deserve to be safe and to feel safe. Of course nobody wants weapons on board or planes to be hijacked. But we also deserve efficient — enjoyable, even — airport experiences. We spend our hard-earned money to be in these places. That enjoyable experience is not happening. It hasn't even been efficient for me, let alone pleasant, for the last 20 years. How does a third-generation American citizen have such a long history of not getting a fair shake at the airport? It starts with my physical appearance.
