Out of the war on terror and the battle between those who love to read daily about Jon & Kate and those that absolutely don’t, we have the new war between the Transportation Security Administration and airline travelers. As with all wars, a certain right has been taken away on one side, along with the aggressor not backing down–if not mastering the art of brinkmanship taken to the very brink. You also have a bevy of weapons both in wait for use or stripped away on the victim’s side. Add to that our very undergarments considered a potential weapon of massive crotch destruction and immediate area.
And when we become prisoners of war, we’re subjected to ridicule by having an unseen man on a computer terminal unknowingly pointing and laughing at every visible x-rayed, radiation-exposed body part. This is sometimes followed by a plodding death march to another nearby location to inspect for valuables.
Yes, this means war.
Let’s assume it really does mean war and we hear the shot heard ’round the world: Namely from an unfortunately-named airline passenger by the name of Pat Downs and his posse. When Dr. (yes, Dr.) Downs sees his wife being groped unnecessarily by three TSA agents in a manner that goes beyond any pat-down body location done to date, Mr. Downs and a group of other civilized associates of his fellow gender converge on these agents and collectively break their noses.
Rename it the bone crunches heard ’round the world.
This soon becomes multiple crunches as everybody else decides to go after more TSA agents in the terminal with their bare fists or any object available in hand or luggage. The airport where the war broke out now resembles a western barroom brawl that, within an hour, gets a live feed from CNN and Fox News cameras. These images are then pumped to hi-def TV screens dotting waiting areas in other airport terminals nationwide. The compelled art of imitation ultimately brings every other passenger in major airport terminals across America to start engaging in warfare with TSA agents. It’s all broadcast on television worldwide.
The chief TSA officer monitoring these events from afar screams into a cell phone that sounds similar to “May Day!” Though witnesses later say this first exclamation of war was actually “Oy Vey!” or maybe “Oh, baby!”, or perhaps “Don’t Dock My Pay!” Not that it matters, because on the other end of the cell phone is an official who then phones an official at the White House who will phone a superior near the President who will then hand the phone to the President who will take a form of action to a new unprecedented national event.
“Mr. President, are you watching the event?” asks the official to President Obama.
“I never watch that show. I see too much of myself in Blair Underwood,” says the President.
“No, Mr. President, I mean a real, major event; a civil war in our nation’s airports.”
“Dear God. I saw this coming ever since TSA insisted on working Air Force One. I told them: ‘Don’t touch my iPod junk’, but they touched it anyway when they didn’t recognize me. Honestly, how bad is it?”
“As of the hour, we have 352 TSA agents with black eyes and broken noses, 224 agents with cracked ribs, 157 agents stuffed snugly into x-ray machines, 86 agents stuffed very snugly into Samsonite luggage and 39 agents with a leg or foreign object stuck where the sun doesn’t shine.”
The immediate response for sociological chaos normally involves calling in Northern Command. But the President instead sends in the National Guard from each state affected to look slightly less imposing. Nevertheless, upon seeing that most airports now have airline passengers holding TSA agents hostage, negotiators are called in to help mediate without ramming a tank through the airport window as a variation on the airline disaster movie.
Nearly every American airport now has an airline passenger war leader and who have TSA agents either tied up or locked away in office quarters. This was no easy task, especially when subduing the burliest male lead TSA agent recognized in the industry: Curly Sue. Media reports that it took ten airline passengers to knock Curly Sue out and carry him into a locked broom closet.
As of the hour, Curly Sue is conscious again and trying to break down the door while yelling out a blood-curdling “Curly Sue, smash!” An airline passenger soldier passes a Xanex disguised as candy to Curly Sue under the door.
While this plays out, all the passenger leaders communicate with one another through their iPhone cameras. A collective demand has been placed for the TSA to stop overly invasive searches or the passengers will stay at the airports through the entire holiday season and keep TSA agents as prisoners of war. Some internal mediation then takes place when a few airline passenger war leaders start singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” in nationwide unison that subsequently becomes thrown off by satellite delays.
TSA mediators outside the airports give an answer that they can’t stop doing pat-downs. But they consider other compromises without wanting to storm the airports. A question is posed to the war leaders asking who or what started the war so some semblance of compromise can be met. When it’s asked for Pat Downs to step forward and reveal himself as the initial instigator of the war, hundreds of airline passenger soldiers in every airport start yelling out a surprising answer:
“I AM PAT DOWNS!”
It becomes the catchphrase of the war.
Ultimately, the airport goes quiet when the real Dr. Pat Downs silently steps forward and proves himself with an I.D. card. With a major worldwide audience watching, Dr. Downs opens an attaché case to present an invention he created that makes security checks less invasive. The Pat Downs Inspector is a detection wand that can pick up the finest scent of any type of explosive in a person’s underwear or other bodily crevices. All a TSA agent has to do is wave it a fraction of an inch from the surface of a passenger’s pants to sound off an alarm.
Dr. Downs had ultimately been trying to pitch the product to TSA for the last several years, but without any interest or response. He also shows proof of other patents from dozens of other inventors who had similar inventions that were seen yet ignored.
The war is given away as an excuse to give a product pitch to an international audience. It turns out Dr. Downs’ earlier-inspected wife had deliberately egged on the TSA agent to get a little friskier.
A demonstration takes place by Dr. Downs in a huckstering Billy Mays cadence for the Pat Downs Inspector on a sedated Curly Sue. What Dr. Downs doesn’t notice is that while pitching his product, a SWAT team has managed to get inside the airport. All of the airline passenger soldiers are outnumbered. Pat Downs quietly sets his product down and surrenders. Soldiers in all the other airports follow suit when they see what happens.
On Christmas Eve, Dr. Downs is convicted on war crimes and sent to live in a Washington, D.C. high security prison where cases branded as unusual are pending into the coming year. Inside Downs’ cell is one Julian Assange from Wikileaks. Dr. Downs, petrified, sits down next to him with instant recognition.
Assange looks at him, flashes a half smile and gives a thumbs up.