May I Offer a Suggestion?

Dear TSA,

I want you to know that I appreciate what you do. Really, I do. Some people may whine and moan about 3-oz liquids, shoe removal, and the fact that the $4 bottle of water that you just bought at the only airport shop outside of the secure area cannot come with you through security, but I understand. It's to protect us. Minor annoyances, once you look at the big picture.

I also appreciate the diligence you employ when scanning the loads of baggage that we've dumped mercilessly into your hands. Most of us are just crossing our fingers that our luggage will follow us all the way to our destination, but you have to take that extra step of actually figuring out if there's anything threatening within the mess. Not an easy job, considering how confusing those x-rays can look.

Now, I understand that x-rays can only be so good; sometimes it's necessary to physically search the bag with your own hands. Sometimes it's because you think there might be something suspicious, but other times it's simply a random search. I'm beginning to wonder, however, just how random the selection process is. In the past two years, every time I have checked bags, I've received one of your nifty little "Notice of Baggage Inspection" pamphlets as a surprise gift waiting for me when I open my bag after finishing my travels.

It doesn't bother me. Why should it? Usually the only differences between before and after inspection are the placement of the zippers and the inspection notice. Harmless. I would, however, like to offer you a bit of advice. I have gotten packing down to an art -- an art. No, not intentionally, and I don't even like packing, not one bit. Problem is, I have a tendency to overpack. If you could see the pile on my floor of the stuff that I want to take with me on my trip, you'd laugh; there's no way it will all fit in your bag!, you would say. But oh, I have gotten so good at it. Roll this sweater here, stuff these socks into those boots, allow the center to be just a bit higher than the sides because of the physics of the zipper, and then -- and here's the trick -- sit on it. Sit down hard, squeeze down the sides, struggle and pull and sweat and yank until the zippers finally meet. It's a wrestling match, woman versus luggage. I always win, but not without a good fight.

I have a feeling you don't want to go through this trouble. If you were actually inspecting the contents of my bag by hand, I would guess that the contents would inevitably be shifted, to a certain extent. But they never are. I have a feeling that once you open it up and look inside, you immediately recognize that it's not worth the effort, stick in one of your little pamphlets, and then struggle and pull and sweat and yank until the zippers finally meet again. So here's my advice: Just say no. Don't do it. Save yourself the physical and mental exhaustion that are my luggage.

I'm only telling you this because I think you're genuinely nice people who are doing us all a big favor by keeping us safe. Now I'm trying to reciprocate that favor. Next time you see one of my bags passing through, save yourself the headache. Or, if you choose to go ahead and open it anyway, just remember that it's an art. Don't beat yourself up too badly if it takes a team of five to tame and subdue those stubborn zippers.

Yours Truly,
Michelle

p.s. I would also appreciate it if, in the future, you didn't steal my hairspray. Thanks.