Jedi Thwarts TSA

The following story was sent to me from a reader... and after reading the story of the mother who had her child taken from her for 10 minutes, I thought this one to share. It comes from Matt from the blog Noblasters

He pulls a Jedi Mind Trick on the TSA on his way OUT of the Airport... By using Vulcan Logic. Please read, and also check out Matt's blog.

You Don’t Need to See His Identification

On November 21, 2010, I was allowed to enter the U.S. through an airport security checkpoint without being x-rayed or touched by a TSA officer. This post explains how.

Edit: Minor edits for clarity. I have uploaded the audio and it is available here.

This past Sunday, I was returning from a trip to Europe. I flew from Paris to Cincinnati, landing in Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport.

As I got off my flight, I did all of the things that are normally requested from U.S. citizens returning from abroad. I filled out the customs declarations, confirmed that I hadn’t set foot on any farmland, and answered questions about the chocolates that I had purchased in Switzerland. While I don’t believe that these questions are necessary, I don’t mind answering them if it means some added security. They aren’t particularly intrusive. My passport was stamped, and I moved through customs a happy citizen returning home.

But wait – here was a second line to wait in.

This new line led to a TSA security checkpoint. You see, it is official TSA policy that people (both citizens and non-citizens alike) from international flights are screened as they enter the airport, despite the fact that they have already flown. Even before the new controversial security measures were put in place, I found this practice annoying. But now, as I looked past the 25 people waiting to get into their own country, I saw it: the dreaded Backscatter imaging machine.

Now, I’ve read a fair amount about the controversy surrounding the new TSA policies. I certainly don’t enjoy being treated like a terrorist in my own country, but I’m also not a die-hard constitutional rights advocate. However, for some reason, I was irked. Maybe it was the video of the 3-year old getting molested, maybe it was the sexual assault victim having to cry her way through getting groped, maybe it was the father watching teenage TSA officers joke about his attractive daughter. Whatever it was, this issue didn’t sit right with me. We shouldn’t be required to do this simply to get into our own country.

So, since I had nobody waiting for me at home and no connecting flight to catch, I had some free time. I decided to test my rights.

After putting all my stuff through the x-ray, I was asked to go through the Backscatter. I politely said that I didn’t want to. The technician quipped to his colleague, “We’ve got an opt-out.” They laughed. He turned back and started to explain.

After he finished, I said, “I understand what the pat-down entails, but I wanted to let you know that I do not give you permission to touch my genitals or the surrounding area. If you do, I will consider it assault.”

He called his manager over, who again informed me of the policy. Throughout this event, this happened quite a few times. After raising my concerns regarding the policy to an officer, they often simply quoted back the policy. For the sake of brevity, I will simply say “Policy restatement.”

I said, “I am aware that it is policy, but I disagree with the policy, and I think that it is unconstitutional. As a U.S. citizen, I have the right to move freely within my country as long as I can demonstrate proof of citizenship and have demonstrated no reasonable cause to be detained.”

Policy restatement. “You have two options – the Backscatter or the pat down. It is your choice, but those are the only ways you can go through security.”

I asked if I could speak to his manager.

“I’m the supervisor here.”

“Do you have a manager?”

“Yes, but he’s very far away at the moment. And he’ll say the same thing I am.” Policy restatement.

At this point, I took out my iPhone, activated the voice recorder, and asked The Supervisor, “Per my constitutional rights, I am not allowed to be detained without reasonable cause for arrest. Now, am I free to go?”

He answered, “If you leave, we will call the APD.”

I asked, “Who is the APD?”

“The Airport Police Department.”

I said, “Actually, that’s probably a good idea. Let’s call them and your manager.”

The Supervisor turned and walked away without saying anything. I stood and waited, chatting to The Technician about how they aren’t allowed to wear radiation badges, even though they work with radiation equipment. He said, “I think I’m a couple steps ahead of you regarding looking out for my own health.”

I stood and waited for 20 minutes. Two cops showed up. Big ones. I admit, I did not want to be handcuffed by these guys.

One cop was older than the other, but they were still clearly partners. Neither of them took the lead on answering my questions, and neither of them told the other what to do. They came over to me and asked me to explain the issue. I first showed them the iPhone. After I explained my position, they restated the policy to me.

I said, “Yes sir. I understand the policy, but I still disagree and I still don’t think that I can be made to do these searches in order to go home. Now am I free to go?”

They didn’t answer.

I repeated the question. “Since you are actual police officers and not simply TSA, I am sure you have had much more training on my rights as a U.S. citizen, so you understand what is at stake here. So, am I free to go? Or am I being detained?”

Young Cop answers, “You aren’t being detained, but you can’t go through there.”

“Isn’t that what detaining is? Preventing me from leaving?”

“You can leave if you want, but it has to be that direction.” He points back towards customs. Young Cop asks, “Why are you doing this?”

I explain that I’m worried that the Backscatter has unproven health risks. And that for all he knows, I might be a sexual assault victim and don’t feel like being touched. I say that the policy is needlessly invasive and it doesn’t provide any added security.

He asks, “But didn’t you go through this when you left on your flight?”

“Yes,” I say, grinning, “But I didn’t want to miss my flight then.”

The cops leave, and I stand around and wait some more. It should be noted that throughout this time, no fewer than 10 TSA officers and technicians are standing around, watching me. I was literally the only one still waiting to go through security.

The cops, The TSA Supervisor, and another guy were standing behind the checkpoint deliberating about something. I explained this to my iPhone and The Supervisor shouted, “Does that thing have video?”

“No sir. Just audio.” I was telling the truth – I’m still on an iPhone 3G.

After a while, Young Cop comes and asks me for my papers. My passport, my boarding pass, my driver’s license, and even a business card. I give him everything except the business card. He told me that he was just gathering information for the police report, which is standard procedure. I complied – I knew that this was indeed standard.

He left, and a Delta Airlines manager comes over and starts talking to me. He is clearly acting as a mediator. He asks what I would consent to, if given my options. I explain that I want the least intrusive possible solution that is required. I say, “I will not do anything that is not explicitly stated on recording as mandatory.” He leaves.

Let me pause and clarify the actors’ moods here, because they will soon start to change:

• The Supervisor: Very standoffish. Sticking to policy, no exceptions.
• The TSA Officials: Mainly amused. Not very concerned otherwise.
• The Cops: Impartial observers and consultants. Possibly a bit frustrated that I’m creating the troubles, but being very professional and respectful regardless.
• The Delta Supervisor: Trying to help me see the light. He doesn’t mind the work - he’s here all day anyway, so he’d rather spend it ensuring that his customer is happy.

After another wait, Old Cop returns, and asks me what I want. I tell him, “I want to go home without going through the Backscatter and without having my genitals touched. Those are my only two conditions. I will strip naked here if that is what it takes, but I don’t want to be touched.”

He offers as an alternative, “What if we were to escort you out with us? It would involve a pat-down, but it would be us doing it instead.”

“Would you touch my balls?”

“I don’t want to touch your – genital region, but my hand might brush against it.”

I clarify, “Well, like I said, I’ll do whatever you say is mandatory. If you tell me that you have to touch my balls—“

“—I said no such thing. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“OK. I apologize. If you say that a pat-down is mandatory, and that as a condition of that pat-down, I may have my genitals brushed against by your hand, even though you don’t want to, I will do that. But only if you say it is mandatory.”

“I’m not going to say that.”

“OK. So am I free to go?”

“You are free to go in that direction.” He points back towards customs. Then he walks away to commune with the others.

My iPhone is running out of battery, so I take out my laptop, sit in a corner, and plug it in. I have some work to do anyway, so I pull up Excel and start chugging away for about 20 minutes.

This is where the turning point happens.

The cops come back and start talking with me. Again, they are asking why I’m doing it, don’t I have a connection to make, etc. They are acting more curious at this point – no longer trying to find a contradiction in my logic.

I eventually ask what would happen if I got up and left, and just walked through security. They shrugged. “We wouldn’t do anything on our own. We are only acting on behalf of the TSA. They are in charge of this area.”

“So if he told you to arrest me, you would? And if he didn’t, you wouldn’t?”

“That’s right,” Young Cop says.

“OK well then I think it is best if we all talk together as a group now. Can you call them over?”

The Supervisor returns, along with the Delta Manager. The Supervisor is quite visibly frustrated.

I explain, “The police have explained to me that it is your call on whether or not I am being detained. If I walked through that metal detector right now, you would have to ask them to arrest me in order for them to do anything.”

He starts to defer responsibility to the officers. They emphasize that no – they have no issue with me and they are only acting on his behalf. It is his jurisdiction. It is policy. They won’t detain me unless he tells them to.

So I emphasize the iPhone again, and ask,” So, if I were to get up, walk through the metal detector, and not have it go off, would you still have them arrest me?”

The Supervisor answers, “I can’t answer that question. That is no longer an option because you were selected for the Backscatter.”

“Well you can answer the question because it is a yes or no question. If I got up and left, would you have them arrest me?”

“I can’t answer that question.”

The moods have changed. The cops are now frustrated with him because he’s pawning off his decision-making responsibility to them. He’s stopping what is clearly a logical solution to the problem. Meanwhile, the Supervisor is just growing more and more furious with me.

In another deferment of responsibility (which he probably thought was an intimidation factor), “Well then I guess I’m just going to have to call the FSD.”

Unphased, I ask, “What’s the FSD?”

“The Federal Security Director.” And he walks away.

I can see him talking on the phone to the FSD – a man apparently named Paul – and I can only catch parts of the conversation:

• “No, he’s been perfectly polite…”
• “We tried that…”
• “All he said was … Constitutional rights”

He walks over to Old Cop and hands him the phone. I can hear similar sound bites. They hang up, deliberate some more, and then wait some more.

Meanwhile, I’m typing away on my computer. Answering emails, working on my Excel model – things that I would have done at home regardless.

The Supervisor walks over and stands uncomfortably close to me. After typing for a bit more, I look up. His voice shakes, “I don’t know if I ever introduced myself.” He pulls out his badge. “My name is XXX XXX. Here is my badge. Now, I’ve shown you my credentials.”

Ah – he’s gotten the Miranda talk. I hide my smile.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to escort you out of the terminal to the public area. You are to stay with me at all times. Do you understand?”

“Will I be touched?”

“I can’t guarantee that, but I am going to escort you out.”

“OK. I will do this. But I will restate that I still do not give you permission to touch my genitals or the surrounding area. If you do, I will still consider it assault.”

“I understand.”

And then came the most ridiculous scene of which I’ve ever been a part. I gather my things – jacket, scarf, hat, briefcase, chocolates. We walk over to the staff entrance and he scans his badge to let me through. We walk down the long hallway that led back to the baggage claim area. We skip the escalators and moving walkways. As we walk, there are TSA officials stationed at apparent checkpoints along the route. As we pass them, they form part of the circle that is around me. By the end of the walk, I count 13 TSA officials and 2 uniformed police officers forming a circle around me. We reach the baggage claim area, and everyone stops at the orange line. The Supervisor grunts, “Have a nice day,” and leaves.

In order to enter the USA, I was never touched, I was never “Backscatted,” and I was never metal detected. In the end, it took 2.5 hours, but I proved that it is possible. I’m looking forward to my next flight on Wednesday.

You can email Matt here.

Doin' a Heckofa Job, BP

In the long time honored tradition of putting one's foot into their mouth, especially when there's a live microphone around, BP is quickly catching up with Vice President Biden in the gaff and stupidity ranking.

BP CEO Tony Hayward, whose company just hired a former spokeswoman for Vice President Dick Cheney to help handle the media, since the company's Deepwater Horizon oil rig blew up on April 20. The blast killed 11 people and sent thick, rust-colored oil billowing into the Gulf of Mexico, destroying natural habitats and devastating the coastal economy.

BP initially estimated that between 1,000 and 5,000 barrels of oil were gushing into the gulf each day. The current consensus pegs the figure at between 12,000 and 19,000 barrels. At 44 days in, it is already the biggest spill in U.S. history, and with plan Double Q and the specter of the Obama Administration calling the shots... it hasn't been a good couple months for them.

And their CEO isn't exactly helping. Here's some of Hayward's bizarre statements that I've cut'n'pasted that he's stated since the accident:

On April 29, The New York Times reported that Hayward, apparently exasperated, turned to fellow executives in his London office and asked, “What the hell did we do to deserve this?" Perhaps, perhaps his company's 760 safety violations over the last three years? ExxonMobil, in contrast, has had just one.

On May 14, Hayward attempted to persuade The Guardian that "the Gulf of Mexico is a very big ocean. The amount of volume of oil and dispersant we are putting into it is tiny in relation to the total water volume." A drop in the bucket. Guess no one told him the East Coast gets a lot of shrimp from the area? Nothing pisses off people than inflated shrimp cocktail prices!

Only a few days later, he told Sky News that "the environmental impact of this disaster is likely to be very, very modest." That might surprise the many scientists who see the spill as a true environmental calamity, the full extent of which remains unclear.

On May 30, Hayward was less bullish and decided to play the sympathy card. He told the Today show that "there’s no one who wants this over more than I do. I would like my life back." In all fairness, he did apologize for that one.

On May 31, he told the world that ecosystem-threatening underwater oil plumes—consisting of droplets of partially dissolved oil suspended in water that many scientists have observed—do not exist. He said simply, "There aren't any plumes."

On June 1, Hayward responded to claims that cleanup workers were being sickened by the fumes from the oil they were exposed to by suggesting another possible, non-oil-spill cause. When nine workers fell ill, according to Yahoo News, he told CNN that "food poisoning is clearly a big issue." Must be all that tainted shrimp from the Gulf?

But Hayward is not alone in his manful struggle to spin the news in the face of daunting factual evidence. His colleague Bob Dudley, managing director of BP, told NBC's Meet the Press on May 30 that "I think Tony's doing a fantastic job." Why on the planet Earth and good peer reviewed science would anyone ever paraphrase President George W. Bush's poorly managed Gulf Coast disaster, FEMA Director Michael Brown, "Doin' a heckuva job, Brownie"???

Worst oil disaster since 1989 Exxon Valdez. Worst PR disaster since... uh, I'm starting to wonder how high up this is going to go. We're way past Tom Cruise on Oprah's couch. I think we're approaching Tiger Wood levels now.

Meantime, here are 62 other uses of BP and photoshop.

Obama Wins A Prize

Barack Obama Wins Nobel Peace Prize

The U.S. president Barack Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize "for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international
diplomacy and cooperation between peoples..."

I'd be a little excited for him if he'd actually, you know, actually accomplished something.

He's trying to dismantle the American Empire, weakening the force of market capitalism, and place more people to be dependent on the government dole. However, as far as success rates - Maybe We Can? I guess the extremely liberal and populist Nobel Committee are expecting something out of this guy?

Meanwhile, George Clooney must be crushed for not getting it for Darfur. And that one guy who created Doctors Without Borders is snubbed again.

Read More:

Clunkers

The White House Says 'Clunkers' Rebate Plan Will Go On

The White House said Friday that the "cash for clunkers" program was still alive even though the $1 billion that
Congress had appropriated for it has already been snapped up. Read More:

Cash For Clunkers was doomed just like Oprah's KFC free chicken. It was a pile of paperwork and ever-changing rules. There was only $1 Billion put in the plan. So, at a max of $4000, that's oh, let's pretend about 12 per dealership nationwide.

My guess there were over 100 people banging on the dealership glass window lookin' for theirs.

Okay, let me get my score card out here...

Bail Out - fail
North Korea - fail
Iran ending their nuclear ambitions - fail
Cash for Clunkers - fail
Government Health Care ... oh, hold on! That'll be a win!

What the hell, folks? What HAS worked from this gang of Idiots in Congress and the Obama Administration?

Can anyone give me a Win here?

Michael Phelp's New Corn Flakes Box

Pre Lit Trees

Pre-lit trees?

How lazy am I?

How lazy are you?

So last night - as the Thanksgiving period ended, and the inevitable comment...
"Hey, let's get the tree out - looks like the Johnsons have all their crap up already..."

Damn it.

I don't know about you, but we've got our Winter Solstice Holiday trinkets pretty well
hidden in nooks and crannies of the abode. This means crawling through asbestos clouds in the attic to pull out a box which may or may not contain any actual chauchkies.

Then comes the dance of the furniture. As I don't have a large place to live - things and items are fairly well in their place. Any additional items require the movement of other things. For instance - placing a large fake evergreen pine in the corner of the house requires two couches to move, along with heavy wood items that hold drinks for when I'm sitting in one of the two couches.

And, wouldn't you know, there's a layer of dust under these items that are now visible so therefore must be eliminated henceforth.

Now I gotta get the fuggin' vacuum cleaner out too.

After much huffing and puffing and moving the house around - now we're ready to assemble the plastic pipe cleaner item for hanging smaller plastic or glass novelties.

Follow the common sense. Work your way up. One must now "fluff" the various "branches" to make it look "realistic."

Now the lights must be hung. Luckily I'm out - as I've never accomplished this task to satisfaction. Now I sit back and untangle the strings of lights. I plug them in - inspect for burnouts... much like the local mall HR department weeding through prospective candidates for Santa.

Oh sh*t. I have half a line on the last string not responding. Must be one bad apple - can't be caught with this much fail... Dang. Too late.

Now I am faced with a dilemma. I realize it's not Sophie's Choice - but it's a dilemma that has been brewing for the past three Christmases. "We should just get the pre-lit tree!"

I disagree.

It's only two months a year that this stupid contraption is placed in our front window to disprove to our neighbors that we're not the Pagan Atheist Jewish Muslim Satan worshipers that they think we are. I'm not going to spend any more dollars on the green ornament rack than the dollars that have already been expended.

I suggest that I try to "fix" the string of lights that have failed. As that argument didn't fly - I suggest that we simply purchase another string of lights. This suggestion is tempered by glaring apprehension. I question why this solution is not reasonable to the other parties.

"Won't match"

I ponder this argument, as I desperately attempt to prevent any gray matter to liquefy and simply pour out of my ear. I ask for clarification.

"I bought these years ago. What are the chances of the new ones matching the old ones? It just won't. It'll look stupid!"

White lights on a green cable. I can no longer prevent brain damage. I have to continue the queries into the realm that no man should venture into - the Mists of No Logic. Why can't I simply purchase another string?

"No, we'll have to buy three more - just to make sure. And, if we're going to spend that much - we should just get the pre-lit tree then."

First, I believe that the trouble lies in a fuse in the $2.50 string of lights. Possibly even a single bulb that has caused the short in the existing line. A replacement of the bulb should be .02 cents. Second, an attempt at purchasing a new $2.99 string of lights would be a significant savings of $ 183.99 for the cheapest of pre-lit trees at the local Box-Hardware store, right?

"I guess we need to buy all new lights."

No, I'm going to go fix these that we have.

I march into the basement workshop. I grab some pliers and a string of lights that I have in reserve for just this exact sort of thing. If any of you know me, this is why I keep everything.

And this is the excuse I've been looking for to get back to the Bears game.

Almost the end of the first half. Perfect. 4th down on the goal line. Perfect time to pretend to fix some stupid lights.

Grab the pliers - Bears stopped. SMACK. Opps. Pulled a little too hard. Light enclosure shards everywhere. Pretty sure it isn't glass, right?

Okay, grab another one - Ex-Bear Bernard Berrian catches a 99-yard pass - POP. I don't even look up. If I don't see it, maybe it won't exist? Hmmm... somehow I've cut myself. Perhaps I should pick up these glass and plastic shards all over?

Get the fuggin' vacuum cleaner again.

I should concentrate on pulling out all the bulbs from my unused string and replace them into the one I'm trying to fix.

Halftime plus a few plays later. Hmmm... Must be the fuse?

An hour later I return to the decision to purchase new lights. Three all new sets. Success is sweet as I have avoided the pre-lit tree purchase -- however, it has been tabled for next year.