Yo readers, Erin reporting live from an uncomfortable chair in the Schiphol Airport, from the middle of a mind-numbing layover. Please tolerate my mumblings as I entertain myself on this wifi.
So we’ve all been hearing about those body scanners getting instituted at airports, right? The ones that show your unmentionables to everyone? Well looky here at what’s hanging out at my gate.
Little did I know that Amsterdam was one of the preeminent purchasers of these stupid, rights/clothes stripping machines. (Illegal substances, duh. ) I just think these are so….paranoid. And violating. I don’t know. This is the world we live in – there’s no easy permeating of borders. If you go from place to place, this is the toll: giving some pervy Dutch nerd an eyeful.
While I’m all for flight security, I’m really not thrilled about wandering through this. Not only for the reasons already mentioned, but also because I have an anachronistic distrust of machines. (“Let me out of this consarned contraption! Egads, these auto-mobiles are surely tools of Satan himself!”) And this machine…this machines resembles all too much that pod Jeff Goldblum went into, only to exit as Brundlefly.
So yeah. If I come out of this irradiated or microwaved or spliced with fly DNA, I will be no happy camper. But not nearly as unhappy a camper as if Pervy Dutch Nerd dares describe my nudie security shot as “the unerotic body of someone who’s been eating a diet solely of cheese for an extended period of time.”