Poppy is excited about seeing family this year because nothing says “holiday spirit” like undressing in public for the TSA.
Since alot of us will be going somewhere over the next couple of months—whether to see family, avoid them, or gather around a table and argue about politics—I thought I’d kick off the season with something uplifting: a recent trip through airport security that did not make me question my life choices.
No shoe removal. No forced Tetris with quart-sized bags. No barked commands to “take off your headband” while juggling my dignity and a backpack full of not-airline-food snacks. I arrived a mere 75 minutes before takeoff and breezed through like it was 1999.
Honestly, it was so smooth, it made me suspicious. Because let’s face it—we all suspect the party won’t last. All it takes is one crazy moron tying his pants with det cord and suddenly we’re back to Patriot Act II: Now With More Body Scanners. So now I’m worried I’ll get just comfortable enough that we’ve reached a turning point, and then BAM—here comes security theater, dragging us all back into the spotlight of an encore production of “Paranoia: The Musical.”
Meanwhile, back home, thanks to criminals migrating from airports to airpods I have to recite my birthdate, full name, address, phone number, and possibly my high school GPA just to confirm a dental appointment. It’s not a missile launch, Madam Secretary. I’m just trying to see if it’s still Tuesday at 2:30 and whether I’m getting the cinnamon fluoride.
It’s the same brand of bureaucratic brilliance that shows up when you try to help your elderly mother pay her electric bill, and the customer service rep says, “Sorry, ma’am, we can’t take your payment unless your name is on the account.”
Oh, I see. You don’t want MY money? You’d prefer to turn off mom’s lights because she can’t remember which phone PIN she created for you in 2014 and there’s no way in the world she’s going to figure out where Venmo is.
And let’s just take a moment to fully appreciate the logic breakdown here. I’m not trying to access her bank account. I’m not trying to change her address. I’m not even asking to cancel anything.
I’m literally just trying to give them money. For a service they already provided. That is past due. But apparently, unless I can prove I am, in fact, 87 years old and holding the original utility agreement in one hand and my birth certificate in the other, my money is suspicious.
Let me assure you, electricity paladins, I am not a criminal mastermind running an elaborate scam in order to pay my mom’s electric bill. There’s no underground black market for bringing other people’s utilities up to date. Absolutely no one is out here bragging, “Hey man, I just paid for someone’s water and trash pickup — I’m a total OG.”
So now what? I’m supposed to let her account go delinquent because the system is more afraid of a helpful daughter than a missed payment? I guess that’s what passes for enterprise security these days.
It’s the same pattern everywhere — more rules, more procedures, and less actual sense.
We’ve built systems that are so desperate to avoid liability, they’ve forgotten how to function logically. Which brings me to one rule that does feel a bit like a holiday gift: the de-evolution in Texas public schools now that connected devices are banned during instruction hours.
Frankly? Hallelujah. It’s the first time in a long while we have hit the brakes on the madness in a way that might actually help. I hear from teachers and see, as an occasional substitute myself, that kids are rediscovering biology is actually interesting and the Monroe Doctrine still matters—even if you can’t lip-sync it with an otter filter.
And let’s not forget the ancient pre-smartphone art of passing handwritten notes. Remember those? Folded like origami, passed like state secrets. The security risk back then was the teacher reading it aloud, exposing your crush or your spelling errors—both of which were instant social death. Because honestly, “U r a dumhead” doesn’t land the same when written in glitter gel pen without autocorrect.
So yes, while you’re packing your bags this season, I invite you to give thanks for the little things—a faster TSA line, the joy of wearing socks in public, and the blessed silence of disconnected teenagers who might actually look up and notice how perfectly browned your turkey is.
It may not sparkle like a holiday ad, but this kind of normalcy? That’s the gift that keeps on giving. Happy Thanksgiving, Georgetown!