After a perfectly satisfying full body massage from the TSA this morning (including the most communicative agent I’ve ever had — “Sir, I’m now going to rub the back of my hand over your buttocks, are you sure you want me to continue? I’m now going to rub your crotch with the back of my hand. Shall I really continue?”), I had a great crew on my flight from Tampa to Chicago.
I couldn’t help but be a bit, I don’t know, weirded out by the guy sitting across from me. He was playing some shooting game with great intensity for about two hours. It’s not that I felt in danger or anything, but when someone gets kicked off a plane for saying “I hope this is my last flight” (after a very long travel day), I have to wonder.