Just a Little Pushback

Finch’s Play Dead slowly builds in volume. On an air mattress crammed into a small walk in closet, I roll my half asleep body over and blindly reach out for my phone. Perhaps ironically, I hit the snooze button so I can play dead for a few minutes longer. The music was stopped before reaching a volume that would wake my girlfriend in the next room over or so I hoped. I laid there not wanting to get up but knowing I needed to. This will be the last time I agree to a 4AM start to an 18 hour work day.

The surgical mask sits in my pocket unused as I enter the Uber, the Epipen in my backpack. The driver doesn’t seem to mind although he pulls a cloth gator up around his mouth and nose. We engage in small talk on the 30 minute drive to Phoenix International Airport. I don’t mind. He thanks me for it once we arrive.

Walking into the airport I pass a sign that says, “Masks MUST be worn at all times.” Mine remains in my pocket. As I reach the crowded security line I do my best to identify others like myself. I see one or two. The rest of the crowd dons their federally mandated bacteria traps. I ignore their stares.

I approach my first TSA agent. He laughs at my drivers license photo and comments, “In my 15 years, this is the first open mouth smile I’ve seen on an ID.” We exchange laughs and I thank him for the comment. He says nothing about the mask I am so brazenly not wearing.

I place my backpack onto the conveyer belt and step into the body scanner. Hands raised above my head, like a criminal who hasn’t committed a crime, I stand still for the TSA agent to ensure I’m not a threat. He asks me to step through. I comply. He checks my hat and pant cuffs for hypothetical weapons. He finds nothing and lets me through. My bag is flagged for additional screening.

Standing with my laptop in hand, I wait for an agent to grab my bag from behind the x-ray machine. This is the first time I am asked to put on a mask. I ignore her. I patiently await for my 4th amendment rights to be violated. This time I am not asked, I am told to put on a mask. I comply. Shortly after, my bag is chosen and brought to the inspection area. As she struggles to open the apparent lock box of a backpack I own, I instruct her on how to access the inner contents. She thanks me.

I watch as a crowd of TSA agents surround my bag, pawing at my breakfast, trying to figure out the contents of a glass dish that holds chia seed pudding, almond butter and granola. I can’t help but laugh at the absurd scene unfolding in front of me. They talk amongst themselves before revealing the container is too large and the contents are too liquid to be allowed through. “Can I eat it?” They tell me no. “Can I empty the container?” They tell me no. My choice is to exit the security area and do with it as I please or forfeit the entire container. With five minutes until boarding I opt to lose the glass container and my breakfast that it holds.

I grab my bag and repack it. The TSA agent thanks me for my patience. I ignore her. I walk away, my bag a little lighter, and take off a mask that is, as the automated message reminds me, “federally mandated and required to be worn over the mouth and nose at all times. Refusal to do so may result in a fine or removal from the airport and suspension from future flights.”

I approach the gate agent with my ticket in hand and mask in pocket. I smile at her, bearing my large teeth. Her cheek muscles rise from behind her face mask, indicating she is returning the gesture. She scans my ticket and allows me to pass through the door. I walk onto the sky bridge, inspecting the cleanliness of the downward slanted hallway. Not too bad but not a place I’d like to spend a lot of time in.

I step through the open hatch of the plane where a flight attendant immediately asks me to put on a mask. I comply. Breathing obstructed, I find my seat and place my backpack under it. I remove a sweater from my bag and put it on backwards so the hood is in front. I remove the mask from my face, lift the hood up over my head and close my eyes so as to fall back to sleep.