How Steemit Changed My Life – Part Three - Leaving America

Link to Part One

My brother arrived to drive me to the airport and as he loaded my 48lbs suitcases and my carry-on bag into his SUV, I quickly explained that there were some missing drugs to keep an eye out for, nothing too serious just some marijuana; GHB disguised as fingernail polish remover and some hallucinogens that always conjured the plant goddess who crept behind me and massaged my brain.

There was also the problem of what to do with my giant pink dildo, since my mother was probably going to repack all my boxes and there was no time to dig another midnight hole.

I originally acquired the dildo about fifteen years ago at a party, where it was being thrown from person to person and being used to slap the faces of party goers who were not paying attention and in an instant I just knew that I had to have it, but not for the typical reasons that you might think.

I had created a scary looking mannequin which I intended to place at the top of the stairs to scare the hell out of my roommates, sometime, when they came home late after a night of partying. The mannequin was made out of old clothes and a Crypt Keeper Halloween mask and I knew that the giant pink dildo was the missing ingredient that I had been searching for.

When everyone at the party became distracted I tried to subtly shove the giant pink dildo down my pants, but it is hard to be stealthy with Cerebral Palsy and I was immediately caught.

The room erupted with questions and accusations and I knew that I had just party fouled. I tried to explain the mannequin, but they wouldn't listen to reason and I was torn between trying to salvage my reputation or keeping that perfect dildo.

I quickly assessed the situation and realized that I was a man on a mission. I stared my angry host in the eyes while I slid my hand in my pants and calmly said, “Do you really want a used dildo?”

I was told to leave and I lost a few friends, but over the years that anatomically correct, scary mannequin and I had so much fun frightening roommates and trick or treaters that it was definitely worth it.

However, as I was about to leave for England I couldn't figure out what to do with that old, biodegrading dildo, with its cracked, peeling latex, so I put it in the middle of my room as a center piece for my mom to find along with two pairs of handcuffs and a dog chain to ensure that she would be too traumatized to ever ask questions.

On the way to the airport I proudly began explaining how much duck tape I used when packing my computer components and my brother became visibly alarmed. I asked what was bothering him and he said in a soft disappointed voice, while starring dead ahead,

“I'm going to have to take a look at your luggage...”

When we arrived at the airport he immediately opened the suitcase containing my computer components.

“What the fuck is this?” his hand rose to cover his face, which wore the same pained expression that materialised whenever I did something that to him was an assault against social norms and etiquette. Before I could answer he said, sounding defeated,

“Come on man... What the fuck are you thinking?”

“What's wrong?” I asked innocently.

“It looks like a fucking bomb!” he said in exasperation before realising that we were in a busy airport parking garage; he repeated, this time in a whisper,

“It looks like a bomb, they're gonna think this is C4!” I peered into the suitcase as he continued, “And what the fuck is up with all these wires?”

He was pointing at four, 3 terabyte hard drives, filled with crypto-currencies and the best that torrent sites have to offer, individually wrapped in paper and duck tape; a mess of wires, circuit boards and two 1440p, 27” monitors that were sandwiched together and completely covered in tape and all strapped together in masses of silver duck tape and inadvertently disguised as a bomb.

I suddenly felt regretful of my decision to bring all this equipment with me and to a country where I probably won't even be able to plug it in, but before nerves could take hold, I turned to my brother and casually said,

“They have to have seen this kind of thing before, trust me, I'm not the first person to pack a computer, they'll probably just think I'm a perfectionist. ”

He offered a worried, “OK” and zipped up the suitcase. When we arrived at the ticket counter I handed my suitcases to the lady and asked,

“This suitcase is filled with computer components wrapped in a duck tape, you don't think TSA would have a problem with that do you?”

“Do you have any lithium batteries in them?” She asked as she looked up from her computer screen.

“No” I replied.

“Then you're fine, I will put a fragile sticker on it.”

Then she slapped a sticker on the front and a man quickly moved my suitcases onto the conveyor belt and they disappeared behind the hanging, black flaps.

Unfortunately, the fragile sticker didn't calm my nerves and it didn't help that as we walked away my brother was telling the story of how TSA told a college student that he couldn't bring his rice cooker through security, so he abandoned it and proceeded to go through security again.

Later, TSA noticed the menacing, little rice cooker and completely shut down the airport, diverting flights and grounding planes until the bomb squad gave the all clear.

I began to wonder what would happen when TSA saw the bag I'd just checked in and regular intercom announcements asked some doomed passenger to head over to security.

“Were all those unfortunates guilty of having weird stuff in their bags too?” I thought to myself and I began to wonder how soon it would be before I heard the gut wrenching sound of my name being called out.

When we arrived at the TSA line, I tried to swallow my paranoia as I gave my brother a hug and we said our goodbyes, then I turned to meet my fate.

There was a long line of people up against a glass wall and above them were pictures of all the things that were prohibited beyond that point. There was a man, with a badge, on the other side, screaming as if all the people that had made it that far had just entered prison.

When I saw that fireworks were prohibited I realized that I hadn't checked all the compartments of my carry on and there was a strong possibility that it might hold a few bottle rockets, since this is the bag I used every Fourth of July to cross state lines to buy fireworks.

I casually checked each compartment to avoid drawing suspicion and then I was motioned to go beyond the glass, as soon as I did so the screaming man with the badge fell silent and I began to wonder what useful information I was being denied; it must have been important since he had just berated everyone that went ahead of me.

I had no idea what to do so I tried to copy the people in front of me. They took off their shoes; so I took mine off; they took their belts off; so mine came off; then I got confused and I basically started undressing.

The man with the badge ran over and began barking orders at me, “You don't have to take that off! Keep that on! Put your bag in the tray! Empty your pockets in the tray! Put your shoes in the tray! Put your tray down! Go up there!”

They motioned for me to go through their infamous x-ray machine and I proceeded to be irradiated: with my legs spread and my hands above my head for maximum exposure.

As I came out a TSA agent began grilling me,

“What do you have in your pockets?” I became very alarmed and replied,

“I don't think I have anything...” while attempting to recheck them.

“Is there any reason your left leg failed the machine?” he interrupted while pointing at a monitor that showed a chalk outline of me with a lit up leg.

As I looked at the monitor he began patting me down and with his hands all up in my business. He asked,

“We can take this private if you like?”

“Naw man, I'm good!” I immediately blurted out. Then his hands began stroking my leg and I began to wonder what kind of person would fall for that pick up line. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted when he said,

“I need to swab your hands!”

“Swab my hands?” I muttered while looking at them to see if they were dirty. He grabbed something off a table and demanded,

“Palms up!” Then he did the absolute minimum to clean my hands, they actually felt dirtier than before he started.

“You're done!” he mumbled and I just stood there wondering if that meant I could go. I slowly began walking over to my tray to see if anyone would stop me, but no one did. I'd made it! I was just one plane ride away from being with @cathi-xx! But then it dawned on me that I had to get my bomb-like computer through customs again... In England!

Link to Part Four

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