The TSA agent who likes the Beastie Boys
For the first time, I’m not going to make fun of the TSA. I’m going to celebrate them. Or one of them. (It won’t happen again).
I’m at the Minneapolis airport and the coolest thing just happened.
Normally I dress just one-notch nicer than normal when I fly, for an added dose of stereotype-defiance that will make the TSA feel just slightly more stupid labeling me as a threat. A little Banana Republic goes a long way.
Not today. It’s early and I’m wearing a Beastie Boys shirt. The mid-20s guy appointed to luggage-tearing-apart-duty comes over and gives me the speech (“You’ve been selected for extra screening….“) Then he starts chatting me up about the Beastie Boys.
“Ever get to see them?” he asked.
Of course. 1994, 1995, 1997… I could go on.
He knew his stuff. He too had a copy of the bootleg Paul’s Boutique 7″ box set, making us two of the only 1,000 people in the world who can say as much. He was well-versed in this subject. Impressively so.
He gets to my toiletries bag, and holds up my pomade (shut up) and toothpaste.
“I’m not supposed to let you on with these…” he said.
For a split second, I thought: This guy needs to read the lyrics to “High Plains Drifter” about 100 more times. The Beastie Boys would never support this kind of pedanticism.
“….but you like the Beastie Boys, so I’m going to pretend I never saw them.”
And I didn’t even have to “fight for my right” to see good hair in the mirror while brushing my teeth.
Thanks rogue TSA man. You’re the illest.