Slice of Good Ol Boy Life

Going through all the hurdles of a security clearance is not easy. Nor should it be.

But I stayed the course and went through every step and finally secured a report for duty status at the airport. It was sort of surreal to be working for an agency most journalists outright despise. What I would come to learn is the TSA — a response to the 9/11 attacks — was the lowest paid government agency and morale was poor.

Granted COVID still had a stranglehold on the travel industry with the omicron variant just coming out. Like the warehouse and the grocery store, we were required to be masked at all times, but since this was a federal government job, only vaccinated employees were allowed to return to workplace.

I sailed through classroom training, feeling like a nerd in history class again as we studied the different terrorist attacks over the years. We watched a video on 9/11 with interviews and footage I had never seen before and it was so powerful tears welled up in my eyes. That was when I knew this job meant more than a paycheck.

“John, you are the smartest one in the class, you’ll do fine,” said Garrett, our stout, barrel-chested trainer with a ponytail and one of those Oregon accents of unremarkable note.

And while, I scored great in the classroom and navigated all the computers, websites and passwords with ease, I would struggle on checkpoint, realizing too late that the cards were stacked against me. Without revealing secrets, let’s just say it was a blessing in disguise that I was unable to get my officer certification before the training hours ran out.

I was relieved of duty after two months. It was crushing.

There was a moment of clarity during the certification process, when it hit me that if I progressed any further I would be required to perform pat-downs on passengers. This was not something I was looking forward to. Just getting them to empty their pockets, take off their shoes and xray luggage was invasive enough. For some reason it never occured to me during this entire process that pat-downs were a big part of a TSA officer’s functions.

Talk about the dog focused on catching the car. The chase was over. The fun part done. Now what?

My refusal to quit eventually forced the agency’s hand. I knew something was up one day when Garrett, normally friendly to me, would not make eye contact and avoided me in the back office. A young female supervisor, clearly sympathetic to what had become my awkward role in all of this, had me take online tactical courses for most of the day, while upper management figured out a way to get rid of me.

I knew the die had been cast, when Garrett walked behind my desk one morning as I was clicking through online tests and muttered underneath his breath, “game over.”

Thankfully, when I was relieved of duty, the agency arranged for me to go on unemployment, which for a decade or more had been unattainble for various reasons. This time the benefits came in quick and without probing questions. A small consolation prize that I would gladly take and I needed the rest.

The train ride home from the airport after getting the axe was one of the lowest feelings of my life. When your country rejects you, it’s hard to accept. And yet at my most vulnerable, a familiar face was there to lift me up. My champion came through again.

“Let’s take a drive to the coast,” David said.