|Nothing to hide here|
Of course TSA just had to check my hair (and my soul sister Ashley). Imagine my shock when the TSA agent directed me to another for a pat down of my luxurious twists. What on Earth could I have hidden in my twists? Nothing would have been concealed. Not a hair pin, rubber band or gray hair. I couldn’t have hidden a marmalade sandwich (like Paddington Bear) even if I tried. Sure my hair is gigantic, but that’s only when I let loose my massive Afro. That doesn’t happen often for fear of it taking over my entire body. My twists were hanging as flat as a pancake. I didn’t even curl them for fear of the twists seeming too voluminous.
At least the TSA woman was really nice about the whole process. It was maybe 30 seconds at most and felt more like a curious observer wanted to feel my hair instead of a pat down. Perhaps that was the case the whole time. The second TSA agent just wanted to see and experience the beauty that is my hair up close. Who can be mad at that? All she had to do was ask. Of course not every mere mortal knows how to approach my hair, so she needed to use the other TSA agent as a wingman. I can understand. My hair is magical.
I can honestly say it wasn’t really a bad experience getting my hair checked. My only complaint is the fact she used gloves that have touched countless other heads. I did not get up at 5:30 a.m. to wash my hair just to get lice and dirt from someone else. TSA should look into changing gloves between hair searches. It’s just not sanitary to have a pat down otherwise.