The Anals of National Security
During my mother's visit to see me over Christmas and New Years she gathered a large number of photographs (I'm the family archivist, and the guardian of the family photos) and bought a small library's worth of photo albums to keep her occupied. During this trip to Phoenix, my mother pulled out a carry-all full of what appeared to be bricks. Upon further inspection I saw that she had proceeded to fill something like eight or so albums with photos.
So on Monday, I was speeding on the highway towards the airport at 4am trying to ensure that I am not late for my flight. Car sorted, I am lugging this bag of what feels like bronze age lithographs through the concourse and check it in time to wait at the security line. I was the last person to board my plane and promptly fell asleep under the disgusted gaze of my fellow passengers.
Upon arrival home at the end of the day, I opened my bag to unpack and discovered a pamphlet from the Transportation Safety Administration informing that they'd had to examine the contents of my bag for security purposes. I must say I don't feel any safer with the image in my head of a bunch of TSA folks gathered around my bag flipping through an album of my brother's first 7 birthdays.