"Can I see your boarding pass and ID, please?" said the nice Asian man with the nice glasses.

I sighed and nodded as I reached my hand outward and handed this pleasant Transportation Security Administration agent both of the articles which he had asked for. He scanned my license, and then my boarding pass. As is the case with someone who sees something that isn't normally in the course of their daily job duties, the nice Asian man squinted his eyes and focused on a tiny section of my boarding pass marked with a string of four S's.

"Sir," he began, "You have been randomly selected for a full security check." He handed me my license and whipped out a blue highlighter, marking through both instances of the four-S string. "Your luggage will be hand-searched and you will be given a pat-down. Is this alright with you?"

My shoulders slumped and my neck nearly broke as my face dropped to the ground. Reluctantly, I nodded.

"Please step this way, sir," he said, directing me toward metal detectors by waving my boarding pass toward them. I grabbed my bag and reached for the pass he then handed to me, and then stepped in line behind my fellow travelers. As I removed my laptop from my bag and kicked off my shoes, I began thinking back to the day before, pondering over my actions which most certainly increased the odds of my receiving a "random" security search.

But it wasn't with regret that I considered them... Oh no. That asshole deserved EXACTLY what he got.

***

"I hope he doesn't think he's going to just break in line like that," said the diminutive redhead standing right in front of me.

She was the very first to exit the cramped aircraft, and by all accepted standards of a civilized society, belonged at the very front of the line. I was the second to get off of that un-air-conditioned hunk of tin, and so, I felt fairly confident that my place as second in line was justified and deserved. The same goes for the older lady who pried herself out of a seat far too small for any human to fit in and came in 3rd, as well as the tall black woman who came in 4th.

In fact, all 23 people standing in the line at Gate E-26 did so in the order which they left the plane - all except the silver-haired businessman who came storming out of the aircraft a full five minutes after everyone had already exited. Now, we were all very angry... We'd just sat on the runway for an hour and a half in an aircraft with no air circulation because LaGuardia suspended all flights into and out of their airport - which left all of us stranded in Boston, because we were all connecting to other cities through New York.

But this man... He was extra angry. In fact, you could say that he was livid. And after he stomped up the ramp and out of the gate, he huffed and moaned his way right up to the counter of E26 with an attitude that displayed one fact very clearly - this man thought that his nice shoes and sharp coat and 200 dollar haircut entitled him to a satisfaction not known to the commoners and dregs of society.

"I don't think he's that stupid," I said in response to the redhead's comment about the wealthy line breaker. "After all, we were in line first."

Both the redhead and I spoke loudly enough that he could clearly hear us. And I know he heard us, because he looked up at me just enough so I could see him roll his eyes. He sighed loudly and shuffled his feet, slapping his day planner against the edge of the counter. The older lady behind me muttered about how she wished someone from American Eagle (the sub-carrier for American Airlines) would show up and help us all out. The black lady behind her added that it would be nice if they sent two agents, to help deal with the volume of people.

Alas, the counter sat empty for more than ten minutes. And the entire time, the businessman whose suit didn't match his ticket class tapped his feet and checked his watch and slapped his day planner against the counter. And when I'd finally had enough of listening to and watching his routine, I decided I'd volunteer to find an agent.

"Hey, will you guys watch my stuff?" I asked as I explained my newly assumed goal. They all answered in the affirmative, indicating that - since I'd paid my dues, I'd be allowed my spot back in 2nd place when I returned. So I headed off to parts unknown throughout Logan International Airport in search of someone - ANYONE - in an American Eagle uniform.

No luck. Not a single American Eagle employee was in sight.

I was walking back to gate E26 to deliver the news that, unfortunately, every single gate desk was completely unstaffed, and we would all have to wait for someone to show up... All of us, who'd just been pulled off of a tiny two-seater airplane after sitting on it for an hour and a half waiting to go home. All of us, who were unified in our quest to find a way to get to our loved ones and our jobs and the things that awaited us at our final destinations. All of us wiling to wait patiently in line in order to maintain civility and get this task done as efficiently as possible.

All of us, that is, except the silver-haired businessman.

I was about fifty yards away when I saw that an agent had FINALLY arrived at gate E26. I was about forty-nine yards out when I saw that the agent was talking to someone, and it was the impatient, over-indulged businessman for whom lines and civility didn't apply. He was barking commands at the agent and slamming his finger on the counter; and all the while, the redhead was trying to get his attention by waving her hands at him and saying "Excuse me..." I could see the gate agent attempting to calm the man down, and everyone in line muttering to themselves with their hands on their hips in disgust.

After witnessing what I'd seen in those two paces toward the gate, I'd attained a level of aggravation which was worse than the level I had when the flight was originally delayed, and even topped the amount I had when the captain told us we'd be getting off the plane after an hour and a half of sitting on my own testicles in the smallest plane ever built for passenger carry. In fact, you could probably say that I was miffed... Perturbed, even.

But when that self-important jerkoff who thought he could circumvent the accepted rules of line-based society propped himself directly in front of all these distressed and aggravated people, well... I got angry. And as I quickened my pace toward gate E26, I made up my mind that, once I got up to the counter, I planned to say a little something to that motherfu...

Wait a second, what's this?

Well! It seemed that the tiny redhead took issue with his behavior and decided to step up! Good for you, redhead! Give him what for! Don't let him ignore you - that's right, reach right out and tap that jerk on the shoulder! Get his atten...

Woah - HOLD UP! Did he... He just reached out and pushed that lady! HARD! She stumbled backward and her torso twisted in reaction to the man's display of aggression. She barely managed to check herself on the edge of the counter, which kept her from landing on the floor in a heap.

Now, I don't know if it was the latent adrenaline that had built up over an entire day of airline-induced frustration, or just the big brother in me, but without my even realizing it, my walking had turned into a run, and in less than six seconds, I cleared the remaining forty yards. Just as I arrived from the back side of the line, I felt myself reaching out and placing my hands on the shoulders of the self-important asshole whose mama had obviously not raised him right.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?!?" I barked as I grabbed the man's coat from both sides and spun him around.

He had no idea what had just happened. For a moment, his face was coated in a mixture of shock and despair, unable to do much more than move his lips apart enough to allow his lungs to gasp for air. "I... I..." he sputtered.

"You can't just shove her like that, you motherfucker!" I yelled. "What the hell makes you think you have the right to do that? Huh?"

"I... I..."

"You think you can just break in line in front of all these people and push girls around?!?" I asked. I gave him a tiny push as I released his jacket, which sent him into the counter.

"Do you know who I am?!?" He asked, as if somehow I was supposed to expect that he could just break in front of people and push a lady into the counter.

"Dude, I don't CARE who you are!" I said, stepping up and getting in his face. "I'm sure that, in some board room somewhere, you wield a whole lot of power over people... But right now, you're just a limp-dicked bully with woman issues who's seriously pissing a much larger guy off."

And with that, all three of the women standing at the front of the line with me began laughing and cheering as the businessman began sniveling and searching his head for a response. I watched him scan the room, and I noticed as he looked past me and beyond, into the terminal. Something obviously caught his eye, and I didn't even have to turn around to know what it was. In an instant, the bastard stood tall and assumed a posture of power, suddenly growing a spine.

"Hey, fuck you, buddy!" the businessman exclaimed.

That did it. I watched as his newfound confidence gave way to panic as an angry scowl crawled across my face. My eyes grew wide and I lunged forward at him. He could see it in my eyes - I wanted to HURT this man. But, just as soon as my momentum went toward him, I felt myself lurch backward.

"Woah woah woah!" I heard a thick Bostonian accent say. "Easy theh, killah!"

"You don't wanna go to jail today, do yah?" another Boston accent asked.

I turned my head to either side to find two TSA agents standing beside me, one securing each of my arms.

"Okay, okay," I said, relaxing. "I'm cool... I'm cool..."

"Good thing," the TSA agent said. "Now, what happened heah?"

"This man ATTACKED me!" the businessman barked. "ARREST HIM!"

I was just about to protest the accusation when the redhead next to me spoke up. "This guy attacked ME!" she yelled, pointing at the silverhaired dickhead. "The big guy was just standing up for me!"

"Yeah, he totally cut in line!" the tall black woman said.

"He was yelling and slamming his fist on the counter," the older lady added. "I thought he was going to explode!"

"This guy was just trying to help," one guy said, pointing at me from further back in line.

"This... This is an OUTRAGE!" the businessman yelled at the agents. "You just saw him! He attacked me!"

"Alright, alright," the TSA agent on my right said. "Come on, let's get you to another countah..."

"But... But aren't you going to arrest him?"

"Let my buddy handle that," the agent said. "We're gonna go to another countah so you can..." His voice drifted off as the pair walked away.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked the other agent, whose grip loosened on my arm.

"Nah," he said in response. "You almost were, though... You gotta be careful. Guy like you hits a guy like that... Well, you just gotta think these things through."

The line reassembled itself and order was restored. The TSA agent stayed behind to ensure that everyone remained calm, and the slick-shoed business bully was given his own agent to attend to him at a counter all the way across the terminal from us. The redhead was able to make her accommodations, as was I... But it was small consolation. Even if we did go to LaGuardia, we'd just be stuck there, as all connections had been canceled. So, I spent another night in Boston and got up way too early to catch my flight to Atlanta. Of course, the shuttle driver dropped me off at the wrong gate... And the gates are at least 2000 feet apart at Logan... And there is no tram...

So after walking half a mile to get myself on a plane home, I find myself being pat down as the TSA personnel hand-checked every single item in my bag. My camera got a nice dusting-off from the gunpowder swabs, and my Wacom tablet was the subject of yet another question-and-answer session with someone who's never seen one before. The pat-down was extra-special - midway through, he asked me if I work out... Not really the most comforting question one can ask while squeezing the upper thigh, checking for weapons...

As I put my shoes and belt back on, I thought back to the whispering between the TSA agent that secured me after my scuffle, and the gate agent who rebooked my flight. I decided to ask the TSA agent nearest me just how random these random searches are.

"100% random," he said.

"Is that what the string of S's means?" I asked.

"Yup," he responded.

"Hmm..." I pondered. "What shows up when someone's flagged to be on a watchlist?" I asked him.

"... A string of S's," he responded.

"So there's no difference?"

"Nah," he said dispassionately.

Great. I'm a terrorist.