You make me feel UNSAFE.
I go through your tedious screening process. FINE. I wear practically nothing to avoid any kind of beeping and most importantly touching from any of your staff members. I wear flip flops with socks in order to not have to deal with all the bacteria from the shoes of the 8 million people who go through that security checkpoint at JFK. I pack toiletries in my little quart sized ziploc bag in compelte compliance with the rules. I also pack my medication along with their respective prescription in a quart sized ziploc bags.
Yet, after you scan all my stuff including my passport you detain me. Someone opens my bag and touches all of my personal belongings including my tampons. Apparently there is a gray area as to whether or not tampons are allowed on a plane. I have my period. I can prove this. You let it go. You keep looking and you find my regulation plastic bags. You go through my medication and decide that I can't take it because each bottle is 3.6 ounces and there are 4 bottles. IT'S MEDICATION AND I HAVE A PRESCRIPTION. Very well, yeah. You figure that maybe I'll die without it (murder) and that would be a lawsuit worse than what you would get if there had been a terrorist act. You keep on snooping. Going through my other baggie. And there you find mascara. There were two tubes of black mascara. You opened them up, looked at them, smelled them, brushed the little brush against the gloves you had used to handle my shoes. THANK YOU VERY MUCH, THAT USED TO GO IN MY EYES! A WASTE OF $44 + 8.625% tax. You keep snooping, find my deodorant, decide to take it even though there aren't 3 ounces of it in the container. Not even 2 ounces. Fine. I just wanted to go because my flight was leaving in 15 minutes. It had been 45 minutes since you had stopped me. I get antsy, my flight was about to leave me and I'm told to calm down. Yes, I am sure that when you are about to miss the last flight because someone is being retarded you calm down too. Finally, you let me go. I take my suitcase. I barely made the flight.
Once I am finally on the plane, I put my luggage away. I open my purse to take out my passport to fill out my forms only to realize that there were 4 lighters, a glass ashtray I had received as a gift and an apple in there.
FYI: Mascara can't blow up a plane. A lighter could.
If you are going to make me go through that, at least do a good job.
If I can learn your crazy policies, you can too.