The Trampled Forgotten

 

I survived another day of traveling.  It was fourteen hours in total and, although I think each part of this was reasonable, somehow the whole seemed to be overwhelming, especially to all those who were trampled and left to disintegrate in the passages and aisle ways.

 

I often wonder what happens to those who have to be left in writhing pain,  moaning for help, begging to be saved from the fate worse than death . . the TSA experience.  While the rest of us are carried by swarms of humanity toward our flights and herded into our seats by the uberefficientnazilike stewardesses and stewardi with cattle prods disguised as umbrellas, the forgotten are left on the tarmac.   What exactly happens to those people?

 

Are they gathered up and used as indentured servants at Mar-A-Lago?  Are they fodder for military testing on Kahoolawe?  Do they become the audience for Let’s Make A Deal?

 

Or, worse than death, are they delivered to their destination where they are ridiculed for being weak, old and, of course, trampled into traveling submission?

 

One can only wonder.