"Tell me a story" the little girl said, curling up at the feet of of TSA administrator John Pistole.
"Well, my child," John Pistole replied. "Long ago in the days of the First Men, people would arrive at airports and go through security without leaving behind a bottle of conditioner because it was bigger than 3 oz. They could bring their own water and not pay $4 for a bottle of Dasani at Hudson News. These are what we call 'the good days.'"
"That sounds crazy! I don't believe you," cried the little girl.
"That doubt will serve you well in life, but I do not lie," assured John Pistole. "These times were as real as you or I! Mamas would travel through the TSA line without being forced to drink their own breast milk — " here the little girl scoffed — "Papas could walk through metal detectors while leaving on their boots. Then, once in the terminal, they would smile, laugh and dance with the gate agents."
The little girl was awed into silence.
"Do you want to hear more?"
She nodded fervently, her eyes wide as saucers.
"The most exciting part —" John Pistole paused of dramatic effect "— is that legend foretells that these happier days shall repeat themselves. That we will once again be able to travel with large bottles of liquids and wear our shoes through security."
Overcome by the thought, the girl began to weep.
"When?" she pleaded. "When, John Pistole?"
"How the fuck should I know," John Pistole said with finality. "I only run the place."
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