Wayan told us about the “puffer machines” at airports around the country and in our own backyard a few months ago. But this weekend, I got my turn in line to be uh, “puffed” at Reagan National. My experience was just fine – my line went significantly faster than the other lines as they only randomly hand-picked travelers, I got all the little puffs, apparently I wasn’t carrying any explosives in my flip flops, capris, or tank top and then went on my way.

The nice woman a few people in front of me in line, however, did not have quite that experience. She was the Flustered Traveler already. The line took too long. Her bag was too heavy. It was hot in there. Babies were crying. Flustered Traveler wasn’t having a great day and hey, I won’t judge her for it we all have our days, she was just a little louder about hers that I might have been.

Needless to say, she was even less happy to get given the great honour of going through the puffer line, so I watched in anticipation as she was going to have to be told what to do by yet one more TSA personnel (another irritation for her that day). She was motioned in to the puffer machine in her approaching-inappropriate-made-for-a-teenager-flimsy-tennis-skirt. You might see where this going.

A few puffs in, the back of her skirt had flown up three or four times. Now boys don’t get yourselves in a tizzy here. I can say on authority from standing behind her that you couldn’t see much more than what she was already getting close to showing with a short skirt, but there was definitely a quick flash of undies, but not the full-on skirt fly up that she was charging. Our Flustered Traveler friend was now an Irrate Traveler threatening all kinds of excessive actions – only to an audience of hysterically laughing travelers behind her that must have, although certainly not I would, been thinking “ahhh, sweet justice.”

Ladies look out for those puffer machines!!