By Bud Koenemund
With apologies to
Clement Moore
‘Twas
the night before shutdown,
And
all through PIT land
Every
creature was stirring,
From
podium to TDC stand.
The
new hires were nestled close to their coaches
As
a winding queue full of passengers approached.
Laptops
were divested by DOs with care,
Along
with shoes, and CPAPs, and products for hair.
X-ray
ops still kept a keen eye;
Detecting
those objects prohibited to fly.
And,
bag checkers checked, as they are wont to do,
Ensuring
those gigantic masses are only food.
AIT
officers begged people to empty their pockets
Of
coins, candy, gum, papers, and lockets;
Then,
cleared inevitable groin alarms
Using
a firm hashtag pattern, but causing no harm.
The
Leads went mad, managing multiple lanes,
While
half their team members moaned and complained
About
getting their breaks and lunches too early or too late;
A
daily occurrence that’s beginning to grate.
Supes
ran forward and back, for numbers and IDs;
And,
watched the organized chaos of their busy bees
Striving
to keep the skies safe for democracy,
So
that people and commerce can flow carefree.
Then,
down in Washington, arose such a clatter –
A
sad, sobering reminder that politics matter –
Our
Representatives debated both to and fro
While
in the balance hung the TSA’s payroll.
And,
in the mind of each employee essential,
Crept
the lack of a budget, and the shutdown potential.
They
fretted ‘bout food, gas, and mortgages or rent;
Worrying
over every single dollar and cent.
Though,
as they work, they’ll find comfort in knowing
Congress
gets paid while their anxiety’s growing;
Concerned
about utilities and college tuition;
Left,
by politicians, in compromising positions.
They
are the red-headed step-children; considered exempt;
By
the General Schedule held below contempt.
But,
they show up and do their job day after day;
Even
sometimes… occasionally… far too oft’… without pay.
