Flights of fancy characters

Ron stood in line for Security for gates 1-2 at the San Diego airport. He had not flown for a few years and was feeling a bit uncomfortable at the thought of open public spaces. Filing forward with the rest of the cattle on a Saturday morning, Ron looked across the terminal counters in time to see a cartoony monk mascot walking towards him from the security line for gates 3-10.

He had been in line for 20 minutes giving him enough time to see the security line preparation video with the large lego man and monk helping people prepare for a speedy walk through the security line to their gates. Being a bit paranoid about handing his bag to strangers, Ron had decided to carry on and admittedly over-sized bag. He felt the mascot's eye target in on him.

With a goofy cartoon-like voice, the monk walked directly upto Ron and shouted the way a man with a giant foamy head who can't hear well would. "Awfully big bag you've got there, friend. Are you sure you wouldn't rather check that?"

"No." Ron stared forward in an attempt not to continue the conversation. The attempt would fail.

"You know, everyone has a right to have space on the plane for regulation sized baggage and the ability to move through security quickly." The freakishly large head with the friar tuck style bald spot wobbled left and right as Ron was judged by a man paid to wander an airport dressed like an idiot.

"What about my right to not be hassled by a moron in a giant head? Maybe I only own one bag and this one has my medication in it that I will need during the flight. Very logical reasoning to me, but you don't look to be a man who has made all the necessary intellectual decisions in life not to end up here." Ron stepped forward with the line movement. The mascot took two sideways steps with his comically large shoes and continued in the silly voice.

"That's too bad, sir. I'd hate to see someone as pleasant as you in bad physical health. Maybe I can help you carry your bag through." A large hand made of a mixture of cloth and foam reached for Ron's bag before being slapped away.

"No. I can take my own bag." The man two spaces in line ahead of Ron looked back with some concern. A man two spaces back from Ron looked on with amusement. The rest of the line seemed unfazed by the conversation.

"Well, maybe I can help you prepare for the x-ray machine. Your watch should be in a bin. Let's get that off." The big hands waggled chunky fingers at Ron's wrist. Ron turned to face the oversized puppet man for the first time.

"I said no." His tone left no uncertainty to his aggrevation. The monk put his hands on his hips mimicking Ron as the two men watching before now shared a concerned glance towards each other.

"Well, that's a might large belt. That buckle will surely set off the metal detector. Let's get that off of you." Before he could turn away, two giant gloves had grasped onto Ron's belt and begun tugging as if to rip the belt off like a cheap band for a bar's drink specials.

Ron reached up without thinking and slammed both fists down on top of the mascot head. "Routabegga!" Ron shouted at the mascot as he knocked the mascot's hands from his belt and the two men watching earlier tackled the giant monk to the ground and secured him in handcuffs.

Ron found himself dragged from the line by a member of airport security where he was lead with the mascot dragged by the two men from the line into a secured interrogation room.

The mascot was tossed to the floor across from Ron. The two men stood with hands on the gun holsters on their hips staring at the crumpled cosutmed character. "Were you just going to let him take me off to meet his parents before you stepped in on this guy? What the hell?"

The man closest to Ron with the name Rodgers etched on his holster cleared his throat. "We had the situation within our control. This man had no weapon on him or a way of retrieving on from within the suit without being obvious about it. We are sorry if you do not think this way too. We're only here to protect you from real threats, not from any asshole bugging you today."

The man next to Rodgers with Smith etched on his holster snickered at his partner's comments. The TSA representative walked to the mascot and reached for the head.

"I'm sorry about this guy. The airport usually screens these guys pretty regularly for the signs that they have lost the patience for a surly customer or the sense to leave them alone." TSA agent Tonga grabbed onto the large nose of the mask and hoisted it off quickly possibly expecting a dramatic Scooby Doo-like reveal of a villain.

The beheaded monk squinted his eyes at the bright lights in the room and began rubbed the back of fis head with his large cuffed hands. The motion made the cowlick of hair in the back stick up even worse than usual. Rodgers and Jones thumbed the safety snap off of their holsters when the cuffed hands went up initially, but Ron waved them back while shaking his head.

"Jimmy! What in the hell are you doing here?"